Beneath the Tombstone (The Tombstone Series)

by Martin Cogburn

  Wham. Something slammed against the table and made Jason’s heart jump almost as much as he did. With wide eyes and pounding heart, he gave Misty, who had just set her cup down a bit too abruptly, a what-in-the-world look. This whole scheme had him on edge.

  “I was hoping that would get your attention,” she said with a dry smile. “You haven’t heard a word I’ve said.”

  Jason remembered she’d made some comment about seeing the stars, so he just went with that, hoping it would save him. “Yes, you can see the stars,” he said without even glancing up.

  She noticed his lack of interest and, with a bit of frustration beginning to edge into her voice, stated, “You didn’t even look at them.”

  My, wasn’t she observant. While she was off yapping about astronomy, he was single handedly trying to save their marriage. Even if he wasn’t star gazing, you’d think that she could cut him a little slack.

  “I saw them earlier,” Jason countered in an irritated tone as he cast another quick glance at the door and then the entrance from the river.

  “Is something wrong?” Misty questioned, taking note of his irritable behavior.

  At first Jason felt like snapping something along the line of, “Yes, something is wrong; or have you not noticed that our entire marriage is falling apart?” Instead, he realized he was being everything but mister smooth. If tonight was supposed to be about repairing their marriage then he really shouldn’t feel like ripping her head off.

  “Nope, nothing’s wrong,” he lied, hoping she wouldn’t pursue her suspicion.

  She gave him a skeptic look, like she knew he wasn’t giving her the whole story but just wasn’t sure what he’d left out. Then he saw her let it go, intent on enjoying the night out.

  Jason realized he needed to get his game on. That was a bit too close. “How could anything be wrong?” he asked smoothly. “It’s just you and I with the stars in our eyes.”

  “Oh, now that was romantic,” Misty responded a bit grudgingly but with an attitude that said if he would focus on her, forgiveness of his neglect was available.

  “Yes, it was,” he replied in a matter-of-fact way. “I’ve got all kinds of dreamy little sayings like that.” He then began to recite, “Roses are red, violates are blue, and those stars up in heaven know I love you.”

  “Now that was good,” she praised, warming up to his jesting, “but I’m afraid I may have heard it somewhere before.”

  Jason feigned a hurt look. “You couldn’t have. I just made it up right then and there.”

  Their laughter mingled together through the night air as Jason began trying to relax a bit and enjoy the evening.

  A short time later the waiter approached. “Do you need some more tea, ma’am?” he asked pleasantly as he approached with the pitcher.

  “Yes please,” Misty answered with appreciation.

  “Unsweet right?” he questioned as he hovered the pitcher over her cup.

  “Yes,” she replied, her approval of his ability to remember what she was drinking evident in her voice.

  After the waiter left, Misty said, “We need to be sure and leave him a nice tip. He’s doing a really good job.”

  “Yeah,” Jason sighed. “But you and I both know that being a waiter isn’t that hard. Really anyone can do it.” He was just trying to get her riled up.

  It worked. “Jason Hathaway,” Misty lectured. “I’ll have you know that waiters work harder than anyone else on this planet.”

  Of course he couldn’t just let it go at that. “Now how in the world would you know that?” he asked. “You’ve never been a waiter before.”

  Misty started to return fire but caught herself and paused for a moment, realizing he was right. “That may be,” she admitted, “but I’m a waitress. It’s the same thing.”

  “No, it’s not. Not just anyone can be a waitress,” he insisted. “First of all, you’ve got to be a woman, so I’d say that guy’s chances are slim to none. Second, a waiter just brings the food, but a waitress, ah, a waitress, if she’s that special kind of woman with that special kind of touch, she doesn’t just bring the food, but rather… she serves it,” Jason concluded with a graceful wave of his arm.

  Misty’s face was beginning to show a hint of red from blushing. “You’d better be careful, or I’ll dump food on you again,” she teased.

  Jason held up his hands. “In that case, I surrender,” he laughed.

  They were silent for a few moments before Misty looked at him, seeming to contemplate something deep. “Jason, what if we had extra money to provide for a baby?” she asked, seeming to choose her words wisely. “You know, money we just happened to have that wouldn’t affect our current lifestyle… would you be okay with starting a family?”

  Hers was a hypothetical question, obviously, so why not give her a hypothetical answer? “I think so,” he replied. “Like an increase in income or something?”

  “Yeah, something like that, I guess,” Misty answered.

  “Why you asking?”

  “Oh, I have my reasons,” she responded, bringing her glass of tea up to her lips and looking away. Any other time, Jason would have pursued the subject but, at the moment, he had bigger problems on his mind. No reason to get into the “baby discussion” if she was willing to let it lie.

  - - - - - -

  Halfway through the meal, Jason looked up from the food he had been picking at, ran his fingers through his hair and let out a deep sigh.

  “What’s wrong?” Misty asked as she stopped the bite of salad she had moving towards her mouth, leaving it hovering in mid-air.

  “Wrong?” Jason asked after a brief pause. “Oh, um, nothing; nothing’s wrong. I’m just full,” he responded, avoiding the truth; which was, he was having some huge doubts about the plan he and Dr. Throckmorton had constructed.

  His lie seemed to work. “Jason Hathaway is full?” Misty asked incredulously. “Well, now I’ve heard everything. You never leave a bite of your Chicken… whatever it is.”

  “Marsala,” Jason finished for her. “Chicken Marsala.” And she was right. Most times, he would have licked his plate clean if not in a public place – but not tonight. Tonight, unlike most times, he felt like his stomach had gotten tired of doing an inside job and was trying to crawl out of his throat.

  “Is it not as good as usual?” Misty persisted with a half-smile, like she was finding his lack of appetite hard to believe.

  “No, it’s good,” he responded. Take grilled chicken, put it on top of a bed of spaghetti, drench the dish with a marsala sauce swimming with sliced mushrooms, and it made “good” the official understatement of the year.

  “Are you sick?” she asked, half teasing, half serious.

  “No,” Jason said forcing a chuckle, “but this isn’t death, so I can take it with me when I go.”

  Misty laughed and then dove off into some “you remember when” story. Jason tried to act like he was paying attention. He nodded a lot, and said “uh-huh,” but his heart just wasn’t in it.

  She was off on some story from back in college when she stopped mid-sentence. “Jason!” she yelled as she rose to her feet, pointing past him, fixated on something over his left shoulder. “He’s got my purse!”

  It was then that Jason’s evil plan came crashing back to him with the ferocity of a stampede. Spinning around, he saw the fleeing man who had stolen her purse… just like he and the doctor had planned.

  Jason leapt to his feet and sprang into action, only a few steps behind his wife. He had to get ahead of her. She’d grown up on a farm and survived wild animals and two rowdy brothers. No telling what she’d do to that poor man if she caught him. On the lower level, several would-be rescuers jumped up and tried to catch the pretend thief as he darted between their tables. Thankfully, they all went down without achieving their objective, tangled in the tables, chairs and one another.

  Misty darted around the cluster of men and chairs, but Jason leapt over the top, putting himself in the lead. Reaching
the fence that surrounded the lower level, he hurdled it and raced along the River Walk. “Wait here! It’s not safe!” he yelled back to Misty as he ran.

  Not waiting to hear her response, he raced under a bridge that spanned the river and pursued the purse-snatcher along the water’s edge. The pathway did a wide U-turn at the headwaters of the River Walk, looping around and heading back the other direction. Instead of following it, the thief went straight, charging up a grassy embankment and across a street. Reaching the opposite sidewalk, he raced along it, charging past several gift shops and startled tourist. After chasing his accomplice for several blocks, Jason saw him pause for a moment and look back before disappearing into a dark alley. Jogging over to the entrance of the back street, Jason came to an abrupt halt. Waltzing into a dark alley at night was not on his list of heroic things he planned to do. What he’d asked the doctor for was some good, clean, safe danger… This wasn’t it.

  “Yep,” Jason heard a voice beside him state. “I’d say you’re right. That’s an alley.” Jason turned and saw a man standing by his side, staring down into the dark side-street. There was a witty grin on his lips and a gleam in his eye. “Y’all got alley’s back where you come from?” he asked, looking over at Jason.

  “Uh, yeah, yeah,” Jason stammered. “I was just meeting someone here.” He looked around. “I guess he’s not coming. Better go find him.” With that he marched off into the alley.

  The man behind him gave a laugh before disappearing on down the sidewalk. Once the antagonist was gone, Jason slowed down and began creeping his way along. Broken glass lay scattered on the gravel, and dark, empty window frames stared blankly at him. What a spooky place. There was an old blue dumpster sitting on one side of the alley, at the far end of it. When Jason reached it, he noticed a pile of old blankets, trash, and empty bottles all heaped up against its side. Turning, he observed his surroundings. A chill ran up his spine. He had an eerie feeling he was being watched.

  Spooked, Jason moved forward with a brisker pace, walking towards a backstreet that the alley intersected into. As he rounded a building on the corner, he spotted his accomplice. The man was standing faintly illuminated by a street lamp. Upon seeing Jason, he gave a little nod, set the purse down then turned and walked away, soon to be consumed by the darkness.

  After retrieving the purse, Jason walked back over towards the dumpster and stood for a few moments at the mouth of the alley to plan his dramatic return. That’s when it dawned on him – The thing about heroes is they rarely do a heroic act without getting their clothes torn and dirty.

  Now directly in front of the dumpster, Jason lay down and began rolling around in the grimy alley. The small amount of sweat he had managed to work up during his run came in handy for creating a convincing costume. “A little dirt here and a little dirt there,” he quietly mumbled to himself as he rubbed his shirt against the oily, greasy surface of the asphalt.

  After taking care of the messy part, Jason remembered that no self-respecting hero dared go home without at least a hole or two in his clothes, so he grabbed a piece of glass off the ground and ripped a few holes in his pants and shirt. He dropped the piece of glass and as he walked past the dumpster, headed back to what he was sure would be the gracious arms of his wife, he stuck fingers from both hands into the hole in his shirt. If he could widen it slightly, his costume would be complete.

  “Why!” a drawn-out, disoriented voice behind Jason squalled.

  Jason whipped his right arm around to fend off the attack he thought was coming, and in the process ripped the small hole in his shirt open from his chest all the way down to his bellybutton. He tried to yell, but the only sound that came from his mouth was just frightened gibberish. But he saw no attacker. The alley seemed as desolate as before.

  “Why’d you torin’ your clothes up?” the voice asked, and movement drew Jason’s attention to a whiskered, grungy man wrapped up in the pile of trash beside the dumpster. He held a bottle in one hand and a rose in the other.

  “If yooou di'nt like ‘em you coa ‘ave put ‘em in the ‘oor ‘ox. I mean tha poor box,” the drunk said, laughing at his own drunkenness.

  Jason just stared, unsure of what exactly to do. For a second or two, he wondered what the man was doing sitting underneath a pile of trash. Did it fall on him? Then it became clear; this man was homeless. That didn’t concern Jason too much. What did concern him was the fact that the drunk had seen part of his scheme going down. But, then again, what’s the chance of him remembering any of it in the morning? – Slim to none… and even if he did remember, the chances of it getting back to Misty were just as unlikely.

  Finally, Jason decided that he could do nothing but leave the drunk be and hope for the best. With that, he left the intoxicated man thumbing the stem of his flower and singing a slurred song about lost and faded love.

  Jason jogged the entire way back to the restaurant just to ensure that his sweaty, battered look was complete. He crossed back in front of the gift shops, made his way across the street and down to the River Walk, Misty’s purse flopping at his side. One more thing that he had not thought through was the tourists he encountered along the way. Torn and dirty clothes… and carrying a purse – Jason was getting some peculiar looks to say the least.

  Sirens rang in the distance as Jason crossed back under the bridge, beaten and tattered yet victorious. The restaurant came into sight, and he saw his wife waiting by the short, iron fence where he’d left her. When she caught sight of him, a look of relief came to her face a few short moments before she rushed through the gate, meeting him by the river where she wrapped her arms around his chest. Jason hadn’t felt her hug him that tight in a long time.

  With a shaky voice, she demanded, “Why did you do that? It was just a purse. You could’ve been hurt or killed.”

  She sounded angry. Jason couldn’t believe it. He was supposed to receive a returning hero’s welcome… but instead he got a lecture. “Next time I’ll wear a helmet,” he spoke in disbelief.

  She released him and wiped her eyes before giving a tiny laugh. Looking up, she wrapped her arms around his neck and spoke softly. “I didn’t mean I’m not grateful.” With that she tip-toed up and placed a warm kiss on his lips.

  Jason felt like he was floating on clouds. He leaned down, wrapping his arms around her waist as his lips responded to hers. This was more like it. This was how a returning hero should be treated… to be showered with respect, love and honor. When their lips parted ways, Jason, with a huge grin, said, “Let’s go pay the tab and get out of here before the cops show up.”

  “Already done,” Misty whispered, smiling back. Jason looked at her with admiration and a bit of surprise. “The owner was about to have a cow because you ran off without paying,” she explained, “and seeing as how we ain’t got no place for livestock, I went to the truck and got the checkbook and paid with a check.”

  “What a woman,” Jason said with a smile before turning around and leading Misty back along the water’s edge in the direction from which he’d just come. The night was busy and parking limited, so they’d been forced to park several blocks away. Reaching the gravel lot where they’d parked, Jason opened the driver’s side door, allowing his little damsel-in-distress to jump in. She shoved all the bills and other papers into the passenger floor, clearing herself a place to sit in the middle seat (which had been vacant for quite some time now.)

  Jason grinned as he slid in next to her, slamming the door behind him. After cranking the engine, he dropped the transmission into reverse and let the gravel fly. Misty shrieked with excitement as they slid out backwards onto the two lane highway. Dropping it in drive, he laid the gas-pedal down, and they left black marks and the smell of burning rubber behind.

  As they headed home, Jason awed his wife with his tale of close call and daring deed. She listened intently as he explained that what they originally thought to be robbery he realized was a well-planned ambush after he entered the alley and was surrounded by the
thief and two other tough looking men.

  “What’d you do?” Misty gasped, captivated by the story.

  Jason went on to explain how that he, being a man of action, didn’t bother with small talk or introductions but, instead, crashed into the first man sending him flying into the second. Their heads smacked together and they fell to the ground stunned.

  “What’d the third one do?” Misty demanded, her eyes wide, completely consumed by the unfolding drama.

  “The smart thing,” Jason bragged. “Dropped your purse and ran.” Misty looked relieved, as if she’d just witnessed the conflict and its resolve. Prompted by her attentive listing, Jason continued his yarn. “As for the other two, after they staggered back to their feet… well, let’s just say that they did the smart thing, too.”

  “Yeah, you don’t wanna mess with my man,” Misty said, possessively rubbing and massaging his shoulder and bicep. Then she stopped as a look of awareness dawned on her face. “Well then how’d you get all dirty and torn up?” she asked, directing her attention to the enormous, gaping hole in the front of his shirt.

  “From the fight,” Jason replied, like she should have known that.

  “But you never even hit the ground,” she pointed out.

  “Oh, um…” That stumped him for a moment. Misty was a beautiful woman, but sometimes he wished she could’ve been dumb to boot. “Well, you know how it is in a fight,” he spoke slowly, grasping for straws, “everything happened so fast… When I smacked them two fella’s heads together, I think I may have fallen down.” Jason knew that the explanation didn’t merit the destruction he had wrought upon his clothing and certainly not the huge hole in the front of his shirt, but it seemed to satisfy her curiosity. She nodded in understanding before going back to fussing over him.

  - - - - - -

  Later that night, Jason and Misty kissed on their front porch, just like old times. He felt loved and special, like a hero should, once more. Motivated by the image he’d created of himself, he swept her off of her feet and wacked her head on the door jamb as he tried to carry her across the threshold.