Helix

by Dave Balcom

  “Well, she’s God’s lawyer.”

  “What?”

  “We went to the paper like you suggested. They knew nothing about the stop order or any hearings; the editor had a fit. That letter wasn’t signed, did you notice that?”

  “It was on the Zoning Board’s letterhead, but I didn’t see the second page; there was no signature?”

  “No! They made a couple of phone calls, and it came out that there had been some complaints, but the Zoning Commission hadn’t decided what to do about it. Well, the paper filed a story on their website, promising more details as they came in... guess that’s all different from when you were...”

  “Not really; it’s the right thing for them to do.”

  “Anyway, this lawyer, Mary Elizabeth, she follows the paper’s website – something to do with a client from this area – anyway when she read the text of the letter, she called me. I just spoke with her on the phone, and she’s coming tomorrow to represent Table of Grace to put an end to this immediately!”

  “Did my name come up at all?”

  “No, why should it? I’m calling because I don’t want you to forget that you’re the one who was so certain that God would provide. I gotta admit Grace and I were losing faith, but you held tight. I do believe there’s hope for you yet, Jim; I’m so proud to say it, Alleluia!” and he hung up.

  I just sat there, big grin on my face, and wondered if I dared wake Jan up with the news...

  Chapter 38

  I was on the mountain with Judy the next morning when my phone rattled in my pocket. “Stanton here.”

  “Rooker here, Jim. I’m en route through the Gorge, and wanted to make sure you’d have time for me today.”

  “Elmo called last night and told me you were coming over.”

  “I talked with the city attorney a few minutes ago, and my presence isn’t actually needed, but I thought, what ‘n’ hell, I haven’t seen Wes and Jean James or their kids since Suzy’s funeral, but I still represent the James Family Ranch and Sheep Company, and now I represent the Table of Grace Soup Kitchen.

  “Their trouble won’t amount to much, will it?”

  “It’s already history. And, as your luck would have it, it’s something of a mystery, as well.”

  “How so?”

  “Nobody knows how that letter was created, printed, or mailed using the City’s postage meter. For certain, the city lawyer assured me, there has not been, nor will there ever be, a move to shut the Table down.”

  “When do you want to see me?”

  “I thought after lunch at the James Ranch?”

  “You should come up, it’ll only add a few minutes to your drive home. You could meet my wife, Jan.”

  “Great! I’m still bummed by the lack of an invitation to the wedding, but I look forward to meeting her.”

  “Perfect; around 2?”

  “Directions?”

  “Wes has been here many times.”

  Back at the house Jan was sitting over coffee on the deck when I told her about “God’s lawyer” and Elmo’s late-night call.

  “She’s coming here?”

  “To meet you and just touch base. She was a great help to Suzy James back when all that went down.”

  “So, how big a help was she for you?”

  “I’ll take that twinge of jealousy as a compliment, my dear. You ponder your bitingly snide remark until I’m back from my shower.”

  When I returned to the deck she was on the phone. I poured my own coffee and freshened hers. She disconnected as I brought the cup.

  “Did you say 2?”

  “I did.”

  “I better hurry.”

  “For what?”

  “You think I’m welcoming an old flame of yours in a house that hasn’t been cleaned appropriately in weeks?”

  “I’m going to write; I’ll clean upstairs in case you give her a full tour.”

  She cocked an eyebrow at me, and I laughed all the way to my desk, just to prove I wasn’t afraid of her.

  I was thinking about lunch when my phone rang.

  “Stanton...”

  “It’s Mary; Jim, we’re in trouble.” She was whispering.

  “Where are you?”

  “The Table; there is a man here ranting about ending this operation; spewing all kinds of crap about meddling do-gooders and preserving the white race, marriage, and family. Please send help.”

  “Don’t talk. Leave your phone live, I want to be able to hear.” I was at Jan’s side in seconds, took her phone and punched in Pete Boyd’s number. When he answered I started to explain what I’d heard just as Mary’s phone disconnected.

  “I’ll meet you there, Pete,” I said, ready to disconnect.

  “Jim! You’ll do no such thing. You show up there in the next 8 hours and I’ll have you arrested on sight. I’ll call you when I know what to say. Hear me, mister?”

  “I can’t believe...”

  “Believe what you want, but I’m busy doing my job.”

  The phone went dead. Jan, her face clouded with concern, was staring at my eyes.

  “What was all that about a gunman at the Table?” She said as she jumped out of her chair.

  “Where are you going?”

  “For my purse; we’re .... What?”

  “Boyd says he’ll have us arrested if we so much as show up down there today.”

  “Us?”

  “Me.”

  A faint smile flickered at her lips, but her eyes were full of concern. “I can’t imagine how that makes you feel; you can’t imagine how good and safe that makes me feel.” Her voice was soft and I knew her thoughts were from her heart. I put my arms around her and we stood there on the deck, weaving a bit as I rested my chin on the top of her head and felt that old, haunting sense of being stuck inside while real people were doing real work that made a real difference.

  “I just hate being deskbound,” I said for maybe the millionth time.

  She didn’t answer, and we were standing there like that when I realized I was looking at a large man hiding in the shade of a cedar tree on the edge of our yard.

  I couldn’t make out his face, but I felt the surge of adrenaline as I focused on my heartbeat and breathing to bring both back to normal.

  “What’s the matter?” She murmured into my throat.

  “We’re being watched,” I said just as softly. “Let’s go inside without looking around, okay?”

  “Jim?”

  “It’s okay, really. Let’s just go indoors.” I raised my voice, “You want some tea?” as I ushered her inside.

  She went straight to her purse; I collected my Taurus and checked to make sure it was in operation mode, “You sit right here, Jan; I’m going out the front door.”

  “Call 911.”

  “You do it. I’m going to find out if that’s who I think it is; and, if so, I’m going to put him in custody.”

  “Who do you...?”

  “Shore, who else? Make the call; I’ll be right back.”

  I didn’t close the front door as I left, just gave Judy the “sit, stay” hand gesture and snuck around the corner of the garage.

  “You don’t look all that much different, Jim.”

  “I wouldn’t have recognized you if you hadn’t spoken, Randy.”

  Mason was still a monster of a man; a good three inches taller than I, and at least a hundred pounds heavier.

  “You saw me; I knew it. I thought I saw you regain your balance, and then when you yelled out about the tea for my benefit, I was sure. I knew you’d come around this way, and I knew you’d be armed.”

  “You’re not armed?”

  “Never. Remember that time I went all anaconda on that gook in ’Nam?”

  I remembered.

  “You take a call about a fuss at the Table of Grace, Jim?”

  “I did; was that you?”

  “The plan was you’d come running out to your truck. It was just a ruse to lure you where you could be taken.”

&nb
sp; “Okay, but why?”

  “You don’t die so easily in that house.”

  “I don’t die that easily anywhere, Randy; you should know that.”

  “If you aren’t careful, you and your bride can die today.” As he said that, he reached out to grab me.

  Knowing how powerful that grab could be, I intercepted his hand with both of mine, and reversed my weight to bend his fingers down to his toes. At that instant, as I was spinning on the ball of my right foot to increase the leverage, his other hand stabbed me, fingers first, under my left ribs.

  The pain shot down into my bowels, but I continued my move only to have him lift me off my feet with his bent hand. I could hear his fingers snapping under the strain, but he didn’t relax his grip. He stabbed me with his fingers again, and I let go of his hand. We stood there for a second, both panting.

  “Don’t be an ass, Stanton,” he hissed. “This is nuts!”

  I feinted to turn away as if I were going to flee, and he stepped towards me. I spun into a kick aimed at his face, but he blocked it with crossed arms, shoved my foot up and away from him, leaving my back to him. He closed in and wrapped his arms around me, pinning my arms to my side.

  “Don’t make this worse,” he hissed again, and I felt him take a deep breath, squeezing the air out of my lungs. His power was amazing; I knew how this would end if I allowed him to squeeze all the air out of my lungs.

  I snatched a quick breath and he applied more pressure, but this time I fought off the urge to expel my air. He had my feet off the ground, and was turning to bash me against the wall of my garage, but I reacted by arching my back enough so my legs were parallel to the ground. As he stepped closer to the wall, I let my knees bend, and on his next step I pushed the wall with my feet as hard as I could.

  The wall didn’t move, but combined with my weight and the angle of the push, he staggered backwards, trying to catch his balance as I bicycle-kicked my legs as fast as I could.

  As the first tinge of darkness closed in on my eyes, I felt him lose his balance, and, as he fell backwards, he let go of me in an effort to catch himself.

  I hit the ground at an awkward angle, and felt my ankle twist, shooting a bolt of pain up my leg. I rolled as I landed, and fumbled my Taurus out of my belt as I came to a stop on my butt, legs splayed in front of me.

  Mason was mumbling curse words as he pushed himself up to a standing position and started towards me. I held the Taurus in both hands, pointed at him, but if he saw it, he ignored it, his hands already moving into position to lift me back up.

  The first shot sent what appeared to be a shiver through him, and his face registered pain and wonder at the same time. He only hesitated a second before taking another step in my direction. I shot him again.

  “You shot me!”

  “Did you think I was going to let you crush me?”

  “No, you don’t understand!” His breathing was turning into a gasp, making it difficult for him to talk and for me to hear.

  “What?”

  He had staggered to one knee, his breath now in short gasps, frothy bloody foam at his mouth. “I’m not here to kill you...” His words were coming a syllable at a time, “I’m here to protect ... Mark ... not hurt you...”

  With that, he keeled over.

  Jan came racing down the steps. “Jim?”

  “Right here.” I was sitting still, catching my breath, reliving the past few seconds, and feeling old and tired for the first time in my life.

  She was all over me, touching my face, keeping clear of the Taurus that was still in my hand. “How badly are you hurt?”

  “I think I sprained an ankle, I might have some rib damage... He said he was here to protect me...”

  “Protect?”

  “That’s what he said.” I was replaying the scene in my mind, but she kept interrupting me.

  “Stand up, okay?” She was pulling on my arm, her phone was buzzing, but she ignored it. Finally up on one leg, I gingerly tested the other to see if I could walk. It hurt like blazes, but I hobbled into the garage and up the few stairs to the kitchen.

  “We’ll put some ice on that right away,” she said. Her phone was buzzing again, and this time she answered. “Pete? We have trouble up here. Can you send some help? A huge monster of a man attacked Jim... What?” She stood there listening and I saw fear, followed by pain, regret and sorrow in rapid succession. “Is everyone okay?”

  She listened again. “I don’t ...” Then she handed the phone over to me, and went to the fridge for ice. I could hear soft sobs from her direction but then put the phone to my ear.

  “Jim?” Pete said.

  “Here.”

  “What happened up there?”

  “Guy from my past, Randy Mason, he was watching our house, saw me see him, waited for me outside the garage, and told me that the deal at the Table was a ruse to lure me out of the house; then he said he was ...” I realized I was babbling, “I shot him ... twice...”

  “Is he dead?”

  “I’m ... Yes, he’s dead.”

  “And you?”

  “I’m stove in a bit, he tried to crush me, called it ‘going anaconda...’ What happened at the Table?”

  “Grace, Elmo, and the lawyer were talking, some guy comes in raising all kinds of hell, waving what they thought was a revolver at them. Told the Rooker woman to call you for help, and as soon as she was through, he took her phone and left.”

  “They’re all right?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  ‘So it was a ruse?”

  “Apparently. You don’t sound good, Jim. I’m going to send an ambulance for you.”

  “No, don’t. Send a squad car if you have one in the area.”

  “I’m coming up there myself. This Mason guy, was he alone?”

  “I don’t know the answer to that... I don’t really know anything...”

  “Jim, are you sure you’re okay?”

  “He told me he wasn’t here to hurt me, but that he was supposed to protect...”

  “Protect you from what?”

  “He knew it was a ruse, and he said I didn’t understand...”

  I felt the room starting to spin, and before I could drop the phone, Jan had it, and was propping me up in the bar stool at our kitchen island.

  “Pete,” I heard her say, “I think you need to hurry.”

  Chapter 39

  I was asleep when the EMTs arrived, and after looking me over and consulting with the emergency room doctor on their radio, they gave me a pain killer and went home.

  In the meantime, Pete, the coroner, and all the homicide team descended on us like locusts, but by the time I woke up, only Pete was left. Jan had been sitting in a chair by my bed, and she helped me to the bathroom, and then to my desk where Pete was waiting.

  He recorded my statement and asked all the pertinent questions. When it was over, he had my Taurus in an evidence bag and was making moves to leave. “You need to have those ribs examined, buddy.”

  “I’d like you to rethink taking my weapon, Pete.”

  “You know this is standard...”

  “There’s nothing standard about what’s going on here, Pete!”

  “What do you think is happening here?”

  “I have no idea, but it sure isn’t standard. I might be dead right now if not for that weapon, and I don’t feel safe here without it.”

  “You have other...”

  “No, they’ve all been disabled, remember? They’re all at the gunsmith’s.”

  “What about Jan’s?”

  “Jan’s is really Shirlee’s; Jan’s Colt is also in the shop.”

  “Tell you what; let me run you down to the hospital; I’ll take the weapon to the techs, they’ll do their work; we’ll have dinner, and I’ll bring you home with your weapon.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Jan said from the shadows. “Let’s move; I’m hungry and thirsty.”

  The x-ray didn’t show any broken ribs, and the doctor suggested a corset
-like apparatus rather than an elastic wrap for the first week or so. “You’re not going to be very spry for a while, Mr. Stanton.”

  “I don’t think I’ll ever be spry again.”

  He laughed and chucked me on the shoulder, “You’ll do fine with some rest.”

  We were seated at the Stetson. Boyd’s wife, Marie, had joined us. We were looking at the menu when Mary Elizabeth Rooker approached our table. I saw her out of the corner of my eye, and tried, unsuccessfully, to rise out of my chair to greet her, “Sit still, Jim,” she directed as she arrived.

  I introduced her to Jan and the Boyds. “Can you join us, Mary Elizabeth?”

  “No, thanks. I just finished up with the James Gang,” she pointed at the group at another table. “That business at the Table sort of knocked my schedule out of whack. I’m staying in town tonight, and headed back home tomorrow.”

  “What did happen at the Table?” Jan asked her.

  “Not sure, exactly. We were at the counter, talking, just before 11, and this guy comes in, waving a gun at us, ranting and raving all kinds of racist crap, and then he tells me to call you. I called, thinking he’d leave and I’d call you back, but he took my phone and Grace’s phone with him.”

  Pete interjected, “City cops found both phones on the ledge outside the front door; the guy just didn’t want you called back right away.”

  “Were you able to describe the guy?” I asked Mary, but I was looking at Pete.

  “Tall, reed thin, full beard and mustache; brown eyes, beak of a nose. No visible tats. Wearing jeans, boots, and a tan tee under an old, green fatigue jacket. Bushy eyebrows. That’s about all I have.”

  “Lawyers,” Pete whispered his admiration, “great observers. We have that description out on all points.”

  “It’s Art Truman, and he didn’t look anything like that five minutes after he left,” I said. Jean James then approached the table. I introduced Pete and Marie, and then as the women chatted, Pete and I joined Wes at his table. I introduced the men. “You two should know each other,” I said to Pete. “The way you love to hunt, Wes has some of the best bird cover in these parts.”

  “I know where your spread is, but the land’s all posted, so I never asked permission,” Pete said to the rancher.