“Carlos?” Lester prodded.
“I, I guess it was after last Friday’s game. We rode around for a little while, that’s all.”
“Let me ask you this: During the last time you two were together for any reason, did you have any arguments or disagreements?”
Blankenship held his hand up, palm out. “Hold on a minute, Sheriff. I’m not sure I like your tone here. Are you accusing Carlos of something?”
Lester ignored the intrusion.
“Did you take her home from that football game?”
“Yeah, but I dropped her off a ways up the road from her house. I heard that her dad is a real jerk and doesn’t like Hispanics. I didn’t want him to see me. I think Melissa told her folks that she rode home with her friend Becky.”
Lester let that information hang, waiting for more, never taking his eyes from Carlos. A tense half minute passed before the coach broke the silence. “You got any more questions, Sheriff? The boy needs to get back to the locker room for the team meeting. We got a game tonight in case you haven’t noticed.”
“Nope, no more questions, at least for now.” Lester waited until Sanchez jogged out of hearing range. “Coach, I know a football game is important to you, but there’s a girl missing from your school who could be in serious trouble. You need to get your priorities in order.”
Chapter 10
The deputy was tired of looking for a runaway girl and anxious to knock down a few beers with Jason—to share the simple pleasure of a local football game on a Friday night. Not that most folks would share his enthusiasm with small school sports, but damn it, the kids hit hard, ran fast, and as far as Billy Ray was concerned, were just as exciting to watch as the big schools. The enthusiasm on the field was contagious; the kids whooping and hollering and doing chest bumps after a great play, cheerleaders screaming their heads off, and coaches cussing and kicking dirt after a missed assignment. No wonder half the town came out for the home games.
Unlocking his apartment door, Billy Ray stepped in and was once again filled with a discomforting sense of emptiness. The furniture was still there, what little he owned, but his wife wasn’t and hadn’t been for more than a month now. Since Jana moved out, left him, and went back to Texas, that inner glow of contentment when he opened the door to see her smiling face and feel those warm fuzzies in the pit of his stomach, were nothing but a memory. No more hugs, no tongue kisses—that often led to something more—no more sitting over a glass of wine or a bottle of beer and talking about the day; Jana was gone, taking only her clothes and a piece of Billy Ray’s heart.
They’d met during his rehab at the Brooke Medical Center in San Antonio where she worked as a medical support assistant. Just as in the fairy tales, it was love at first sight. Jana thought Billy Ray was handsome and loved his smile. He had an easygoing, down-home manner about him that made her feel comfortable whenever she could find an excuse to drop by his room. She loved talking to him and hearing about his tour in Afghanistan, admiring his bravery, his sense of duty to his country, and the obvious admiration and loyalty he felt for his fellow soldiers.
Billy Ray was enchanted by both her bubbly personality and eyes that twinkled like a kids on Christmas Eve. He loved her compassion and her sense of humor, a little ray of sunshine on his darkest days. As his shattered foot, now crammed with screws and plates, began to heal from the multiple surgeries and he could take a few tentative steps with the aid of crutches , he teased Jana about going to Las Vegas with him to celebrate his recent achievements in mobility.
“Soldier,” she said with a grin, “when you can stand and deliver on your own, call me.” She handed him a slip of paper with a phone number.
A few months later he did just that and somewhere around 3 a.m., after a day of playing the slots, drinking, and taking in the shows, Billy Ray proposed. Without a moments hesitation, Jana said yes and they immediately found a 24 hour chapel where Billy Ray paid a man $150 to say the proper words. They slurred their vows and Billy Ray kissed the bride. The happy couple caught a cab back to the hotel and barely managed to consummate their marriage before both simultaneously passed out from booze and fatigue.
The honeymoon was short lived, just two days. Jana was due back at the Medical Center and Billy Ray had promised Sheriff Lester P. Morrison that he would be in Boise City, Oklahoma no later than the following Wednesday. Somehow, the Sheriff had persuaded the powers that be in Cimarron County to have a job waiting upon his arrival.
But before leaving Las Vegas, Billy Ray convinced Jana to give her employer two weeks notice and start a new life with him in Oklahoma. After all, they were married now. Jana, now sober and having second and third thoughts such as, what the hell have I done, agreed reluctantly.
The deputy shucked his shirt and jeans, tossing them on the bed. Stripped down to his boxers, he hit the floor for a quick fifty sit-ups and another fifty pushups but was breathing hard at the end. God, I’m getting soft. Getting sloppy too, he thought as he looked around at the clutter; magazines on the floor, three days worth of dishes in the sink, trash cans full and overflowing, and so many dirty clothes piled over the single chair in the bedroom that you couldn’t tell there was furniture underneath.
Tomorrow, that’s when I’ll clean this place up, tomorrow for sure.
He headed for the bathroom and shower, no tub. That lack of a tub, presumably for the female gender and long, leisurely bubble baths, had been one of the many sources of contention in the doomed marriage. On the way, he caught a glance of the unframed photo of himself and Jana, her with a forced smile, taken by Sheriff Lester and the camera he always carried in the official county pickup. The 4x6 was tucked in the mirror of a blonde dresser that Billy Ray had picked up at a garage sale only a few hours before Jana was due to arrive. Until then, he’d been living out of his suitcase and three good sizes boxes he’d found at the rear of a liquor store.
Jana came from a fairly well-to-do family, her father a chiropractor, while her mother owned and operated a small shop in San Antonio dealing with scented candles and turquoise jewelry. Until the day she said “I do,” Jana lived with her parents in an $800,000 estate due west of the city, complete with a once-a-week maid service, a four car garage, and a swimming pool with an elaborate fountain where White-winged doves stopped by in the afternoon for a cool drink. She enjoyed her free time, shopping on the River Walk with her friends, joining her mother at various art and cultural festivals, and much to her surprise, discovered that she loved professional basketball, attending every home game of the Spurs, thanks to the season tickets from her daddy. Life was rosy.
The day Jana arrived in Western Oklahoma, driving her late model Volkswagen Passat, and dropped her bag in the doorway of the ridiculously small and sparsely furnished apartment, Billy Ray knew from the look on her face that his marriage was in trouble.
Boise City was no San Antonio and as far as Jana was concerned, the Panhandle was the pits; jackrabbits and oil rigs, tumbleweeds and coyotes, red dirt and tornados. There was zero nightlife—unless you counted that hole-in-the wall bar on Main Street—not even a movie theater. The only decent restaurant closed up during the afternoon, (most folks in Boise City went home at night to eat) leaving the Sonic as the only option for fine dining. With Billy Ray out roaming around the county all day, the boredom was like a cancer, sucking the life out of her. She put in an application at the hospital, the only one within a hundred miles. The administrator was impressed with her education and experience but didn’t have the budget to hire her. And as for retail, as far as Jana was concerned, it sucked. Damned if she would forego her training to stock produce in the grocery store. After two long months that seemed like an eternity to the once vibrant young bride, she’d had enough and gave Billy Ray an ultimatum: “Come back to Texas with me or stay here…whatever, but I’m leaving.”
Billy Ray conceded to his mistake and kissed her goodbye, realizing the cold, hard fact that he cared more for his work than the blue-eyed girl he had fallen f
or during his time of depression and healing. He loved law enforcement, but with his disability, was afraid that no other police or sheriff’s department would hire him, least not without more than a high school education. That was something he meant to look into, find some way to get a degree, maybe online. But for now, here he was in Boise City, Oklahoma doing what he always wanted to do while Jana was back in San Antonio working at her previous job. The divorce proceedings were imminent.
He took the phone from the kitchen wall and dialed a number from memory.
After one ring, a deep raspy voice answered. “Hey Bro, you sorry piece of dog shit, what are you doing”
“I was hoping to talk to some poor excuse for humanity by the name of Jason Woods. With whom am I speaking?”
“Whom? When did you get so goddamn literate? Surely not from that hillbilly sheriff you work for.”
“I’ll have you know my employer is wise in the ways of the world, wise in what counts, while you my ignorant friend, still have difficulty distinguishing your anal orifice from a void in the earth.”
“Okay, Jerkface, you got me there. Never did claim to be an intellectual like you. Hey, we going to the game or are you still running around town like some kind of Barney Fife? I got a six pack in the fridge, or what’s left of it, to drink by Gawd now, and a flask of whiskey to sneak past the gate. Get your young ass over here.”
Billy Ray smiled at the familiar BS from the man that had saved his life, almost as comforting as a hug from his soon to be ex-wife. Not the same of course, but it was genuine feeling passing from one human being to another.
“I’ll be there as soon as I shower. Go watch some porn on the Internet and think of me while you do it.”
“Good idea, but would you be offended if I substituted somebody like oh, Jennifer Lopez for my fantasy world instead of your ugly ass?
“I would, but I’ll get over it. See you in a bit.”
Billy Ray and Lester alternated weekends for being on duty and it was his turn to be off. He was looking forward to a little lay back time, maybe watch some college football on the tube, or even better, see if Jason wanted to go dirt bike riding back in the hills. His old Honda 250, one that he’d found in someone’s front lawn with a For Sale sign on it, hadn’t been used in so long, the battery was probably dead. Keeping the bike in storage like he did, he sometimes forgot that he even owned a motorcycle. He showered, dried off, sniffed the towel, and wished he hadn’t. Blue jeans, Reeboks, and a pullover shirt with long sleeves to ward off the evening chill and he was ready to go.
Ten minutes later, and at the other end of town, Jason Woods sat in front of a garage on a cement block smoking a cigarette with a six-pack of bottled Coors between his feet. “Where the hell you been?” he asked, getting to his feet. “You done dicked around too long, Bro. Beer’s gone.”
“What’s that in your hand, diet Coke?”
“Well, there might be a slurp or two left.”
“Hand it over.”
Billy Ray upended the bottle while Jason grinned and watched his friend’s Adam’s apple bob up and down.
“Lied to me. You had half a bottle there.”
“Didn’t want you drinkin’ and drivin’. How would that look, a man with a star weaving all over the road, bringin’ shame to himself and his community? I’m just lookin’ out for your welfare that’s all.”
“Corporal Woods, it ought to be illegal for a man to be as full of shit as you are. You need to go to the medics son, I do believe your body is running on half blood and half cow manure.”
Jason threw back his head and laughed so loud and long that his landlady, Minnie Stapleton, came to the door to see what the ruckus was about. She took in the scene, shook her head, and went back inside to her chair and the TV.
“My man, I think you knows me,” Jason gasped. “Hey, let’s go, let’s go. We’re gonna miss the kickoff.”
The engine on the Camaro had barely come to life before Jason was into the glove box, flipping through the stack of CD’s. By the end of the block, the windows were down and Born to be Wild by Steppenwolf was blaring from the speakers, turning the heads of anyone within fifty yards. “Jesus Christ, Jason turn that down. You’ll get us arrested before we get to the damn stadium.”
“Oh no, no, no, that’s the beauty of hangin’ with you, little bro, I am immune to the law to-night.” This was followed by another loud laugh and a sip from a silver flask from Jason’s back pocket.
“That’s what you think. We’re in the city police bailiwick now. Don’t believe for a minute that the boys in blue wouldn’t get an erection just thinking about giving the Sheriff’s Department a ticket. Lester doesn’t exactly go out of his way to be congenial you know. We share a dispatcher, but that’s about as far as anything you could call cooperation goes. They got their turf and we got ours.”
Jason acknowledged the warning by passing the whiskey to the driver. Billy Ray refused the offer but couldn’t keep from grinning.
With the exception of a few seats near the goal lines and the end zones, the stadium was packed with fans. The pom-pom girls, with their plastered-on smiles, shook their black and orange fists of color in a non-stop frenzy. The girl cheerleaders bounced, kicked, and gyrated to the beat of the band while their male counterparts shouted encouragement for more noise through a couple of molded plastic megaphones. The people filed in, searching for seats, stopping in the aisles while they looked for friends, creating a near grid-lock of bodies. Several signs under the bleachers declared “NO LIQUOR”, but with the only symbol of enforcement being the lone rent-a-cop roaming the sidelines, suspicious bottles were being passed around with impunity.
Jason and Billy Ray found a spot on the top row on the home side, a long way from the field, but the crosslink fence that rimmed the seating area made a nice backrest. Jason took another long hit off the flask and once again, offered it to his pal. Billy Ray did a quick look-see to both sides, didn’t see anyone he recognized, said hell with it, and took a sip. He had to admit it, the whiskey warmed his tummy, and at this particular place and time, a little nip seemed like the right thing to do. What better way to spend a Friday night in Middle America?
It was a hard fought game but riddled with mistakes; fumbles, interceptions, and a lot of incomplete passes, especially by the Bobcats. The quarterback, Boomer Kingston, was having an off night, bad timing with several balls that sailed over the heads of the receivers. Twice he fumbled the snap with no fault from the center.
The coaches were going half crazy, yelling at the boys for their mistakes. Some of the fans were no better. One row below Jason, a skinny guy with a big goofy mustache and a polka-dot cap kept jumping to his feet and hollering to “get somebody in there that can catch the ball.” After the third such rudeness, Jason grabbed the guy by the back of his collar and jerked him down to his seat.
“Hey Mofo, you’re gonna catch my fist if you keep blocking my view like that. Now sit down and behave.”
Whether it was the strong smell of whiskey on Jason’s breath or the menacing look, the skinny guy made the right decision, turned around, and stayed in his seat for the remainder of the game. In the end, it was the Bobcat defense that saved the win, allowing only seven points with two interceptions and a goal line fumble recovery, while the offensive squad could muster only ten points on their own. But it was a “W”, and that’s what counted as a happy crowd filed thru the exits.
“Home team struggled a little tonight,” Billy Ray commented, as they walked to the car.
“Passing game was off, that’s for sure,” Jason said. “I noticed their star receiver, whatever his name is, little 81, wasn’t playing. That didn’t help.”
Jason was lit up, feeling the whiskey. He took off running through the parking lot, holding an imaginary football, dodging fans as if they were would-be tacklers, and at the end of the dash, hit the Heisman Trophy pose much to the amusement of two cheerleaders.
“Whooee. Man that game was fun to watch. Hey, let�
��s go to the bar, find some women, and take ‘em back to your place.”
“Dude, you gotta be dreamin. Did you forget where we are? We’re in Boise City, Oklahoma man, where the sidewalks look like a ghost town by eight o’clock at night. Only woman you’re gonna’ find in a bar around here is a sixty year old alcoholic grandma with half her teeth gone.”
Jason shook his head in agreement. “Well, ain’t that the sorry fact. Man, I gotta tell ya, I still don’t know why I let you talk me into moving out here. I don’t blame Jana for leaving you, bringing her out to this god-forsaken wasteland. I should have went with her. She was a fine lookin’ woman too. I think she was sweet on me if you wanna know the truth.”
Billy Ray flipped him the finger. “Way I remember it is you called me. Seems you were having a little problem down there in Corpus Christie if I recall. Or has that slipped your feeble mind? The fight you had with the Mexican? The one you almost killed? Ringing any bells yet? Surely you haven’t forgotten that the boy was a member of the Latin Disciples and you had that whole goddamn gang searching the city for your stupid butt, wanting to throw your bullet ridden body in the Gulf of Mexico for the crabs to nibble on.”
“Private Ledbetter, I wish you wouldn’t refer to your corporal as a stupid butt.”
“Corporal Woods, it is only because I can’t think of anything nicer at the moment.”
Jason took a moment to mull about it. “Hmm, that’s fair I guess. Now, take me to the bar damn it. And that’s an order. I’m gonna go find me a grandma that likes to parrr-ty.”
“Yes sir, Corporal Woods sir, and by the way, Jana thought you were a stupid butt too.
Billy Ray drove to what was optimistically called the downtown area and watched his friend as he pushed past the door on a beer joint called The Moonshiner Lounge leaving Jason to find his own amusement for the rest of the night. Billy Ray had been inside the bar on a previous occasion. It was no bigger than a rich woman’s closet with only six barstools, one table with two chairs, and the obligatory pool table at one end. In this town, if you wanted company with your booze, you had to drink where you could. Yet, there was no doubt in Billy Ray’s mind that sometime between now and closing time, Jason would stir something up, one way or the other, good or bad.
Fraidy Hole: A Sheriff Lester P. Morrison Novel Page 7
