by Lyle Howard
Concentrate on the present…
So then, what was this woman up to? For the hefty sum of $4 million, he knew they weren’t just going to ask him to donate his organs to science. He had accepted her cryptic proposition on a fluke … at least that’s what he tried to convince himself. But it was what she had said about Casey that really got him thinking. His son deserved a shot at a full life … a good life … whatever the price. Hell, what did he have to lose? His own life? Yeah, right! They couldn’t take it away from him twice! The more he thought about the cash, the more tempting that busload of zeros trailing after that number four were becoming! Call it curiosity, or a cop’s intuition, Gabe had elected to purchase a ticket on this mystery train.
“You seem depressed, Gabe. That’s only natural.”
Gabe drummed his fingers on the plush crimson armrest as the car lurched over a pothole in the road.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Gabe rubbed a hand over the growth of beard he had decided to leave on his face. He remembered staring at himself in the hospital room mirror, and warning himself not to put a razor blade anywhere near his throat. He hadn’t been feeling suicidal at the moment, but again … things change. “You think I’m depressed? Then tell me something that will cheer me up,” he muttered, still looking out at the passing scenery.
”Like what?”
“Why don’t you fill me in on what you really need me for and what all this cloak and dagger shit is about? And where are you taking me?”
“Such a curious man, my goodness! We’re just taking you by your in-law’s house,” she said, shifting her weight in the seat. “You’re going to see your son! Isn’t that where you want to go?”
Gabe fumbled for the window switch and finally managed to crack the window a bit. He needed the cleansing effect of some fresh air. Suddenly the inside of the car was making him feel penned in. “I mean after that. You’ve got to want something from me. You’re not running a limo service here, right?”
Randall inched her way across her bench seat until she was sitting directly across from Gabe, next to the partially opened window. “So much mistrust in the world … you’re doing the right thing.”
Gabe raised an eyebrow that insinuated he understood more than he really did. “Where are you taking me after I say goodbye to my son? I mean, that is what this little side trip is all about, isn’t it?”
There wasn’t even the slightest hint of a smile to crease the woman’s exquisite features. “Don’t be so melodramatic, Gabe. It doesn’t become you. You’re going to see your son again, and I promise, all of your questions will be answered very soon. In the meantime, why don’t you just enjoy the trip,” she said, stretching out her arms, her voice shifting coquettishly into the drawl of a southern belle. “I swear, don’t you love riding in the back of a limousine? It’s just so luxurious! Personally,” she added, fanning her hand in front of her face, “I think it’s the greatest thing since … since … well heck, I don’t know, it’s the best way to travel … don’t you agree?”
A faint trace of horse manure wafted into the car, a welcome home signal that only Gabe seemed to pick up on. “And you people are still interested in me, knowing full well that I’m a police detective?”
Randall intertwined her fingers and cupped them over her knee. “Correction … you were a police detective.”
Gabe never took his eyes off the enchantment that the afternoon sky seemed to hold for him. “That’s where your dossier on me is dead wrong, Ms. Randall,” he disagreed. “They can take away my badge, and they can take away my gun, but I’ll always be a cop.”
For the first time since they had met, Sheila Randall’s stoic countenance splintered into a telling smile. “That, my dear Mr. Mitchell … is exactly what we’re counting on!”
* * * * * *
Westbrooke Trail was an unpaved thoroughfare until two years ago. Still too narrow for two-way traffic, the thin ribbon of asphalt was lined on both sides by a pair of drainage canals that eventually wove their way into the Everglades five miles to the west. Cut into a dense grove of eucalyptus and oak trees, Westbrooke Trail meandered past very few homes and had only been modernized upon the insistence of the U.S. Postal Service who had lost more than their share of vehicles to either the potholes, rough terrain, or, even once, a wayward alligator.
Owning a home on Westbrooke Trail was like living within the walls of a fortress constructed by Mother Nature herself. At night, with its blacktop illuminated only by the occasional patch of moonlight filtering through the dense thicket of tree branches, the street always proved to be a worthy antagonist to anyone unfamiliar with its disconcerting twists and turns.
“Your in-laws must really like their privacy to live way out here,” Randall said, as she squinted to see anything that might lie beyond the impenetrable wall of overgrowth whizzing by the window.
Gabe rolled down the window halfway to get a better view. The cool wind felt refreshing against his face. “Yeah,” he agreed somberly, “the more secluded, the better.”
Randall spoke matter-of-factly. “No love lost between you, is there?”
Gabe held onto the armrest as the limo slowed to take a large winding curve in the road. “So I suppose you know everything about the custody fight too?”
Like Gabe’s question had never been asked, Randall changed the subject. “Your son enjoys living out here?”
“Very much.”
“Seems isolated. Not many neighbors.”
The limo slowed again to pass a garbage truck that was making its bi-weekly pickup. Gabe had never been aware of it before now, but the truck’s awful odor and its unrelenting backup signal were defiling the pristine atmosphere of the forest like a mugger. Don’t dwell on the things you have no control over… “He’s made a friend or two at school … and he really loves playing in these woods!”
“He sounds like a bright young boy.”
Gabe nodded dreamily. “You wouldn’t believe how fearless the kid is, when he’s exploring out there. I used to worry about him, but I swear he’s got more guts and creativity than I ever had at his age.”
The limousine turned into the driveway of his in-law’s residence. “You’re very proud of him.”
Gabe’s face saddened. “Casey’s practically grown up on his own. I haven’t exactly been around for him…”
Randall was as dispassionate as a foreclosure banker. “Don’t worry. Just the fact that you’re here shows how much you care.”
Leaning forward in his seat, Gabe stared into her unyielding eyes. “You keep assuring me of that, but I don’t even know what the hell I’m doing!”
Randall tapped her wristwatch. “We’re on a tight schedule. You’ve got 15 minutes.”
Gabe reached for the door handle. “You know that the only reason that I’m seeing this game of yours through to the end is because you’ve got my curiosity meter flying off the register.”
Randall leaned back comfortably. “So the financial benefit for your son has nothing to do with it?”
Gabe opened the door and stepped out into the bright winter sun. The smell of the trees came like a fine wine to his nostrils. “That was $5 million, right?”
Never sticking her face out of the shadows, Randall shook her finger back and forth naughtily. “Please don’t push me, Mr. Mitchell.”
Gabe slammed the door and shaded his eyes to see in through the half opened window. “Lady, when I push you, you’ll know it.”
A well-muscled wrist jutted out of the darkness displaying a Cartier timepiece. “Now you’ve only got 14. You’ve wasted one.”
19
1171 Westbrooke Trail … what a glorious sight! As Gabe stepped off the paved driveway and onto the flat stone path that led up to the screened-in front porch, he took a moment to drink in the entire 3,200 square feet of split-level housing, sitting on one and a half acres of prime South Florida bottomland. The pale blue house was fully air-conditioned, but even in the most blistering summe
r heat, the surrounding woodlands kept the thermostat from ever climbing above 72 degrees. There was a towering oak tree in the front yard with an old tire hanging from one of its lower branches. Gabe remembered back to better times, during family get-togethers, when he would spin Casey in that tire until he thought the boy would throw up. Casey was too big to be spun anymore, and now the tire hung there as a memorial to more carefree times, and perhaps as an occasional target for football practice.
Continuing up the path, for the first time Gabe noticed that the wooden shutters outside of Casey’s bedroom on the second floor were in sore need of a fresh coat of cherry varnish, and that some of the gutter flashing was in disrepair as well. Just a simple few hours work for a handyman, but as he trudged up the stone steps and opened the door to the porch, he wondered if he should say anything—they hated him enough.
As was the usual case, the screen door was unlocked and the front door wide open. This was yet another infraction on a long laundry list of things his in-laws did that drove Gabe crazy. Stepping inside the house, he was surprised to find the living room empty, so he called out for his son and the housekeeper. “Casey? Marta? Anyone around?” He let the screen door slam shut behind him.
It sounded more like a stampede across the wooden floorboards as Marta Diegas came storming into the living room from the kitchen, drying off her hands vigorously on her food-stained apron. “Señor Gabe,” she shouted joyously. “What you doing here? I’m surprised to see you! When did they let you out? Why didn’t you call me to give you ride?”
Gabe raised his hands over his head as the rotund Cuban woman wrapped her arms around him with a crushing passion that would have made a python envious. He could hear the air blow out of his lungs as she continued the pressure; she was so caught up in the moment, totally oblivious to the fact that the veins in Gabe’s neck looked ready to burst. Sure that he would pass out if he stayed in her clutches another second, Gabe pushed down on the housekeepers’ shoulders to extricate himself. “Enough, Marta!” he blurted out, gulping for some much needed air at the same time. “I’m very glad to see you too. It’s good to be out! Where are the Gibsons?”
She clasped her hands in front of her and shook them. “Señor Gibson went to play the golf club, and the Señora is went to play cards at Señora Coldwell’s house. Ah, Señor Gabe, you don’t know how much the boy and me miss you!”
Gabe’s respiration had about returned to normal as he looked around the room. “Where is Casey? He should be home from school already, right?”
“Oh sí, he is playing out in the backyard woods with his friend…” she quickly covered her mouth as if she had already said too much.
Gabe stepped back, his arched eyebrow conveying his displeasure. “Not with that Dylan James kid?”
Marta stared down at her white nursing shoes. “Sí…”
“Marta, how many times have I told you…”
“But Señor Gabe…”
Gabe stormed through the dining room toward the door that led out to the backyard. “I’m telling you, Marta, that James kid is gonna grow up to be a career criminal! Thirteen years old, and he’s already been arrested for arson and shoplifting—twice! If I hadn’t owed his old man a few favors, and hadn’t called in some of my own markers down at the D.A.’s office, that kid would be rotting away in a juvenile facility somewhere in the middle of the state!”
Marta waddled after him. “But he seems like such a nice boy and Casey really…”
Gabe stepped out onto the porch and shielded his eyes from the sun. “That’s not the kind of influence I want around him, Marta! Believe me, if that James kid ever makes it to high school, which I seriously doubt, they’re gonna vote him Most Likely to Take a Life. Take my word on it!”
Marta stepped out onto the wooden landing. “Do not be upset with me, Señor Gabe. Casey has been very lonely since he’s been living here. He spends most of his time in his bedroom sitting in front of the computer. I see him typing on the screen back and forth to Dylan. You may not like him, Señor, but Dylan is the only one that will come all this way to visit. They are both two lonely boys. I really think they need each other.”
Gabe leaned against one of the oak beams that supported the patio roof. Why was he getting himself so worked up? Maybe because in less than a year he wouldn’t be around to play guardian angel for his son any longer, and the boy would be doing whatever he wanted, hanging out with whomever he wanted, and learning life lessons all on his own. Perhaps dying is the easiest thing you do in life…
He turned to the housekeeper who looked genuinely frightened. “I’m sorry, Marta. This isn’t your fault. I just want…” his words trailed off. He was so confused. “…I don’t know what I want…”
Marta put her hand on his shoulder to comfort him. Together they stood silently on the porch for a long moment, the cool afternoon breeze stirring the dead leaves on the dry, brown grass. They were like two spies speaking in a cryptic code, both afraid to actually broach the delicate subject that was really weighing so heavily on both of their minds. “I know, Señor. It’s no fair for a seven-year-old boy to think about such things. He’s too young to understand. He just wants to play in the woods and have fun with the only friend who ever comes to see him.”
Gabe understood and nodded. “But it’s people like that James kid that are exactly what I want to talk to him about. There’s so much stuff I need to teach him.”
The housekeeper pointed her finger toward a rustling in the undergrowth. “When the time is right,” she said softly, “he will listen … and he will carry your advise with him here,” she added, putting her clasped fists over her heart, “…for his entire life!”
“Dad!” Casey came bursting through the bushes, brushing a spider web away from his face.
Dylan James, nearly two heads taller than Casey, followed the seven-year-old out of the trees. A cigarette dangled between the teen’s lips, his t-shirt torn off at the sleeves—he paused at the edge of the property, seemingly impervious to the cool afternoon’s drop in temperature. Gabe watched him stop there, the teen suspiciously watching as Casey tore across the backyard toward the porch. Gabe wore his hostility towards the youthful offender like cheap cologne. Gabe never let his gaze drift off the teenager. They stood silently like opposing knights across a chessboard, the teenager holding his ground defiantly, letting Gabe see the smoke curling past his face.
Casey bolted up the steps and grabbed his father around the waist. “I can’t believe you’re here! Why didn’t anyone tell me you were coming? How did you get here?”
Gabe stooped down and let Casey grab him around his shoulders. Ordinarily, he might have picked the boy up, but today he just didn’t have the strength. “You’re sure the curious owl today, aren’t you? They let your old man out for good behavior, so I thought I would surprise you. Actually, I thought about going to the beach first and catching some rays, but then I thought, ‘Hey, why not stop here first and see my rotten little kid?’”
The youngster pulled away from his father and glared at him with one of those incredulous smiles that only seven-year-olds can seem to muster. “You’re lyin’, right?”
Gabe went down to his knees and held the boy close. “You really think I’d ever choose going to the beach over being with you?”
Casey rested his head on Gabe’s shoulder. “Me neither, Dad.”
Gabe winked up at Marta, whose eyes were tearing and lips were quivering. He kissed his son on the forehead and whispered into his ear. “…Besides, I figured it was way too cold for the beach!”
“Dad!”
Together they held each other and laughed heartily for a long time. Forget the drugs—this was the kind of therapy that Gabe really needed.
Casey let his father stand up and began waving toward his friend still loitering at the edge of the woods. “Can Dylan come in? He knows you’ve been sick. I’ve told him all about it.”
Gabe looked out at the boy who was busily crushing the butt of his ciga
rette under the heel of his sneaker. “Actually, Casey, I’m only home for a few minutes, so I really wanted to talk to you alone…”
“But you just got here! Aren’t you staying here with me? Where you going?” the boy interrupted, disappointment evident in his voice.
Gabe hated lying to his son, but he didn’t have the time or the inclination to make up some elaborate story right now. He said the first thing that popped into his head. “I’ve … I’ve got a few more tests to take.”
Casey stuck his hands in his pockets. Gabe could see that the boy was withdrawing into himself. “Why didn’t they do these tests at the hospital?” he pouted.
Gabe reached down and took his son’s hands out of his pockets and held them both. “I guess they didn’t have the right machinery at the hospital, son. But don’t worry. I should be back again real soon.”
Casey wouldn’t look at his father in the face. “When?”
Gabe couldn’t answer what he didn’t know. A car horn shattered the tension of the moment.
“Who’s that?”
Gabe squeezed his son’s seemingly tiny hands. “Those are the people that are taking me for the tests. But I made them drop me off here first, so that I could see you.”
Heartbroken, Casey backed away. It was only a short measure in actual distance, but to Gabe it felt like the breadth of eternity.
“I think I wanna go goof around with Dylan now.”
When Gabe looked across the backyard, Dylan James had already lit another cigarette and was scraping away dirt from under his nails with a Swiss Army knife. Suddenly, the $4 million was looking mighty appealing. Private schools, book knowledge instead of crook knowledge … he had to see this thing through. Life was so full of wrong turns, he had to give Casey a fighting chance.
The car horn sounded again.
“You’d better go, Dad.”
Gabe went to ruffle Casey’s hair, but the boy stayed out of his reach. “You gonna be okay?”
“We’re going to be fine, Sénor Gabe,” Marta said, trying to ease the anxiety of the moment.
