Banner Elk Breeze

by Ed Robinson

“SAT phone?” he asked.

  “Send a text,” she said. “We’ll get it when we turn it on.”

  I’d been to Washington three times to deal with the FBI. Each time I wanted a hot shower afterward. The town reeked of sleaze. Bowdich was barely tolerating us. The North Carolina authorities were ignoring us. Pop’s death wouldn’t be avenged in any meaningful way. That’s the part that really bothered me. I didn’t give a shit about the weed. I didn’t care about a state senator handing out favors or taking kickbacks. I really didn’t even care about police departments that didn’t do a great job-solving crimes or prosecuting criminals. Pop’s life meant something to me, though. In a short period of time, he’d made an impact on me. His ability to live completely off the grid and isolated from society seemed like a noble pursuit to me. It had once been my life’s goal. Brody had changed that and I was good with it, but Pop had persisted, alone in the wilderness.

  I thought about how lonely his existence must have been. I knew a little something about being alone. The bad shit didn’t happen when I stayed to myself. Only when I involved myself with other people did things start to go wrong. My problem was an affinity for pretty women. I was drawn out of hiding whenever I encountered a woman who intrigued me. It inevitably led to trouble. I knew I could avoid that by staying by myself, but I simply couldn’t resist. My relationship with Brody had survived the storm. We left our old life behind to live alone, but together. It seemed like the perfect solution, but here we were embroiled in yet another mess.

  Fourteen

  Brody was getting more comfortable in the woods so we decided to purchase a second hunting rifle. We alternated days exploring the mountain and tending to cabin chores. We steered clear of the crime scene and the two stands we had built. Brody was learning to listen more closely to her senses, but she hadn’t elevated the art to the moments of Zen that I’d experienced.

  I found a way to sneak up on Banner’s shack without coming down the mountain the same way he did. We made occasional forays to observe the place, using our scopes to get a long-range view. There was no new obvious activity, but deer season was still a ways off.

  Hurricane Florence threatened to climb the mountains and dump a ton of rain on us, but that threat never materialized. We never lost power and no trees fell during the event. The creek got a little livelier and the sky was dark gray for two days. We were lucky. Millions on the coast were less fortunate. After the remnants of the storm passed out of our region, the sun returned and life went on as normal.

  Bowdich texted Brody to tell us that the DNA on the bullet was likely a match for Pop Sutton, but there was enough tree matter to keep the percentage below what was an absolute certainty. The same applied to identifying the other trace as Banner’s. What little they recovered was diluted with plant DNA. Who knew plants had DNA? The basic building blocks of life are the same in both plants and animals, at the structural level. A prosecuting attorney would tell the jury that a match was made, with ninety percent certainty. A defense attorney would tell them that wasn’t good enough. He’d introduce reasonable doubt, not that this evidence would ever make it to trial.

  In the court of my mind, Cody Banner was guilty of murder. Judge Breeze would eventually preside over his sentencing hearing, or see to it that a real judge did.

  An opportunity to introduce myself to Banner presented itself. I was walking towards the tree stand we’d built that bordered his property when I heard him coming. I froze at first and listened to his progress up the hill. When he got close enough I called out.

  “Yo, another man on the mountain,” I yelled.

  It was his turn to freeze, but he responded soon enough.

  “Who’s there?” he said.

  “A neighbor out doing some scouting,” I told him. “Look up about ten feet and scan the trees. There’s a homemade tree stand on this side of the line. I’ll meet you there.”

  We stood face to face under the stand. He was suspicious but he tried to cover it with a friendly smile.

  “The name’s Breeze,” I said, not offering my hand. “I live down the other side.”

  “Banner,” he said. “This stand is damn close to our land.”

  “I realize that,” I admitted. “But the doe are walking through here most mornings. Figured I could pick one off before it made it to your ground. Or that a big buck will be trailing them when it gets cooler.”

  “You’ve been up here scouting a lot then,” he said. “You been up on the plateau above here?”

  “I’ve got a real good idea where my land ends,” I said. “I’ve tried to stay within what’s mine, but I understand that no one owns the land higher up.”

  “My family has been hunting it for generations,” he said. “Not a legal claim, but folks around here recognize it.”

  “I’m new to the area,” I said. “Don’t know many folks yet.”

  “Welcome to the mountains,” he said. “Mind your own, and you’ll get along okay.”

  “I intend to do just that,” I said. “Just wanted to make you aware of my presence up here, for safety’s sake and all.”

  “You got more stands up here?” he asked.

  “One, down below that ridge you mentioned,” I said. “It overlooks no man’s land.”

  “I don’t travel that side of the hill,” he said. “Shouldn’t be an issue.”

  “Not that I need your permission,” I said.

  His eyes told me that he didn’t like his authority challenged. This mountain was probably the only place where he considered himself the boss. I was the interloper. He was also trying to juggle my presence with the mystery person who’d been walking around his pot plants and the disappearing body. Coming out in the open to introduce myself didn’t seem like a thing that person would do. I looked him directly in the eye and awaited his response.

  “I tell you what, neighbor,” he said. “I’ll be hosting a pre-opening day cookout at my cabin. We’ll throw some meat on the grill and drink a bunch of beer with my boys. It’s kind of a tradition to kick off the season. You’re invited, but no women allowed. Friday before opening day around six.”

  “Which driveway is yours?”

  “Before you get to the church,” he said. “Just two tire tracks in the grass. No gate.”

  “I’ve seen it,” I said. “My car won’t make it up the hill. I’ll have to walk up from the road.”

  “Wear your orange,” he said. “In case one of my buddies gets trigger happy.”

  “Thanks for the invite,” I said. “Good to meet you.”

  I turned and started walking back the way I came. I didn’t walk like smoke. I didn’t want to give him an indication of what I was capable of. I was just a dumb city slicker trampling about in the woods. No way was I capable of removing the body or casing his weed. I could hear him snort in derision once he thought I was out of earshot.

  I realized that attending his cookout drinking party would come with some risk. Hanging out with some drunk strangers in the mountains didn’t appeal to me, but the possibility of getting closer to Banner did. I’d have to be on my toes, stay a few drinks behind and remain wary. I could always bail out at the first sign of animosity. I went home and told Brody what had happened.

  “You’ll be amongst some real mountain men,” she said. “Good old boys who’ll view you as an outsider.”

  “I’ll have to play the role,” I said. “Make them think I’m serious about hunting.”

  “Beer, beef, and bucks,” she said. “Glad I’m not going.”

  “Should be interesting.”

  “Could be dangerous,” she said.

  “I’m aware of that.”

  Time moved on with no word from the Sheriff or the FBI. Pop was forgotten by everyone but me. The weed plants continued to grow. The rains from Hurricane Florence gave them some extra juice without damaging them. The early fall temperatures were above normal. It looked to be a lucrative crop come harvest time. I still hadn’t seen a buck on the mountain, but the does w
eren’t ready yet. They fattened up on apples and lush greenery in preparation for winter. They never strayed far from the creek. One doe was still leading around two yearlings. I figured the rut would finally relieve her of her motherly duties.

  I bought a case of cheap beer to donate to Banner’s cookout. I carried my hunting knife openly. I wore boots instead of my hiking shoes. I let my beard go for four days. After parking at the base of the drive, I walked up the steep slope to Banner’s shack. I was a little late on purpose. There were four pickups parked in front of the cabin. All had four-wheel drive and faded paint. Two had Tennessee plates and two were from North Carolina. I walked behind them and peered over the tailgates. I saw an assortment of chainsaws, gas cans, tools, and beer cans.

  There was a fire going in the pit. Four men sat around the blaze, each with a beer in hand.

  “Banner,” I said. “I brought reinforcements.”

  He took the beer and dumped it in an old cow trough full of ice.

  “This is Breeze,” he said to his pals. “Lives over on the other side. Plans to do some hunting too.”

  The three friends directed nods and grunts my way.

  “Thanks for having me,” I said to no one in particular.

  I stood there awkwardly for a minute until I saw another chair by the shack. I carried it to the edge of the fire and took a seat.

  “I’m Jake,” the man to my right said. “This here’s Zane and Rob. You get one of the McGuire cabins?”

  “That’s right,” I said. “Right next to the creek.”

  “Down the bottom of McGuire Mountain Road,” said Jake.

  “That’s me.”

  “How much land you got to hunt on?” he asked.

  “A good chunk of the east face,” I said. “Stops just below the plateau.”

  “We don’t go over there,” he said. “But we do go up above the ridge.”

  “I don’t plan to go beyond what I’ve already scouted,” I told him. “Only reason for me to be up there would be to track a wounded runner.”

  “Then you’d be walking our hunting grounds,” he warned. “Spooking our deer.”

  “What do you propose I do in that situation then?”

  “Wait till dark,” Banner spoke up. “When we’re done. Let me know you’re going to track it in the morning. We might even help.”

  I pictured myself in no man’s land, followed by men with guns. I didn’t like the picture. I couldn’t know what Banner had told these men about me.

  “I didn’t come here to get into a pissing match over hunting grounds,” I said. “I came to drink beer and eat some meat.”

  “I’ll fire up the grill,” said Banner. “You boys play nice.”

  I was still on my first beer, but my counterparts were obviously several drinks in. The conversation turned to college football. The Appalachian State team had nearly beaten Penn State to start the season. I learned the proper pronunciation was “App a latch un” as opposed to “App a lay shun.” I also learned that real men didn’t drive a Subaru. Half the cars on the road were damned hippie granola eating Subarus. Men drove full-sized trucks. The brand didn’t matter as long as it was Ford, Chevy, or Dodge. No Jap trucks for them, no sir. I was supposed to be embarrassed by my front-wheel-drive car, but at least it was made in America.

  The grill produced hunks of goose wrapped in bacon, along with a slab of venison roast. We all hacked at the roast with our knives and ate with our fingers. I washed my hands with beer and wiped them on my pants. I grabbed another beer and returned to the fire. More logs were added and it sprang to life in the darkness of night. The conversation turned to women. Banner’s friends were all married. The wives had all gained weight after childbirth and ceased to be the young hotties they were on their wedding day. The men had developed beer bellies, grown beards, and spent too much time in the woods instead of home with the family. Banner was still single. Apparently, he dated attractive women from time to time, but they all turned out to be crazy.

  I was questioned about my better half. I mostly told the truth.

  “We’re not married,” I said. “But we’ve been together for quite a while. She’s still beautiful and we still have sex on a regular basis. I’m a lucky man in that respect.”

  “How'd you manage to avoid marriage?” asked Jake. “We all got roped in right out of high school.”

  “I didn’t meet her until I was in my fifties,” I said. “We’ve got it pretty good so we figured why screw it up?”

  “Don’t buy her a ring,” he said. “That’s when they start getting fat.”

  We all laughed at the correlation. The discussion deteriorated from there. Jake liked to spit his chew into the fire. Zane didn’t care how loud his farts were. Rob’s vocabulary was dominated by cuss words. Banner seemed to be getting comfortably numb in his chair. I guessed that he’d snuck a toke or two during the evening. He stopped Jake from adding more wood to the fire.

  “Let her die out,” he said. “Big day tomorrow. We should all get some sleep.”

  I stood up and prepared to leave.

  “Good luck guys,” I said.

  “We’re all gonna meet back here around dusk,” said Jake. “See who killed what.”

  “I’ll have to drag mine down the other side of the mountain,” I said. “If I get done early enough I’ll stop in.”

  I started walking down the steep drive in the dark. I was out of sight of the shack when Banner yelled.

  “Get yourself a truck soon, ya hear?” he said. “Like a real man.”

  I just kept walking, thinking about the night’s events. It all seemed pretty typical to me. I’d been to similar gatherings when I was younger, back in Maryland. Banner didn’t tip his hand. His friends didn’t treat me like an enemy. I caught him looking at me a few times, trying to figure me out. I don’t think I gave him anything to be suspicious about. I stood my ground when I needed to, but other than that I acted like one of the guys.

  Brody was anxious to hear how it went. I filled her in quickly before hitting the sack for the night. I’d had five beers over the course of three hours or so. That was well within my comfort zone. I threw down a shot of rum as a nightcap before getting in bed. My hunting clothes had been hanging from a tree for days. Brody had cleaned our weapons while I was gone. We were ready to kill a deer or two.

  During the pre-hunt party, there had been a strategy discussion for the first day. Everyone wanted to kill a big buck, of course. The plan was to let the does pass in hopes of a buck’s arrival. If they didn’t see a buck by late afternoon, they’d take a doe for meat. They didn’t want anyone shooting up the woods and spooking the wary males just to kill a small female. I was strongly encouraged to use the same strategy.

  Personally, I didn’t really want to kill anything, but I felt that I needed to in order to prove my bonafides as a hunter. I’d let the does walk on by gladly, but I couldn’t let a buck escape me if I saw one. I didn’t have much confidence that I’d get a chance at a buck the first day. I still hadn’t seen any on my scouting trips. The weather had remained warm well into fall. The pot plants were flourishing and would soon be ready to harvest.

  Brody and I left the cabin before first light. We made it most of the way up the hill before sunrise. I put her in the stand near Banner’s turf. I took the stand below the ridge that overlooked the weed. I had a more unobstructed view, but we’d seen the most activity around Brody’s stand. She didn’t want to shoot a deer either, but she could watch and report to me later if she saw a good one.

  As the sun came up over the Blue Ridge, I listened to Banner and his crew disperse on the other side of the mountain. They’d come part of the way together, then split up. They were later to arrive than we were. I swear I could smell the beer on their breath. I sat quietly and enjoyed the coolness of the morning. Within an hour I heard multiple deer coming up from the east. I had my back to them, so I very slowly turned to get a look. The mother with the two yearlings was picking her way between saplings
and low brush, headed for the creek. Her ears twitched constantly. She’d take five or six steps then stop and listen. Her young mimicked her movements.

  If they went straight for the creek they’d be an easy target. The mother was a big girl that would provide plenty of food, but I didn’t particularly want to separate her from the little ones. They’d make their own way soon enough though. I watched as they took an indirect path around a clearing. They stuck to cover and remained alert like they knew someone was watching. They climbed down the bank to get a drink and disappeared from view.

  I could no longer hear the other hunters. They’d found their spots and settled down. I couldn’t see Brody from where I was, but she was quiet too. There were five humans on the mountain, lying in wait for some poor buck to wander across their path. I saw no other movement for hours. I dozed momentarily with my back against the tree. A cracking twig alerted me. I heard a snort, then a hoof scratching the ground. A buck was very close, but I didn’t see him.

  He was behind me, coming the same way the doe had traveled. He was on her trail. I did not risk turning to get a look at him. I knew where he was going. I very slowly shifted my rifle, inches at a time. My heart was beating too fast. I needed to get control and be calm. Brody was a fantastic shot with a pistol, but I was better with the long gun. I had a way of slowing my breathing and heart rate until they almost stopped. When I got like that, I was deadly accurate.

  I told myself to slow down. I used that Zen-like magic to listen to the buck while lowering my metabolism. I visualized a heart monitor getting slower and slower. I took a breath about six times per minute, slowly. The buck was less graceful than the doe had been. He stayed in the brush, but crashed along, stomping down weeds. He stopped to lift his head and sniff the air. I didn’t know if he sensed my presence or if he was locating the doe. It was probably both. He didn’t get to be this big by being a dumbass.

  My body was ready to shoot. My mind wasn’t fully onboard with the idea. I wasn’t even sure if I would pull the trigger when I needed to, but I raised the rifle and lined up the scope. My heart rate ticked up a notch when I saw my target. He was the biggest deer I’d seen in North Carolina. I doubted he was any kind of record or anything, but he was a fine specimen. I tried to count the points on his rack. I couldn’t decide if it was nine or ten. It didn’t matter to me.