“He’s quitting,” Lester said. “Probably headed to his daddy’s place of business and lawyer up.”
“Thank God!” Billy Ray sighed. “Maybe I’ll still have a car when this is over with.”
“Thing is,” Lester said. “Why would an innocent man hit an officer of the law and then take off like he did? That boy has some serious explaining to do. Looks like he’s slowed down some though.”
Greg didn’t stop at Kingston Ford New and Used Cars, but continued west and then back north until the Mustang came to rest in the driveway of the nicest home in Boise City, a two story, brick and stone, with a swimming pool in the back.
“Think we should call the city boys?” Billy Ray asked as Lester pulled behind the Mustang, blocking it from the street. “They were in on this.”
“Maybe in a bit. I want to talk to this kid first.”
Lester pushed the doorbell, heard chimes, and waited. An attractive woman, deeply tanned and wearing pink shorts with a matching top, opened the door and started to smile. At the sight of the uniforms, her blue eyes, expertly appointed with dark mascara, went wide.
“Oh my God! What’s going on? Has something happened?” her voice rising with anxiety.
Lester raised his palms and shook his head. “No Ma’am. Nothing’s happened. May we come in? I just need to talk to your son for a minute. I believe he’s home.”
Marlene Kingston swung the door open for the lawmen, her inbred social skills automatic, but she then went from cordial, to fearful, to defensive, all in less than ten seconds.
Now frowning, she said, “And just why would you need to talk to my son?”
Lester was on shaky legal ground and he knew it. He had no search warrant; however there was the matter of speeding, reckless driving, and eluding a police officer, not to mention the poke in the jaw. The fact that the boy was now denned up inside the home made things a little more complicated. Charging into the home of the most prominent citizen of Boise City could bring problems later.
“I just need to ask him a couple questions, Ma’am. That’s all.”
“A couple questions about what?” Marlene didn’t wait for an answer. “You stay right there. I’m calling Mr. Kingston at the showroom.” She spun and marched away without a sign of a butt jiggle, her trim physique the likely results of hours on the Stairmaster in the home gym and hundreds of laps in the pool.
Billy Ray said, “I guess we wait.”
“I just chased that boy at 90 miles an hour,” Lester said. “I’m not gonna stand here and cool my heels to wait for a daddy and a lawyer to show up. See those stairs? I reckon his room would be up there somewhere. You stay here and hold mama off of me for a few minutes, okay?”
Before Billy Ray could protest, Lester eased through the outer storm door and silently crossed the thick carpeting to the curved stairway. Marlene returned just as Lester disappeared down the second floor hallway.
“Where’s the other man?” she asked.
“Uh, he had to…uh…take care of something. He’ll be right back,” Billy Ray said, searching for any reasonable explanation and failing.
“What’s that strange car doing in my driveway? Is that what you’re driving?” Marlene’s indignity was growing as large as her surgically enhanced breasts. “Shouldn’t you be driving a police car? There’s something odd about this, young man. Let me see your badge. Take it off so I can get a good look. You got any other ID? Never mind. I’m calling the police station. I’m checking you out. What’s your name?”
In the face of the verbal assault, Billy Ray blinked his eyes and backed away, nearly fell when he reached the steps, and said, “Ledbetter Ma’am, Deputy Ledbetter.” He thought adding the title might make him look and sound a little more official. The “police car” Camaro with the banged up rear fender did little to aid his credibility. The ornate front door of the Kingston abode slammed shut with a bang followed by the click of a sturdy lock. Sheriff, this is one of those times when you’re gonna wish you had a cell phone, Billy Ray thought.
The second level of the home had four doorways, two closed, two open. Lester stuck his head in the first room he came to. He saw a pool table, the playing surface covered in red with a white OU logo in the center. Workout machines—including a full set of free weights—filled the floor space. Photos lined the walls; Greg holding trophies, team pictures with grinning kids in football uniforms and holding championship banners, one signed 8x10 of OU coach Bob Stoops and the team after their win over Florida State in the 2000 national title game.
Lester moved on, going slow, listened at a closed door, heard nothing, went to the next. An open room at the end of the hallway was dark, shades drawn. He decided to check it next and the others after that. He wondered if he should have brought his pistol along. He waited a moment for his eyes to adjust to the room, didn’t see anyone, and was about to turn away when a voice said, “Don’t come in here.”
Boomer Kingston stepped from a walk-in closet, backlit from a ceiling light. Lester couldn’t tell what kind of gun he was holding but it looked big and it looked ugly.
Chapter 37
The play was a fake draw but William (everyone called him Big Bill) Kingston smelled it out, did a spin move around the offensive guard, and wrapped up the speedy Nebraska halfback the moment he hit the line of scrimmage. It was a mass of flesh and sweat and muscle and pads that fell to the turf that day; legs churning, elbows shoving, spitting, and cussing when Big Bill felt someone roll up on his left leg and despite the roar of the Sooner fans in the crowd, heard a distinctive pop just as the ref blew his whistle. What scared Big Bill more than the intense pain was the odd angle of his leg, a new and strange position he’d never seen before with the lower part of his leg bent forward instead of back.
Later, the surgeon would tell him that it was the worst ACL injury he had ever seen. Big Bill feared that his playing days as a defensive end for the University of Oklahoma might well be over. He was right. At the following spring practice, the coaches checked his progress, and were not impressed. He suited up for the fall season and played the first half of the opener against a marshmallow opponent, but the quick moves that had earned him a starting position were no longer there. It was the last year he would wear the crimson and cream of his beloved Sooners.
But Big Bill wasn’t all jock. He had an average intelligence, not MIT grade by any means, but enough to earn him a business degree, making his parents proud and impress his girlfriend Marlene Joiner, just finishing her freshman year. Marlene was no Einstein herself, having struggled to make grades at the private Bishop Kelly High School in Tulsa (Marlene liked to hit the malls more than the books). Marlene enrolled at OU at the insistence of her parents—who could easily afford the tuition—her only ambition being to meet a handsome and scholarly young man to support her and the babies they would make. Not exactly what her parents had in mind for the significant investment in their only child. When Marlene announced that she was pregnant, their disappointment in their beautiful, but air-headed daughter doubled. Knowing she would never be a college graduate and married to ex-football player was heartbreaking to say the least. Marlene, on the other hand, was ecstatic.
The wedding was held in one of the biggest churches in Tulsa. Big Bill’s mother attended. His father did not. Having not seen the man since his sixth birthday, Big Bill was not surprised. He often wondered if his father had watched any of his games on TV or at Owen Field. On the bench and with the team on offence, he’d searched the faces in the crowd—normally around 85,000—doubted that he’d recognize the man who sired him, but there was always that chance.
Marlene’s parents, Blain and Susan Joiner, wore phony smiles as their daughter came down the aisle, her six months belly noticeable but not morally offensive. At the lavish reception, Blain had pulled Big Bill aside and handed him an envelope. Inside were tickets to a Sandal’s resort in Tahiti. Before Big Bill could express his gratitude, Blain had told him that he should enjoy the trip but not to expect an
ything else.
“As you might have guessed,” Blain had said,” Marlene’s mother and I were not happy with this marriage. To receive any further respect and support from me, you will have to prove yourself young man. Prove that you can be responsible, a good husband, and a good father to that baby. Only then will I consider financial aid in your future endeavors.” Big Bill had to grin; only Blain would use words like “endeavors,” educated back East like he was.
“Did I say something funny, young man?” Blain asked, raising one eyebrow.
“No Sir,” Big Bill said. “I was only expressing my gratitude of your generosity with a smile.” To himself Big Bill swore, I’ll never ask you for one shiny dime…you pompous ass hole.
And he never did. Big Bill had another natural asset besides being quick of foot on a football field; he had what many would describe with that old cliché as the gift of gab. Big Bill could talk. He could sweet-talk the girls. So smooth were his lines, that more than one OU coed had lost her virginity in the back seat of his tricked out Pontiac GTO. Using a joke and a down- home grin, he could talk himself out of most any traffic ticket—except for one when he was doing 70 in a 35 through a Norman neighborhood. That one cost him three-hundred bucks. The officer hadn’t given a damn if he played for OU or not. Obviously not a football fan, the faggot.
Big Bill could convince a preacher that he was the next thing to a choirboy and would tithe to the church just as soon as his meager cash flow improved. Big Bill could make a lie sound like one of the Ten Commandments. People that knew Big Bill would nod in knowing agreement when they learned that he had found a job as a used car salesman working for Friendly John’s Auto Emporium where the big yellow sign out front read: No Cash, No Credit, No Problem.
It was near closing time at the lot when Big Bill got the call. Marlene, sounding excited and a little scared, said it was time to go the hospital. His latest wheels, a Cadillac, only two years old but with a major dent in the door, raced across town, running reds when it looked safe, and screeched to a halt in front of the duplex they were renting. Marlene had prepared for the moment for months and all went well on the drive to the delivery room. Big Bill had been thinking about names ever since the ultrasound had revealed the child to be a boy. He had one picked out, but was reluctant to tell his wife, not sure how it would go over since she had settled on the name Greg or Timothy. He had said nothing at the time, but Timothy sounded too much like timid to Big Bill. No son of his would ever be Timothy, or Timmy, or timid. He could hear the school bullies now, “Hey Timmy Timid, we’re gonna kick your butt today.” The name he had picked was perfect and dammit, it was the name the boy would have.
Boomer, as in Boomer by gawd Sooner. What better name than that? With any luck and a few genes from his old man, Boomer would play for the Big Red of Oklahoma, probably as a kick-ass linebacker. Sweet. He would tell Marlene as soon as they brought her and his new baby boy back to the room.
“You want to call my baby what?” Marlene screeched, her eyes flashing despite the effects of the painkillers. “No freakin’ way, Bill. That’s just crazy. C’mon, you want him to be President Boomer Kingston?” she said as she cuddled the newborn to her breast. “I’ll agree to Greg, but no Boomer.” And so it was, that the official name on the birth certificate would read Greg Boomer Kingston, a compromise. Big Bill would have to be satisfied with that for now.
The years passed, mostly uneventful, a couple at Friendly John’s Auto Emporium and five more at a good sized lot on Eleventh Street called American Eagle Autos. At age five, Boomer—even Marlene called him that now—had played his first game of flag football while Big Bill yelled himself hoarse from the sidelines. It wasn’t all supportive, of course. Once when Boomer forgot which goal line to cross and scored for the other team, Big Bill threw his ball cap to the ground and was halfway across the field before the referee stopped him and told him to calm down or he would be asked to leave. Big Bill was not shy about pointing out his kid’s natural physical ability to the other parents, so much so that most refused to sit or stand next to him. The boisterous Big Bill was an embarrassment to Marlene and she eventually quit going to the games, making excuses about allergies and headaches to the other moms.
The other parents hated to admit it, but Big Bill wasn’t far off with his brags of athletic prowess concerning young Boomer. The kid was big for his age with excellent eye/hand coordination and could outrun any of the other boys by a good ten yards on a fifty-yard dash. While not quite a spiral, Boomer’s large hands could toss the ball with reasonable accuracy although catches were rare in that age group.
Boomer’s football career followed its natural course; schools and practices, coaching clinics, and eventually the Pop Warner League. Big Bill progressed as well. He got on the sales staff at one of the two Honda dealerships in town, did well, and eventually moved on to a Cadillac dealership—a much more fitting automobile for his ego—where he won Salesman of the Year twice in a row. Never missing a chance to tell any prospective buyer, especially the men, how he once played football for the University of Oklahoma, Big Bill would stress how the school had taught him a sense of teamwork and fair play, assets that he used today to make absolutely sure that the buyer received the best deal possible. Big Bill guaranteed it, word of honor.
It wasn’t until Boomer’s junior year at Union High School where the Redskins were the odds-on favorite to win the state 6A championship that year, that Big Bill faced the biggest decision in his life. Selling cars was a fine job, as far as it went. He and Marlene had a comfortable house on a half-acre lot, a new Cadillac in the driveway, even an undersized in-ground pool in the backyard (Marlene constantly complained that it was too small to swim in). Still, it wasn’t enough. Big Bill Kingston wanted more. It wasn’t just the money, he wanted prestige. He yearned to have his name on billboards, to be recognized in restaurants, and he wanted to be on TV, doing his own commercials on the evening news. Big Bill wanted his own dealership.
He had saved his money and with the help of a financial advisor, made some wise and profitable investments. But having the cash to buy a dealership in Tulsa, Oklahoma was on another financial level altogether. He talked with every bank in town for a loan. Most listened politely to his proposal, but the end result was the same, “Sorry, not at this time.”
It seemed hopeless, but when he confided his dreams to his boss, the man told him about an opportunity he’d recently heard about. A Ford dealership was coming up for sale, but it was way the hell out in the Panhandle, Boise City, Oklahoma. His boss thought that the price seemed fair for that area and encouraged his top salesman to check it out. Big Bill looked into it, made phone calls, and without telling Marlene, had driven to Cimarron County to look the place over. While not exactly the big business he’d had in mind, it would be a start. Do well in Boise City and Tulsa would be next, or Dallas, or Kansas City.
The problem though was Boomer. The boy had developed into a football player beyond Big Bill’s most ambitious dreams. He had an arm like the proverbial rifle; his accuracy, uncanny. He could run with the ball too, something that Big Bill discouraged with the coaches, fearing a career ending injury. The coaches ignored him with Boomer keeping the ball whenever the situation called for it. Word had gotten around. Every other week, the Tulsa World ran articles of praise. Scouts from Oklahoma State, the University of Tulsa., Texas Tech, Texas A&M, and, Oh Yes! - the University of Oklahoma had been seen in the stands. Only OU mattered. The other teams were wasting their time, but since it was against the rules for recruiters to talk to Boomer while only a junior, Big Bill said nothing to discourage anyone.
But Boise City? Small school, very, very small. Hell, they were so small, they had to play eight-man football for pity sakes. My Gawd, Boomer would fall off every recruiting chart in the country. Or would he? The boy had proven himself, even before his senior year. The colleges knew he was special but… Big Bill tossed in his sleep, drank too much, and let his sales figures slip. The decision was kill
ing him. Put his personal gain over his son’s possible future as a star OU quarterback, possibly a Heisman Trophy winner with his own statue on the campus? But that’s what it came down to, pure and simple.
It was an unseasonably warm December night when the most heavily attended high school game in state history took place between Union and their classic rival, the Jenks Trojans. Big Bill liked to joke, “How would you like it if your son played for a school named after a condom?” But on this night, the joke would be on the Union Redskins. Costly fumbles and missed tackles cost them the championship trophy in a game that wasn’t decided until the final minute when a Jenks fullback made a flying leap over right tackle and touched the ball to the goal line. Boomer had another great night, a personal best on passing yards, but it was not enough.
It was two weeks later at the Sunday family brunch. Marlene had prepared omelets, a plate of crispy bacon, and a thick stack of pancakes, when Big Bill made an announcement.
“We’re moving. I’ve given it a lot of thought and I believe that in the long run, it’s best for our family. I’m buying the Ford dealership in Boise City. It’s a wonderful opportunity. And it won’t be for long, Boomer, I promise you, a couple years maybe. I’ll turn that place around and sell more cars and make more money than you’ve ever seen in your life. We’ll live high on the hog, boy. Our own dealership. Get you a new car to drive. How about one of those fancy Mustangs? You’d look good in that, girls climbing all over you.”
Boomer blinked his eyes, mouth agape. Boomer had heard his dad talk of moving several times but hadn’t given it any serious consideration. Hell, his dad wanted him to go OU on full scholarship, maybe more than he did. Surely to God, he wasn’t seriously thinking about going to, where was it… something City?
Fraidy Hole: A Sheriff Lester P. Morrison Novel Page 29
