by N. C. Reed
Some things didn't change at all.
-
“Doug says those three were trying to shake him down,” Holloway was saying twenty minutes later. “Says you didn't do anything until they struck first. He's got a camera in there you know.”
“No, I didn't,” Clay shook his head, cursing his own inattentiveness. He was supposed to notice stuff like that. He was getting careless already.
“Well, he does. I watched the video from three angles. I saw the one grab Amy and then come after her when she got away from him. Gotta say man, those are serious moves. Where you pick that up?”
“Here and there,” Clay shrugged.
“Yeah,” Holloway raised an eyebrow. “Anyway, with their story, the other three in there at the time, and the video, there's no doubt it was justifiable homicide. The guy with the knife is dead, in case you were wondering,” he added.
“I wasn't,” Clay replied. He knew where that blade had gone.
“Had a feeling you wouldn't be,” Holloway nodded. “There's nothing to charge you with and no reason to hold you. I do need to take your statement, though. You still want a lawyer?”
“Do I need one?” he asked his old partner in crime.
“No, honestly, I don't see how,” Holloway shook his head. “Clear cut. Bad business, but a good thing for them you were here. I know two of them, including the dead one. Real bad characters. Some kind of gang affiliation out of Nashville. Been causing problems around here for six months to a year, but mostly in Peabody. Sheriff hasn't been getting us involved unless PPD asked for help.”
Peabody Tennessee was the Calhoun County seat and the only real town in the county. Clay's home of Jordan was officially an incorporated city, but with a grand population of two thousand or so it was more of a village than anything. Peabody on the other hand was a truly sprawling metropolis area of nearly seven thousand, and the seat of the county government as well.
“Well,” Clay sighed. “I was waiting to pay. . .well, no I was going to the register to pay when those three walked in and started in on the owner. I stayed back ‘cause it wasn't my business, right?” Holloway nodded, taking notes.
“Then Amy walks through and they start making threats at her, one of 'em grabbed her even. She twisted away from him but he pursued her and I...I hit him in the jaw. Pretty hard,” he added carefully.
“Yeah, it's broken,” Holloway smirked. “Then what?”
“Well, his friend took offense to that I guess and came at me like a boxer,” Clay went on, being careful what he said “I ducked a blow that would probably have broke me in half and hit him in the knee. Pretty sure I dislocated it,” he tried to make it sound less damaging than it had been.
“No, no. Paramedic is pretty sure it's ruined,” Holloway sounded more mirthful than anything as he continued writing, but then grew serious.
“What about the one with the knife?”
“He came at me as I was trying to get up,” Clay now became very guarded. “He tried to sweep me with it, make an arcing cut that would catch me across the belly or torso?” he explained/asked and Holloway nodded.
“I blocked it, but it left me inside his grip, so I twisted back out and around. He tried to bring the knife back into play between us and with us fighting over it, it ended up punching him in the stomach. I backed away from him after that and Amy called an ambulance and you guys.”
“She said you told her to call the M.E. for that one, too,” Holloway noted.
“Figured he'd not make it, the way he was acting,” Clay replied simply. “And I wasn't gonna get near him as long as he still had that knife unless I absolutely had to.” Which would explain why he hadn't tried to help the thug.
“Can't blame a man for that,” Holloway nodded, finishing his report and slipping it into a metal clipboard. “Where the hell you been, man?” he asked, changing the subject so suddenly that Clay blinked at him.
“Ah, here and there,” was the automatic reply. “Around,” he shrugged.
“Uh huh,” Holloway looked dubious but wasn't going to press his old running buddy. “How long you been back?”
“What time is it?” Clay asked. “I got here about. . .one, maybe?” he looked at Jake.
“More twelve thirty, I think, but. . .honestly, when I'm working like I have been today I don't pay attention.”
“Time stamp on the vid was one twenty-three,” Holloway nodded. “You mean to tell me you just got back into Calhoun not three hours ago?” he sounded bewildered.
“Uh, yeah,” Clay nodded. “Just wanted a cheeseburger to fortify myself before I went to see my folks.”
“Jeez, Clay, you ain't even been to see your parents?” Holloway exclaimed.
“Hey, man. I just crawled off a rig maybe two hours ago,” Clay defended himself. “Been on I65 with a trucker for the last ten hours riding north. Before sunup even.”
“Wow,” Holloway shook his head. “Not even home half a day and already stirring things up,” he chucked. “That's a record even for you, bro!”
“Hey, that wasn't my fault!” Clay stated, growing agitated. “I was minding my own business until they got physical.”
“I'm yanking your chain, man,” Holloway grinned. “Look, this is gonna be pretty shut and dried with the video backing up everyone's story, so I can leave Pep here to watch over things while I run you out to your folks' place. Yeah?”
“Pep?” Clay frowned.
“Gerald Pepper, Sheriff's nephew,” Holloway nodded toward Deputy 'Kid'. “Or great nephew. I forget. Anyway. Investigator is inside talking to Doug and Amy, and he'll likely want to get your statement again too, but after that I'll take you on out there. That work?”
“Well, sure,” Clay nodded. “Saves me having to call and beg someone to come get me,” he snorted.
“Ah, they'd come get you,” Holloway waved the comment away. “If for no other reason than to kick your ass.”
“Thanks.”
-
“Mister Sanders, is it?” Tobias Peyton asked, looking at Holloway's report.
“Just Clay, sir,” Clay replied. “But yes.”
“Says here you just came in to eat,” Peyton was a hulking black man whose muscles seemed to have muscles.
“Hadn't had a cheeseburger in a long time,” Clay admitted. “Used to be the best one you could get right here. Still seems to be, though it's been a long while.”
“You kin to Gordon Sanders?” Peyton asked. He was an older man that Clay could not remember seeing before.
“I'm his youngest son,” Clay nodded.
“How come I ain't seen you around?” Peyton demanded.
“I haven't been around, sir,” Clay shrugged. “Just got home today.”
“Where from?” Peyton asked.
“Came here up from Mobile, sir,” Clay hedged.
“I mean where were you when you shipped home?” Peyton clarified. “Where were you stationed?”
There hadn't been any mention of Clay's having been in the military. Tobias Peyton was pretty sharp.
“I...I can't really say, sir,” Clay replied truthfully pretty much for the first time. “Sorry.”
“That's all right,” Peyton shook it off. “Well, Holloway was right. Between witness statements and the video, there's nothing here but justified self-defense. But you listen to me, son,” his voice lowered. “You just kicked over a hornet's nest with this bunch. And they will probably try and retaliate. Keep your head on a swivel, kid,” he said as he finished.
“I will, sir,” Clay nodded. “Thanks.”
“Holloway said he was taking you home so get going,” Peyton ordered. “Tell your old man I said hey for me.”
“Yes sir.”
-
“What is it?” Holloway asked after they had ridden five minutes without a word between them.
“What you mean?”
“Awful quiet,” Holloway shrugged. “Figured something was eating you.”
“Other than just killing a man?”
Clay asked, trying to deflect the question.
“You won't lose any sleep over that,” Holloway snorted. “Don't even try it. That guy was walking garbage and you knew it as soon as he opened his mouth. What's really eating you?”
“How the hell did that happen, man?” Clay blurted. “When did this place start playing host to that kind of crap?”
“Maybe a year, year-and-a-half ago, roughly,” Holloway replied. “Got in here, had a good, high-dollar lawyer mouthpiece out of Nashville talking for them. Apparently, there wasn't enough money for them in the big city so they decided to move out to the rural areas around Nashville. We aren't the only ones being targeted. It's just as bad or worse in almost every county around. The whole Metro area is in a mess right now and there's no end in sight.”
Oh, yes there is, Clay thought glumly. But you'll want the gangs back when it gets here.
“Man, never thought I'd see that,” Holloway was shaking his head. Clay looked to see a 'FOR SALE' sign before a rambling, old fashioned two story farm house with barns and sheds scattered behind it.
“That Mister Troy's place?” Clay asked. Harold Troy's land bordered the Sanders place for nearly two miles.
“Yep,” Holloway nodded. “Harry died about a year back and his son, Donald, couldn't wait to sell out and line his pockets. I figured he'd want an auction and be done with it but Lester Halter convinced him to list it. Said Nashville hobby farmers would love a place like that. Off the beaten path and what not.”
“Best I recall that place has pretty good water too,” Clay mused.
“Not as good as your old man's place, but yeah,” Holloway nodded as the car slowed. The ride had seemed far too short for Clay now that he was here. The mailbox was still tilted from where he'd hit it with the tractor when he was thirteen and trying to 'help'. He shook his head ruefully at that.
“End of the line buddy,” Holloway said as he pulled up and put his car in park. “Want me to introduce you?” he joked.
“I'm sure that would be just what I needed,” Clay said dryly. “Especially after word of what happened at Lorrie's gets around.”
“Probably already around,” Holloway's sympathy was overridden by his humor. “Ever little old lady in Calhoun has a scanner these days. And while the party lines are gone, cell phones have made a suitable replacement. I'd say it's a safe bet your name has been texted all over Calhoun by now,” he smirked.
“You are just full of good news aren't you?” Clay sighed. “This will be hard enough as it is,” he shook is head.
“I can carry you back to 65,” Holloway offered. “You can grab another ride and keep going.”
“No, I can't,” Clay said softly. “Better or worse, this is where I need to be. Thanks for the ride, brother,” he shook hands with his long-time trouble buddy.
“No problem, my man,” Holloway assured him. “Watch your back for a while over that bunch,” he warned, offering him a card. “Cell's on the back. Got a problem, gimme a call. I'm around.”
“Thanks,” Clay took the card and slipped it into his pocket. “See you.”
“Look forward to it,” Holloway grinned. Clay got out and closed the door, Holloway backing around and heading back down the long drive before Clay could change his mind. He took in the scene before him without moving for just a minute, looking over how things had changed.
The Old Man's house was still on the hill behind Clay's parent's home, the small log house looking over everything in sight. Gordon and Angela Sanders' home was somewhat larger with an attached two car garage and a separate two car shop to the side. His mother's many chickens still roamed the entire place. She would put them up at night to keep predators away.
Down the hill and split off the same drive were two more houses, one to each side of the paved driveway. The right-hand house was his brother Robert's, while the left hand would be his sister, Alicia. Both had married and raised or were raising families of their own, right here on the same farm they had grown up on. Clay thought he would feel a twinge of envy at that, but was surprised to find it wasn't so. He was glad for them, but that was it.
Behind the residences stood an assortment of sheds, barns and silos, all the normal and necessary buildings one would find on a working farm, horse and cattle ranch. In the distance, Clay could see Black Angus cattle grazing, and nearer he spotted two mares with foals following them. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been on a horse and suddenly wanted to ride.
He had been gone a long time. Had put a lot of bad miles behind him. He spared himself a minute to wonder what life would have been like had he stayed. Would he have a house here somewhere? Be married by now? Would he have kids, be working a job to help ends meet and busting his ass on the farm every free minute? Were the others? He wondered-
Whatever he wondered would lay forgotten on the drive as the front door of the house opened and a tall man with gray hair, wearing Carhartt overalls and matching shirt with a Massey Ferguson hat stepped out. Behind him was a tall, broad shouldered woman with brown hair, wearing jeans and a blue blouse with a yellow ribbon on it.
That ribbon for me? Clay wondered silently.
“Mom, Dad.” Clay had tried to think of what to say but had come up empty. What did you say when the last time you'd seen your family was over seven years ago?
“Clay?” the man, Gordon Sanders, spoke hesitantly. “Clay is that really you, son?”
“Yes sir,” Clay nodded, setting his duffel down. “I don't suppose my room is still available, is it?” he said suddenly, smiling.
Angela Sanders flew off the porch to envelop her baby boy in a crushing embrace that only a woman raised on a farm or a body builder would likely be able to manage.
“Oh, my boy, my baby boy,” she said over and over as she kissed his cheek repeatedly, practically dancing with him in her arms. This went on for a full two minutes before she stepped back from him and slapped him aside the head.
“That's for not writing once in a while, or at least calling to let me know you weren't dead!” she told him fiercely before hugging him to her again. She repeated her murmuring and rocking for another two minutes before pulling away and slapping the other side of his face.
“And that's for surprising me like this and not letting me know you were finally coming to see your mother!” she huffed, dragging him into her arms once more. As she began to let up, Clay raised his arms.
“Are you gonna slap me again?” he asked carefully.
“My baby boy,” she caressed his face gently. “The only reason I slapped you is because I don't have a ladle or a fireplace shovel handy to wallop you with!” she finished in a near shout and Clay winced slightly, expecting another blow. This time however she contented herself with threats of further violence and simply hugged him again. Finally, she released him, and her eyes laughed at the way he tensed, expecting another blow.
“You know you had it coming or you wouldn't have flinched,” she told him, making him laugh.
“Son,” Gordon stepped forward and embraced his youngest son, far less harshly and for a far shorter time than had his wife. He stepped back, hands on the shoulders of a son he'd not seen in nearly a decade, and that only briefly.
“It's good to see you,” he said with his calm, firm voice. “And no, we rented your room out as soon as you left,” he added dead pan, causing Angela to break out in laughter.
“You ruined a good joke there, woman,” Gordon said, looking at her with a mock glare.
“Sure, I did,” she teased him. “So, are you in trouble?” she turned to Clay again. “I noted that the law brought you home. That used to mean you were in trouble.”
“Ah, well,” Clay rubbed the back of his neck. “Funny story. There was a little trouble at Lorrie's, up at the freeway, but no, I'm not in trouble. That was Greg, giving me a lift home.”
Home. It had a good, solid ring to it.
“What kind of trouble?” Gordon asked.
“Where you there when they tried to rob the p
lace?” Angela asked at the same time.
The two looked at each other and then back to Clay.
“Well, about that...” he began.
“Why are we still standing out here?” Angela asked suddenly. “I've got an apple pie in the house I just cut for your father. You can have a slice of that while you tell us what happened.”
And just like that, Clayton Sanders was home.
-
“You killed him?” Angela said, her face slightly pale but otherwise steady.
“Well, I didn't aim to,” Clay told her. “But he had a knife and came at me with it, and we fought over it a bit and. . .well, it kinda ended up in his belly. A little,” he added for some reason, wincing at how stupid it sounded. No man wanted to admit to his mother that he had killed so often over the years that it no longer had an affect on him.
“A little?” Gordon Sanders' reaction was amused if anything. “Was it a little knife? Is that it?”
“No, it was probably a four-inch blade I'd say,” Clay replied automatically. “Double edged, auto opening, or at least spring opened, I couldn't tell for sure.” He stopped, aware that he sounded like he was giving a report.
“Must have been justified if you aren't even being held for questioning,” Gordon mused with a raised eyebrow.
“Camera and five witnesses,” Clay nodded. “Man said tell you 'hey' by the way. Investigator name of Tobias Peyton?”
“Good man,” Gordon nodded at once. “Known him a spell. Probably one of the better people working for old Pepper. Figure Bell hired him by accident since most of that bunch is crooks it seems like.”
“Gordon,” Angela chastised slightly. “Ain't no proof of that. Loose talk like that don't do any good.”
“Won't be any proof so long as they 'police themselves',” Gordon growled but dropped it.
“I'm sorry about all that,” Clay told them. “Not exactly how I wanted to come home.”
“Come home?” Angela perked up suddenly. “Are you not on leave?” she asked.
