The gun range was a short hundred yards from the house. Four lean-to sheds formed the front of the shooting line. They stood approximately twelve feet in length and spaced about the same distance apart. Under the sheds were gun benches made with roughed out lumber with plywood surfaces. Duke had me place the plastic boxes on top of two of the benches while he set up man-sized silhouette targets at a distance he’d estimated to be ten yards.
I didn’t pay much attention to Duke as he gave the range instructions. He opened the plastic cases and removed handguns from each, grounding them on the table. The first weapon he loaded was a Herter’s .22-caliber western-style revolver and handed it to Joyce. Duke had her step forward to the firing line and prepared her for shooting. He positioned himself behind Joyce as if he was sighting over her shoulder. When she lifted the pistol to shoot, Duke snuggled closer and brought both hands around, placing them on her wrists. Joyce stopped, wiggled away from his arms and said, “I can do this without your help.”
“Sorr-ieee,” he said with a smile, “Just tryin’ to help y’know.”
Joyce went back to the firing position, and Duke slipped behind her a second time, but this time he wasn’t looking at the target. At least, not the silhouette that hung thirty feet away. To my surprise, Joyce was familiar with firearms. I’d misinterpreted her disdain for guns as ignorance of them. She fired six shots all striking the target. It was a loose grouping, but she apparently understood how to handle the weapon. Did Joyce, unbeknownst to me, harbor a secret life like mine?
She handed Duke the revolver who placed it on the mat that he’d removed from the gun case. “Try this one; it has more of a kick to it.” Duke lifted a .38-caliber Smith and Wesson revolver from its case. Joyce interrupted, “Let Walter shoot next.”
“Come on, Stud. Show us your stuff.”
“Yeah. Okay. Which one would you suggest?
Duke pointed to the .38-caliber he’d taken from the case. “That’s probably too much gun for you,” and placed the revolver back into the case. I opened the case again and removed it. “We brought it, let’s shoot it.”
I liked to sucker people. I stepped to the firing line, emptied the wheel gun, and purposely missed the target.
“Did I hit it?” I asked.
Duke was quick to laugh loudly and said, “Try aiming the pistol at the target.”
I shot again winging the man-sized shape on the upper edge of the silhouettes shoulder. “That was better, huh?”
In Duke’s condescending manner, he laughed and said, “Try shootin’ with one eye closed or get closer…Like five feet away. Better yet, let Joyce show you how. Get off the line.”
Duke turned to Joyce, “You’re up.”
She was ready and beat him to the punch. “Not right now. I’ll give Minnie a hand in the kitchen.” She turned and walked toward the house.
Checkmate!
This clown was stuck with me on the range, and I was going to milk the moment for all it was worth. The longer I kept Duke busy, the more time Joyce would have to talk with Minnie. How was he going to get out of this without looking like a fool? He watched Joyce as she approached the house then turned his attention to me. “You really interested in shootin’? I mean, you don’t even know how.”
I had no intention of letting him off the hook that easy. Besides, I was having too much fun—at his expense. I started to dig through one of his cases. “Hey—don’t never be gettin’ into another man’s guns! You don’t know what yur doin’!” His voice cracked as he wiggled his index finger in my face. Signs of frustration were evident. He’d come face-to-face with an issue he didn’t know how to resolve. Maybe he thought the problem was Joyce being inside the house alone with Minnie and without his supervision. In reality, Duke had two problems, and I was about to make him aware of the second one.
“Come on, let’s shoot!” I pulled a semi-automatic pistol from the third case. “What kind is this?”
The frown he wore looked like an upside-down funny-face, only Duke wasn’t laughing, he was silent. The loud tapping of his foot was noticeable as he removed the magazine and began loading ammunition. “It’s a Glock 9-mil,” he answered. “Have you shot one before?”
“No. We carried revolvers when I was in the military, but I always wanted to shoot a semi-auto.”
“Pay attention then.” He stepped up to the firing line and peppered the target. I surmised he could shoot more accurately, but anxiety, impatience, and a short-temper had gotten the best of him.
To further aggravate the situation, I fumbled my way through loading the magazine and figuring out how to insert it into the weapon. Then I messed up and racked a round in the pipe twice while having my fingers slightly over the ejection port. The round stuck in the port, and I cleared the chamber, but accidently dropped the magazine to the ground in the process. I was buying Joyce time in a Duke-free zone. I blew on the magazine to remove dust and dirt that might have gotten in, then stepped to the firing line and shot a couple rounds purposely missing the target.
“Did I hit it?”
“Hell no!” Duke’s lips pinched together. A strained tone filled his voice, “Give it up. Let’s pack it in.”
I shot a second time striking the target in the upper left shoulder and lower right hip. “You’re all over the place,” he said while I remained in the firing position. I unloaded two more rounds, this time reversing the order, striking the lower left hip and upper right shoulder. Duke stood quietly examining my shot pattern. Maybe he was a slow learner, but my hunch was it was sinking in little by little. If the target had been an adversary, he would’ve been lying on the ground, incapacitated, and every limb immobilized as he bled out.
“Wow,” I said, “I hit the target good Duke!” He didn’t share my enthusiasm or my opinion. I hadn’t impressed him sufficiently, not yet; I needed to sign my name. Two more shots rang out punching holes side by side in the silhouette’s head. Duke was quiet. A sign he understood I had a hidden talent. Perhaps the question in his mind was why I faked an inability to shoot. From my perspective, he’d learned all that I cared to teach him, for now.
We put the handguns back in their cases, and I picked up the brass casings. Duke tried to hurry me, but I drug my feet. We left the gun cases outside the back door as we entered the house. Duke didn’t give me the grand tour of the place, but he did point me in the direction of the bathroom to wash the powder residue from my hands.
I overheard Duke demand of Minnie, “Woman, don’t give me no sass. Beer me, and I mean now!” Minnie had been busy mashing potatoes with a hand masher when Duke snapped. She’d made the mistake of telling Duke, “I’ll get it in just a minute.” Duke rose to his feet from the recliner and started toward the kitchen. I intervened. “Whoa, Whoa, Whoa, I’m bringing the beers.”
I’d walked into the kitchen to help Joyce transport the prepared dishes to the dining table when Duke started his tirade. Joyce looked mortified. All I could do was try to de-escalate the tension.
I handed Duke his beer which was met with a grumble. “Stud, beer fetchin’ is women’s work. You understand?”
“Not at all.”
“Well, if you gonna make this little gal your woman; you’d better get her trained up right. You’ll be a thanking me for my advice down the road a piece.”
“Dinner will be in about five minutes,” Joyce said. “Get yourselves washed up if you haven’t done it yet.”
I couldn’t wait to eat. Not because I was hungry, but because I desperately wanted to leave. From the look of Duke’s face, he wouldn’t mind if I left either. My guess was Duke’s soreness came from his evening with Joyce not having worked out the way he’d envisioned.
Duke sat at the head of the table and waited to be served. The smell of fresh baked cornbread permeated the air and enticed my taste buds. Minnie stood next to Duke and served his plate first. Joyce asked, “Hon, can I fix you a plate?”
“Nothing wrong with my hands, sweetie, I can get my own.”
Duke piped up, “It’s beneath a man to get his supper.”
I laughed, and something that sounded like, “You’re kidding,” came out. But Duke wasn’t laughing at all. He was serious which made it all the more laughable. This guy was getting his panties in a twist over someone’s different point of view. While I tried to contain my sarcasm, I noticed Minnie stopped dead in her tracks. Shocked, Joyce was motionless. No one made brazen comments to Duke out of fear he’d retaliate. I couldn’t have cared less how mad Duke got. If he wanted to dance, we’d dance. I could Watusi, and I wasn’t shy about it.
Minnie offered to serve my plate after I’d declined Joyce’s offer. It was a feeble attempt to placate the situation. I wanted this battle, and I didn’t want Minnie anywhere near it. I laughed, loud and guttural. I scooped a pile of spuds from the large serving bowl in front of my plate as I flashed a broad, ivory smile at Duke. Minnie had sat the gravy to Duke’s right side. I couldn’t resist. “Hey Bubba, how ‘bout you passing the gravy this way.”
Minnie reached for the gravy.
“I asked Bubba!” Some people become fearful when an awkward moment follows a slap in the face.
Duke picked up the bowl, and with a shrug said, “Suit yourself.” He handed Joyce the gravy to pass to me. Being the hospitable type I said, “Thank you.”
Checkmate again.
Duke was a loose end about to unravel. Twice during our dinner, Minnie was made to fetch beer for Duke. He gulped them down almost as fast as she brought them to the table. After we had finished eating, we’d planned to move into the living room, but Duke made a surprising announcement, “I have to drive tomorrow. I’m gonna have to cut it short y’all.”
One more poke before I left. I couldn’t resist. “I have to go too. Landers and I are working that story on the dead girl.”
Duke fired back, “We all ‘round here heard ‘nuff ‘bout that there girl too.”
Minnie, who rarely commented on anything, said, “I hope the family has found peace. Eleven is so young.”
Duke’s face flushed with bright redness, “Head on out now.”
Duke, Joyce and I walked out toward the Avenger. Minnie would have joined us, but her loving husband had demanded, “Get the kitchen cleaned up now.” I didn’t have to ask Joyce her opinion of Duke—not anymore. Whatever Duke’s agenda was, he’d miscalculated the effects on Joyce. I could only hope I’d had a small part in his self-destruction.
Joyce wore her feelings close to the surface. Duke tried to wrap his arms around her as he said, “Give me a hug Pooh bear.” But Joyce would have none of it. Her face flushed a bright red, and with eyes narrowed, she crossed her arms tightly. Duke’s brow wrinkled, as he turned toward me and with a wave of his hand said, “See y’all later.”
Calmly I said, “I’m sure we’ll see more of each other.” I didn’t bother to wave back.
Joyce and I rehashed the events of the evening during the car ride to the resort. Her talk with Minnie hadn’t revealed as much as I’d hoped it would, but they had reestablished a rapport.
“I’ve misjudged her; I’m afraid.”
“Don’t beat yourself up over it; you only saw what Duke wanted you to see. You had no way of knowing he wasn’t all he said he was to Minnie.”
“She was beginning to open up to me when Duke came back from the range.”
“I kept him occupied as long as I could. What did she say? Did she indicate he was abusive beyond what we’ve seen?”
“Minnie apologized for coming between Duke and me in high school. She said she liked Duke and was sorry; she hadn’t meant for anything to happen between them. He had invited her to go boating on the lake with a group of friends, but no one else showed up. She didn’t want to disappoint him, so she went alone.”
I interrupted Joyce, “That slime bucket set her up.”
“Minnie said they boated across the lake to a thickly wooded island where Duke wanted to swim. They never swam. She apologized again and said she hadn’t meant to have sex on the island that day, but once they had, she couldn’t turn back the hands of time. Walter, I think he might have raped her.”
“It’s pretty easy to believe he would. It’s his style.”
“She said Duke was good to her, and abuse was never mentioned. I don’t know if she recognizes what he does to her as abuse. She talked about how wonderful everything was their first year of marriage. Duke wanted the baby, but it died. Things began to change after that. She blamed herself for losing the baby. I know she wanted to tell me more about what went wrong and would have if we’d had more time together.”
“Maybe we need to make that happen?”
Joyce’s eyes filled with tears, “After seeing how he treats her I’m concerned for her safety.”
“What you see going on with Duke, has nothing to do with the baby’s death. Whatever Duke is today, he’s always been from the time his personality was formed. He could choose to submit to his desires and will to common sense and reason, but he chooses the lesser path of masking his identity. He knows what he is, which is why he presents himself as a great guy. He’s a snake in the grass.”
Joyce looked puzzled. “You learned that in journalism school?”
“I’ve studied behavior my whole life. I suppose in many ways it helps me do my job.”
Joyce nodded. “I guess I’ve known all along what he was but didn’t want to admit that I loved a man like him. After moving to Toronto, and starting a family, I’d forgotten about what had happened between the three of us. It was a long time ago.”
Joyce fell silent. The night had been hard on her, and she needed a break. She sat back in the bucket seat; her clenched fist pressed against her lips.
We pulled into the resort’s parking lot and coasted to a stop. Joyce’s voice had penned up anger. “I want to get to the bottom of this. If he’s hurting Minnie, he needs to be arrested.”
Biting my lip, so not to sound too aggressive, I took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “I can’t agree more. What can we do?” I took another minute to feign my reluctance and followed it up with a hopeless look and tossed in a head shake for good measure.
“I need to talk with Minnie again—alone.”
“Maybe I can help.”
Joyce had confidence in me, and I didn’t want to let her down. She reached over with her hand and softly stroked my neck, running her fingers through my hair along the back of my collar. I had a feeling it might be a later night than I’d planned.
Chapter 4
“The most damaging aspect of abuse is the trauma to our hearts and souls from being betrayed by the people we love and trust.”
—Anonymous
An unannounced visitor was a rarity and especially late at night. Nonetheless, I answered the knock on my cabin door without my Glock in hand. The light from inside my cabin illuminated Joyce’s presence. Her eyes were drenched in tears as she stepped over the threshold. “Can we talk for a while?”
“Sure.”
Joyce recounted the day’s event with Duke and Minnie mixed with her recall of the past. By midnight, she’d reclined in my arms and settled in for the night. I’ve never been in tune with a woman’s need to talk but understood she didn’t want to be alone. I enjoyed her company, and it served to keep the real me behind my false veneer a while longer. On the downside, it did nothing to further my goal of breaking off our relationship. I’d discovered it wasn’t an easy task to accomplish.
Joyce and I had a bond based upon lies. That made for a bad foundation in my estimation. I was in a conundrum. She deserved a stable environment as did her children. I doubted she could find that with me.
Over the past few years, I’ve lived my life as if I were a feral cat. I’ve woken and slept at my leisure having no need for an alarm clock. Catnapping, as I did, was reportedly an unhealthy lifestyle for humans. But, I found it to be satisfactory to meet my needs. My life, day or night, was without a routine. I should’ve been the happiest man in the world, but Destiny stirred in
my soul.
Dreams prompted me to awaken early and often. There was a paranormal calling placed upon my life, and it had to be answered or I would never know peace. I slipped out of bed without disturbing Joyce and brewed a pot of coffee to greet the morning sun. I poured the piping hot liquid into a large ceramic cup allowing the fresh aroma to tantalize my senses. I pulled the wood rocker from under the porch canopy. Glistening sunrays added a touch of warmth. In such a setting, I expected to find a sense of serenity, but I was disturbed. There was bad blood between Duke and me. Unbeknownst to him, he’d arrived in my dream world. It was not a friendly place for the likes of Duke.
My gut told me to mind my own business. I was free to ignore what I saw, but that’s what other’s had done. I wasn’t other people. Besides—it was my business. I’d taken the Palatini oath for people like Minnie. If I didn’t come to her aid, who would? Evidently the vigilance committee was useless to help. Duke was the president.
The sounds of movement from within the cabin pushed my thoughts aside and brought me back to the present. A door creaked, the familiar sound of the cabin’s front door hinge. A hand slowly slipped onto my chest, and a gentle voice whispered, “Good morning, honey.”
I put my hand on top of hers and replied, “Mornin’ sweetie.”
“What’s wrong Walter?” There were times when my behavior was too transparent.
“Duke.”
“I thought so.” Joyce pulled in a deep breath then released it slowly. “Want some breakfast? We can talk afterward.”
I nodded. Joyce and I could rehash the Dixon issue, but it was not the heart of the problems that occupied my thoughts. I’ve lived a shadowy existence hidden in this rural community for the past few months. I know in my spirit this way of life will never be mine. Duke wasn’t able to rob me of my happiness in Shell Knob. He didn’t have the power. It was the beck and call of a murdered young girl from her grave. Blood boiled up through the ground in my dreams. Her appeal has brought me out of the shadows.
Blood Appeal Page 6
