by Jack July
She sat for a minute without speaking to allow Leon to digest what she had said.
He sighed. “I never thought about that. But that doesn’t change the fact that he has lost his mind. You had to see it to understand.”
“Daddy, what you see as Uncle Jack is not who he is. He works on being that man everyday. Think about it. Why doesn’t he ever leave Jackson County? Why does he have the same friends he had before the war? He has no new friends. He’s never had a job. Think about that. Never. Did you know Aunt Carla Jo bought the Bluebird? She never told Uncle Jack. It was losing money. They were going to close it. It operates at a five thousand dollar a month loss. She made it a subsidiary of the trucking company and she writes it off. She had to buy it so he would have a place to eat. He won’t go anywhere else. He can’t go anywhere else. No stress, no conflict. That’s how he survives. He loves Aunt Carla Jo so completely that he is able to allow her to manage his whole world.”
Leon was looking down, scratching the whiskers on his chin. “And now he has nobody to manage his world.”
“It’s worse than that. I think somebody tried to kill her. I think that somebody is Kent Stone. I think Uncle Jack is going to kill him.”
“Yeah, well, if that’s the case, serves him right.”
“I thought you might say that.” She leaned in, tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. “You wanna tell me what he did to my mother?”
Leon looked down at his hand and rubbed the small blister between his thumb and index finger he’d gotten while beating Stone with a belt. “Alright. Your mother and I had our first date. She was something else. Funny, pretty, smart, and I just figured she was way out of my league. Anyway, she was decorating the gym for homecoming after school. I told her I’d pick her up, but my old car quit runnin’. Kent Stone offered her a ride home, an’ she took it. A couple miles from her house he pulled off on an old fire road. Rich boy decided he’d take what he wanted.” He looked at Amy and smiled. “Your momma was a lot like you. Tall, strong, and she was a fighter. She fought. She fought hard, and he never got what he wanted. Instead he beat the hell out of her. She had to walk nearly two miles to get home. Clothes were torn half off of her, bloodied, cracked ribs.
Amy’s hand covered her mouth. “Jesus.”
“Yeah. When I found out I took an ax handle out of that barn down yonder, and I was going to beat that son of a bitch to death. Your granddaddy stopped me. He said it wasn’t my place. That was her daddy’s job. Well, her daddy wasn’t an outlaw or any kind of fightin’ man. He was a good hard workin’ family man. Still, he come by the house to talk to your Granddaddy Marcel. Daddy gave him somethin’. To this day, I don’t know what it was. I think it was a gun, but I’m not sure. Mr. Murphy was gonna handle his business until Kent’s daddy, the judge, sent six men to his house. Told him that if anything happened to Kent, they’d kill his whole damn family. So he had to let it go.”
Amy blew a half whistle between her lips and shook her head. “That had to be hard to let go.”
“Oh yeah. You remember that bump on the bridge of your momma’s nose?”
Amy nodded. “Yeah.”
“That came from Kent Stone’s fist. I saw that bump everyday for over twenty years. Your momma, she gave it to Jesus and let it go. Me? I couldn’t let it go. I hunted him a couple times. Thought I could catch him alone. It never worked out.”
Leon was looking out the window toward the woods, deep in thought.
“Hey, Daddy?”
He turned back. “Yeah honey?”
“Didja let it go last night?”
One corner of his mouth went up in a half smile. “You damn right I did.”
Amy smiled. “Good. Daddy, we can’t let Uncle Jack kill him. Killing a politician isn’t a big deal. Most of ’em are liars and crooks. The crime is violating the constitutional rights of all those people that voted for ’em. If Uncle Jack kills him, they’ll send a team after him. They won’t arrest him because they’re afraid of him. They’ll gun him down like a dog. But I promise you, it’ll be a hell of a fight, ’cause they’ll have to kill me too. Where is he, Daddy?”
He sighed and stared at her for a moment. “I’d check Braxton Camp. If he ain’t there, Junior’s huntin’ shack. Really, there ain’t no tellin’. He can sleep on the ground with the snakes. He could be anywhere.”
They both stood up. “Thank you, Daddy.” She hugged him and gave him a kiss. “I love you.”
“I love you too baby; be careful.”
Chapter 42
Jack woke up in Junior Gossett’s hunting shack. Although “shack” was hardly a description; small two-bedroom house was more like it. He hadn’t changed his clothes in two days and they smelled like it. He showered, shaved, made some coffee and had a can of Hormel chili for breakfast. He didn’t bother to heat it, just ate it out of the can. He checked the time. It was 8:15 A.M., so he called Kelly, who answered after one ring. “Hey, Jack, ah, I’m not at work. Today’s my day off.”
“Who’s sittin’ with her?”
Kelly didn’t think anyone was sitting with her. Everyone had lives, things to do. “I’m not sure, but I know after church Carol was going to be there. I’ll be there sometime today.”
“She hasn’t changed?”
“No, sir. Not as of last night.”
“Okay.”
“The law’s lookin’ for ya. Maybe you could come and talk to ’em.”
“Kelly? Take care of my wife. I’ll call you later.”
“Yes, sir.”
Kelly set her phone on the kitchen table and took a sip of coffee. FBI? Why is the FBI involved? What in the hell is going on? Then her phone rang again. “Kelly? Bogus, how are you this morning?”
“Good, good. To what do I owe the honor of this call?”
“I need to come see you. I’m bringing a friend.”
“I’m not really ready to have com—”
Bogus cut her off. “Wonderful, I’ll see you in 20 minutes.”
Joseph walked out of the bedroom dressed in his work clothes as cars began showing up in front of the shop. He leaned over, hugged her and gave her a kiss. “Hey.”
“Hey, yourself. You ain’t going to church?”
“No, I got too much work to do. We have a testing date with Earl Spencer. I want to rebuild the front end of the second truck, change the geometry and hopefully make it turn better.”
“Your daddy’s gonna change the geometry on your ass if you don’t go to church.”
He poured himself a mug of coffee and grabbed two Little Debbie Honey Buns from the top of the refrigerator. He gave her the smile that put the dimples in his cheeks. “I think Jesus wants me to go fast and turn left.”
“Ooo, blasphemer. Be careful.”
“I gotta finish what I set out to do. Daddy knows. Hear anything about Aunt Carla Jo?”
“No. Uncle Jack called me.”
“Did he say where he was?”
“No.”
“Didja tell him Amy was back?”
“No.”
“You know, you’re the only one he talks to. Keep it to yourself.”
“Yeah, I understand. Do you know if he did what they think he did?”
He put his coffee and breakfast down on the counter, pulled up the chair next hers, took her hand and pulled her onto his lap. He put his arms around her, pulled her close, kissed her and whispered in her ear, “No, but I’m gonna tell you something about this family that you may have already figured out. Some questions you never ever ask. Some things you never say out loud. Okay?”
“Okay,” she whispered back.
They stood. He kissed her again, grabbed his coffee, headed for the door then stopped. “Whoudja pick us up some Popeye’s chicken around eleven?”
“Sure.”
“Be sure to get me a box of—”
She finished his sentence, “Gizzards and livers, yeah, I know.”
He smiled at her and walked out the back door. Before she could sit down, the
re came a knock at the front door.
“Kelly, you are looking lovely as always.” Bogus leaned in and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
She smiled at him. She couldn’t help it. She thought, still the most beautiful man I think I have ever seen. “Hi, come on in.”
“Kelly Cook, I would like you to meet my friend, Dr. Lange.”
She stuck out her hand. He did not reciprocate, leaving her to clumsily pull it back. “Oh, you must be a surgeon.”
“Yes, among other things.”
Kelly picked up on the British accent. “Are you from England?”
Dr. Lange looked at Bogus as if to say, “Must I continue with this banter?”
Bogus smiled. “Yes, he is. Let’s make ourselves comfortable; we have to talk.”
They pulled up chairs around the kitchen table. “Can I get ya’ll some coffee?”
Dr. Lange asked, “Do you have tea?”
Kelly nodded. “Sweet tea.”
Bogus shook his head and said to Lange, “It’s not the same.”
Bogus motioned her back to the table. “Kelly, we are fine. Please, sit.”
Kelly sat down and looked back and forth between the men. “So, what can I do for you?”
Bogus began. “Kelly, this is Dr. Alister Lange, Director of the Institute of Neurology in the United Kingdom.”
Kelly sat up straight in her chair. “Hey, wait, I think I used the text book you wrote in school.”
Dr. Lange nodded. “Most likely.”
“Wow, it’s an honor to meet you.”
Dr. Lange sighed. “Yes, I’m sure it is. Now the reason I am here is I have looked over Mrs. Brown’s medical chart. No doubt you understand that the possibility of recovering from the coma, with her injuries, is less than 20%.”
Kelly frowned and looked away. “Yes, but we don’t tell families that. We like to keep hope alive.”
Dr. Lange deadpanned, “Well, how kind of you. I believe there is a chance we can bring her out of the coma.”
Kelly cocked her head and raised an eyebrow. “We? What do you mean, we?”
Dr. Lange pulled a vial out of his pocket and set it at the center of the table. “We. I give this to you, and you inject it into her IV.”
She picked it up. The glass vial had no label. “What is it? I’ve never heard of anything like that.”
“It’s an experimental drug.”
“So, it hasn’t been approved by the FDA?”
“No, and most likely it never will be.”
She quickly set it back down like it was burning her fingers. “Oh, wait, I can’t do that; I’ll lose my license. No... license, hell! I’ll go to jail.”
Bogus chimed in, “Not if you don’t get caught.”
She turned her head to look at Bogus. “You’re shittin’ me, right?”
Dr. Lange said the first nice thing since he arrived. “My dear, I am impressed by your response. It is highly ethical, and ethics are extremely important in medicine. That being said, what is ethical about not allowing people a chance to live? What’s ethical about allowing bureaucrats to stand in the way of life-saving treatments?”
Kelly nodded. “Yeah, I know. Ah, so, what happens after it’s injected?”
Dr. Lange responded with guarded optimism. “In six to ten minutes, she may awake.”
“May?”
“Yes, there is a 40% chance of success.”
“How bout the other sixty?”
“Well, there is a 40% chance nothing will happen.”
“And the other twenty?”
“The patient will expire.”
Kelly’s head dropped into her hands as she mumbled, “Jesus Christ.” Then she looked up. “Why me? Why are you asking me?”
Bogus reached over and took her hand. “Because you have the skills, and the access, and you can adjust the drip on the IV.”
Kelly nodded. “I don’t know. I’m, I’m gonna hafta pray real hard on this.”
Dr. Lange stood up. “Pray quickly, my dear. There are several million pounds invested in that little vial, and before I leave at three o’clock, I need to record an outcome.”
Bogus patted her on the hand. “You’ll do the right thing. We’ll see ourselves out.”
Kelly nodded. After she heard the front door shut, she began to pray.
Amy drove her truck down the steep red clay road toward Braxton camp. She paid special attention to the road, looking for fresh tire tracks. There were plenty to be seen. Once she reached the camp she slid down out of the truck and shut the door. It had been over a decade since she had been down here. It hadn’t changed at all. She walked to the first trailer and looked up the stairs before starting up, and testing the rotting wood with every step. She opened the door and was met by a faint odor of cigarette smoke. Oh yeah, he was here... and not too long ago.
She opened the cabinets, looking for something, anything, a hint or clue about where he was and what he was up to. She found the stash. Lucky Strikes, shine, hey, look, Vienna sausages. I used to love these. She left the trailer and walked carefully down the steps. She took another little walk around and sat down at the closest picnic table. After cracking the pop-top on the sausages, she shook the water out and opened the can. They were packed in so tight, she always destroyed the first one trying to get it out. As soon as she got one out she popped it in her mouth and took about three chews. Oh, oh that’s disgusting. She spat it on the ground.
She gazed at the tire swing, smiled and remembered her older brother Kerry pushing her. “Higher! Higher!” she would yell. She looked back towards the woods, about fifty yards away. Sticks still poked up from the ground where they would hang targets and set up cans to plink with her little .22. Turning back to the river, she remembered why she’d stopped coming here. This was where her brother drowned. The Indian River had claimed quite a few young men over the years, each one trying to prove himself by swimming through the strong and at times tricky currents. She bowed her head and said a little prayer. That’s when she saw the long rectangular mark, like something had been moved. Looking over at the other picnic table, she saw the old burlap tube of sand. It had an indent at the center. There were several lying around the picnic tables. They used them to steady a rifle stock.
As she approached the table closer to the river, something else occurred to her; the sand tube was on the wrong side of the table. She sat down and pretended to shoot a rifle. Why would someone shoot toward the river? Unless they were shooting at something on the other side? She went to the back seat of her truck, dug through her tactical bag, retrieved her spotter’s scope and sat back down. She lined herself up again as if she were taking a shot. She scanned back and forth, over and over for ten minutes, trying to find a target. She saw something red. It was the cap on a milk jug. Zooming in on it, she saw the milk jug blown in half. The rangefinder reading was 424 yards. Hmm, that’s a hell of a shot. Over a river, in the wind...yeah, could be.
She started to get up when her foot hit something under the table. She smiled. Oh wow, the little steel brass bucket. “Save your brass,” her daddy would say. She picked it up, sat it on the seat beside her and saw that among the corroded old shells were four shiny shell casings. She picked one out and looked at it. .303, huh, that would be the Enfield forty-two. Then she started singing under her breath the old AT&T commercial her Uncle Jack would sing when he was teaching her how to make the long shots. “Reach out, reach out and touch someone, wherever you are, you’re never too far…”
Chapter 43
Micky leaned against the stall door where Mathias once greeted him every morning. He wasn’t finished grieving. Athos quietly walked up behind him. Micky was startled when he appeared. “Athos? You need to make more noise.”
“Sorry, that’s how I was trained.”
Micky looked back inside the stall. “Mathias is dead because of Congressman Stone, isn’t he?”
Athos shrugged. “Is not my place to say.”
“He didn’t pull the trigger but he
sent them, didn’t he?” His voice began rising and echoing inside the space. “I want him dead, do you understand? I. want. him. dead! I WANT HIM BLOODY FUCKING DEAD!”
Athos said nothing. He put his hand on Micky’s shoulder and nodded. Micky turned toward him. “Kill him for me. You know how; kill him for me.”
“I’m sorry, Sir Micky, I don’t do that.”
“I saw you. I’ll pay you. I’ll give you—”
Athos interrupted, “No, that is not what you saw.”
Micky got up in his face enough to make him twitch. “I know what I saw.”
Athos put his hands in front of him and re-established a distance. “Sit,” Athos said kindly. He gestured to the bench next to the stall. “I will tell you story; you listen, okay?”
Micky said with agitation, “What is it with you people and your stupid bloody stories?”
Athos looked down for a moment. He reached up and touched a small cut on the side of his head he’d received while rescuing Micky. Micky saw him do it. Athos looked back up. “I only tell stories to people I care about. It’s how I, ah, share.”
Micky suddenly felt like a jerk. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.”
“Is fine, now listen. When I was a boy my father was fighting in a war. I stay with my grandfather. He had a vineyard and made wine, some of the best in Cyprus. He had ah, competition, as you say, the Chaplin family. They kill many of my grandfather’s vines. People wanted him to fight, to kill Chaplin. I was standing beside him when he told the people, ‘If you seek revenge, you must dig two graves.’ He harvested what he could. When he brought his wagon into town, the people bought all of his wine. When Chaplin brought his, they bought none. Chaplin went out of business. The people loaned my father money and he bought Chaplin’s vineyard. The Hadjipavlou, that is my family name, winery, still exist today. It is the largest in Cyprus. Your honor will always be worth more than money. Do you understand?”
