Supercell
Page 28
Chuck reached out and pulled Ty to him. “This is the answer I found within me.” He wrapped his arms tightly around Ty, embracing him with the fierceness of a tacit request for forgiveness.
Ty responded with a bear hug. “Dad,” was all he said, a catch in his throat.
“I love you, Son.”
“That’s all I ever wanted to hear,” he responded, the words broken.
They released each other. Through the mist in his eyes, Chuck could see a watery redness in his son’s.
They resumed their walk and reached the front entrance. Sam hadn’t yet arrived.
“You’re still wrestling with God and the Bible on this, aren’t you?” Ty said.
“No.”
“No? What’s changed?”
“I remembered a passage from one of Paul’s letters to the church of Corinth. “And now these three remain: faith, hope, and love.”“ He looked directly into his son’s eyes. ““But the greatest of these is love.”“
“Good ol’ Paul.”
“Yeah, I know. He comes down pretty hard on ‘men . . . inflamed with lust for one another’ in Romans.”
“So where does that leave you?”
Chuck looked out at the circular drive fronting the entrance. “Sam’s here.”
Ty didn’t move. “Dad.”
Chuck turned to face his son.
“I asked where that leaves you.”
“It leaves me,” Chuck said, his voice firm and unwavering, “with immense love for my son. Is he a sinner? The answer is I really don’t know and I really don’t care.”
“Dangerous for a Christian.”
“I’m comfortable letting God sort it out.”
“I think He’ll be okay with that,” Ty said. A brightness shined in his eyes that Chuck hadn’t seen before.
“Something else, Son.” Chuck’s throat constricted.
“Yes?”
“Forgive me? I tossed you into a black hole ten years ago. That was unconscionable—”
“Dad.” Ty held a finger to his lips, signaling Chuck to stop talking. “Don’t beat yourself up. I acted like a shithead, too. So let’s just toss those years into a memory shredder and start over. Father and son. Okay?”
“Okay.” A beautiful word, but he barely got it out.
Sam honked the horn of his pickup. Stormy stuck her head out the passenger side window and barked. Chuck laid his arm across Ty’s shoulders and they exited the hospital together, plunging into the intense radiance of the late-day sun.
Far away, low on the horizon, the alabaster anvil of a supercell fanned out over the flat Oklahoma landscape.
Epilogue
TUESDAY, AUGUST 19
CHUCK GRIPPED the sweating beer can, tipped it to his lips, and took a long swallow. He sat on the front steps of his Norman apartment, Stormy beside him, watching the sun lift into a cloudless sky. The heat already bordered on enervating. The fifteenth consecutive day of 100-degree temperatures seemed a slam dunk. At least the RedHawks were on the road; he wouldn’t have to suffer through another steamy evening pointing people to their seats at the ballpark.
His neighbor’s door opened. A man bent to retrieve the morning paper. “Buenos dias, señor Chuck.”
Without turning toward the man, Chuck raised his beer in greeting and said, “¿Cómo estás, Pedro?”
“Ricardo,” the man said. “Estoy bien, gracias.” He shut the door.
“Sorry,” Chuck said, too late, “I know how it is when a guy can’t even get your name right.” He ruffled Stormy’s fur and belched softly.
He continued his monologue. “Should be another action-packed day, Storms. Maybe we can walk to the Cowboy Corral and see if we can bum you another bone or two. Sorry I can’t afford Science Diet or Iams or something.”
Stormy cocked her head at Chuck and woofed softly.
“You’re a good listener, gal. Glad I got somebody to talk to.” He brought the beer to his mouth, drained the can, and tossed it into the dead bushes fronting his apartment. He remained seated, chin resting in his hands, watching the traffic on the main road. A black Lincoln Navigator turned into the apartment’s parking lot.
“Looks just like that weasel Metcalf’s SUV, doesn’t it, Storms? Well, don’t worry, girl. That shyster is a million miles from here, out of our lives.”
Stormy stood, stiffened, and stared at the approaching vehicle. She took a step forward, issued a warning growl.
Chuck tracked the SUV, too. It pulled to a stop in front of his apartment. The door opened and the driver stepped out.
“Well, shit,” Chuck said. He spat the words.
“Good to see you, too, Chuckie,” Metcalf said. He strode toward Chuck, extended his hand.
Chuck ignored it and remained seated.
“Mind if I sit?” Metcalf said.
“I do.”
Stormy, growling intermittently, remained at Chuck’s side.
“Well, okay then. I understand.” Metcalf’s strange attire—shorts, hiking boots, Greek fisherman’s cap—hadn’t changed since Chuck first met him, four months ago. “Maybe you got another beer?”
“No.”
Metcalf folded his arms across his chest and placed one foot on the step between Chuck and Stormy. “You kinda gotta understand my position, too. If I’d shelled out a million bucks on a handshake with no contractual authority, my bosses would have been roasting my ass over a barbecue pit in Malibu right now. I woulda been dead meat. Or more likely, having a beer for breakfast someplace, just like you.”
“But you aren’t.”
Metcalf shrugged. “Life’s unfair.”
“Thanks. I hadn’t figured that out.”
The door to the apartment next door opened again and three children spilled out, giggling and calling for Stormy. Stormy barked and ran after them as they darted down the sidewalk in the direction of a nearby playground.
Metcalf plunked himself down on the spot vacated by Stormy.
“By all means, have a seat,” Chuck said.
“How’s your son?” Metcalf asked.
“We talk every week. He invited me out to spend a week on the Oregon coast with him.”
“That’s a beautiful place in the summer.”
“I’ll never know. I’m broke.” He turned to look directly at Metcalf. “Some guy screwed me out of a million bucks.”
“Maybe you just aren’t a very astute businessman, Chuckie.”
“Goddamnit, Jerry, my name is Chuck.”
Metcalf appeared unfazed by Chuck’s outburst. “How about the FBI chick, still see her?”
Chuck moved his gaze from Metcalf and stared at the ground. “She called a few times. We went out for coffee once or twice, but . . .” His words and thoughts trailed off.
“But what? She’s hot for you, man. Everybody on the hunt could see that.”
“But what?” Chuck snapped. “But what?” His voice rose. “In case you hadn’t noticed, jerkoff, I’m an unemployed, broken down, middle-aged loser. I have a beer for breakfast—as you noted—and scintillating conversations with my dog. A night out is a Coke and a hot dog at a RedHawks game.”
“Feeling sorry for yourself will probably fix that.” Metcalf examined the bottom of his hiking boot. “I think I stepped in something.”
“No. That’s just you, Jerry.”
A chuckle rumbled out of Metcalf’s belly. “Hey,” he said, “how about your Injun friend on the buffalo range? How’s he doing?”
“Sam’s rebuilding,” Chuck mumbled. “He’ll be fine. At least his money didn’t burn up in the gas explosion.”
“Yeah, that reminds me. What happened to the guy that shot at you and fed your lady friend to the snake, he in prison?”
“Recover
ing from his burns. His trial starts next month. He’ll probably ride the needle to his final reward.”
“That could take years, I’ll bet.”
The siren of an emergency vehicle wailed in the distance.
Metcalf cupped a hand behind his ear. “Ah, sounds just like that last day of the Great Hunt, doesn’t it?”
Chuck moved his gaze back to Metcalf. “What’s with you, Jerry? You didn’t come all the way to Oklahoma to reminisce about old times. Maybe you just wanted to poke a stick in my eye again? Get your kicks pouring salt into an open wound?”
“Damn hot here. How can anybody live in a place like this?”
Waves of heat rippled off the parking lot. “Maybe you’ve been sentenced to hell and just haven’t figured it out yet,” Chuck said without humor.
“Possibly.”
The men sat quietly for several moments.
Metcalf broke the silence. “The movie isn’t going to be made.”
Chuck let the words sink in before he spoke. “After all we went through? After you got some of the greatest tornado footage ever shot? After your cameraman was almost killed?” He shook his head in disbelief. “What the hell, Jerry?”
Metcalf shrugged. “That’s Hollywood. The producers found a different horse to back.”
“Meaning?”
“A better story.”
“So the twin tornadoes will never see the light of a silver screen?”
“Maybe, maybe not.”
“Damn it. Quit talking in riddles.” Stormy trotted back from her foray with the neighbor’s kids, sniffed Metcalf’s shoe, and sat by Chuck.
Metcalf shifted slightly, reaching into a pocket of his cargo shorts, and pulled out a folded set of papers. He extended it to Chuck. “It’s a contract. Read it over.”
“A contract? A contract for what?” Chuck didn’t accept the papers.
“Your services.”
Chuck laughed. “Been there, done that. No thanks.”
“Here’s the deal, Chaz . . . Chuck. When I told the producers about our storm safari, you know, with all its little Alice-in-Wonderland misadventures—a buffalo stampede, killer EMTs, a lady FBI agent, a snake the size of Rhode Island, a shootout at the OK Corral—they were all over it. That’s our movie, they said. Forget about The Okies.” He offered the contract again.
Chuck refused it.
“At least look at it.”
Chuck sighed, accepted the papers and leafed through them. Finished, he handed them back to Metcalf.
“Well?” Metcalf said. “It’s a half-million-dollar deal.” A tinge of anger clung to his words. “For the rights to your story. For you to act as technical advisor.”
“Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice . . .”
“Have a lawyer look it over.”
“I can’t afford one.”
“Jesus, Chuck.”
“Okay, then. Let’s go back to where we started. One million bucks.”
“I’m sorry I suggested you weren’t a very good businessman. Look, I’ll level with you. I’m authorized to go to $800,000. That’s it. That’s as high as I can go.”
“Too bad. I think it would have made a great movie, too.” Chuck stood, brushed off his pants and turned to enter his apartment.
“Come on, man,” Metcalf pleaded. “I’m hamstrung here.”
“Take the other $200,000 out of your pocket.” Chuck opened the door. Stormy squeezed past him and rushed into the coolness of the interior.
“Okay, okay. Hold on a minute. Invite me in.”
Chuck stood aside and motioned for Metcalf to enter.
Metcalf did. He took a moment to look around. “Jesus, what a dump.”
“It’s how you end up when you get screwed by someone you thought you could trust.”
Metcalf smiled. “I’m not the devil.” He placed the contract on the kitchen table, pulled out a pen, and made some notations on the papers. “You win. One million dollars.” He slid the documents to Chuck. “All I need is your signature.”
“I think I’ll take your advice and have a lawyer look it over.”
“If it will speed things along, here’s an incentive.” Metcalf retrieved his wallet, extracted a check and handed it to Chuck.
Chuck took it, stared at it, found himself unable to swallow. “$250,000?”
“Down payment. The next quarter when we start production. The final half upon completion of the film.”
“Shit. You knew all along we’d end up at a million. I should have asked for more.”
“Probably.”
Stormy growled, then barked and pounced at a roach as it ran across the kitchen floor.
THAT EVENING, CHUCK sat at his customary table beneath the neon sign advertising BEEF, BEER and BANJOS at The Cowboy Corral.
Daisy approached. “Hey, hon. Good to see ya. Ya usually don’t wander in until Friday evening.”
“Special day.”
“Yeah? Well, ya want something special?” Curly red hair framing a big smile, she leaned in close to Chuck, perhaps hoping he’d catch a whiff of her perfume. But that hope, if it was there, disappeared in short order, swallowed by the resident aromas of grilled steaks and spilled beer.
“Bring me a Black Jack on the rocks. And you can get a couple of filets going on the grill.”
“Two?” She gave Chuck a suspicious squint.
“I’m meeting someone.”
“Oh. A lady?” A hint of a frown shadowed her face.
“Get my Black Jack, Daisy. Please.”
Gabi arrived ten minutes later and took a seat across from Chuck. “So, boyfriend. I thought maybe I’d been black-listed. It’s been so long since—”
“Ever been to Oregon?” Chuck asked.
“That’s somewhere near Alaska, isn’t it?”
“Not that close.”
“You aren’t proposing a romantic weekend getaway are you?” She fluttered her eyelashes in mock flirtation. She looked good, fully recovered from the trauma of the snake attack. A form-fitting white blouse offset her dark complexion, revealing the fullness of her breasts and triggering a yearning in Chuck he thought had died.
“More like a romantic week. Ty tells me there’s a really nice little town on the coast called Manzanita. He’s rented a house there the first week of September.”
She reached across the table and took his hand. A smile, like a sunrise over a still pond, lit her face. “Tell me what happened,” she whispered.
“I will. Oregon?”
“Do they have pythons there?”
“No.”
“Supercells?”
“No.”
“When do we leave?”
(Please continue reading for more information)
Glossary
AED Automated External Defibrillator
AMBU BAG a hand-operated resuscitator
ANVIL the flat, anvil-like—or in more modern terms, ironing-board shaped—top of a well-developed thunderstorm
ATV All-Terrain Vehicle
BNSF a railway company (originally the Burlington Northern and Santa Fe Railway)
BOUNCING BETTY an anti-personnel mine that pops about three feet into the air prior to detonating
CAP a layer of warm air aloft (usually around 2000 to 10,000 feet) that tends to suppress thunderstorm development; also known as a “capping inversion”
CAPE Convective Available Potential Energy—a measure of the energy, or instability, on tap for thunderstorm development; the higher the CAPE, the stronger any storms are likely to be
CHARLIE slang for Viet Cong soldiers (Vietnam War)
CIN Convective Inhibition—thermodynamic factors limiting or precluding thunderstorm development, usually due to a c
ap (see above)
CONVECTION vertical motion of air caused by the tendency of warmer air to rise and cooler air to sink; thunderstorms are driven by convection
CORE PUNCHING driving into the center, or core, of a large thunderstorm where the visibility is restricted; extremely dangerous if the storm harbors a tornado
CUMULONIMBUS a large, billowing cumulus cloud; usually a thunderstorm cloud
CUMULUS a convective cloud with a puffy, cotton ball-like top and flat base
DOA Dead On Arrival
DOWNDRAFT the down rush of cool air from a thunderstorm
DRYLINE the boundary between humid tropical air from the Gulf of Mexico and dry continental air from the Interior West; usually develops over the southern portions of the High Plains
DUSTOFF a medical evacuation helicopter (Vietnam War)
EMT Emergency Medical Technician
GENESIS Panavision’s premier digital motion picture camera
GPS Global Positioning System
HABOOB a strong wind, usually due to a thunderstorm downdraft, causing a duststorm or sandstorm (Arabic origin)
HAIL ROAR the sound of large hail stones aloft colliding with one another; also, the sound of large hail striking objects on the surface at some distance
HELICITY the sum of shear in a vertical column of air; or, more simply, the amount of “twist” in a column of air
HIGH-RESOLUTION RAPID REFRESH MODEL (HRRR) an experimental, real-time, hourly-updated model; useful for short-range thunderstorm forecasting
LZ Landing Zone (military)
MESOCYCLONE the rotating updraft, usually one to ten miles in diameter, within a strong thunderstorm
MIA Missing In Action (military)
MOTHERSHIP a perfectly symmetric supercell with a wall cloud that looks like an alien spaceship
OVERSHOOTING TOP the domelike protrusion above a thunderstorm anvil; indicative of a powerful updraft
PDS Particularly Dangerous Situation; term used by SPC (see below) to describe situations in which long-lived and unusually violent tornadoes are possible
SPC Storm Prediction Center; the National Weather Service agency responsible for issuing tornado and severe thunderstorm outlooks and watches; local National Weather Service Offices issue warnings