“So that’s where you get your entrepreneurial spirit.”
“Sure, I guess. Plus, I got an undergraduate degree in business. Working for Dad was not easy, though. He was not soft on his workers. He demanded hard work, and he got it from them. In return, his drivers made the best money in the trucking business. Sure, it cut into his bottom line, but he didn’t care, and while other companies often suffered from driver shortages, Borders Trucking always had a surplus of applicants. His drivers knew they had it good. For example, some labor union people showed up a few times and my dad’s workers ran them off themselves.”
“You love your dad, I can tell.”
A lump was forming in my throat, making me uncomfortable. I could feel my eyes starting to water. Man, I hated talking about the past.
“As for my mother, well, she was involved in so many social causes that I lost track of them all. She never did it for appearances, like it was expected for her to do something with her time since she was an executive’s wife. No, instead, she became involved to institute real change. She would become part of the board of directors of some local charity and then re-organize it until it was operating at peak efficiency. If you were dead weight, then she gave you a chance to ‘start performing, or start packing,’ as she put it. She was caring and ruthless at the same time, kind but not nice, loving but not soft.”
“Sounds like someone I know.” Ellie was looking at me, inspecting me.
I smiled at her and kept on talking. “Ellie, my parents actively, even proactively, used their talent and influence to help hundreds, if not thousands of people, while I just react and help one at a time. And neither of them would back down from a fight, ever. So I inherited not only their physical characteristics, but I also inherited their innate sense of right and wrong and the compulsion to act when we witness wrongdoing.”
“They sound like truly special people.”
“They made me who I am today. In the nature versus nurture debate, I’m not sure which had a bigger impact on me; however, I don’t think it matters. I cannot, and will not, turn a blind eye to any situation where I think I can help. ‘Silence is consent’ my mother used to say. And I am not really the silent type. I’m so much like my mother sometimes it scares me.”
“So why have you never mentioned them before now? It seems like they had a truly positive impact on your life.”
There it was. The big question, the one I was trying to avoid, but knew I couldn’t. The answer to that question changed the whole rest of my life. I had to answer it, but suppressed feelings percolated to my conscious mind. Eyes watered. Vision blurred. I tried to choke back the ever growing lump in my throat. I was speechless, powerless to continue.
The feeling of helplessness led to frustration. Frustration gave way to pure anger. Finally, an emotion I could control. My watery eyes were drying up as the anger swelled inside me instead. The lump in my throat was gone. Ellie would get her answer.
“Because my dad is dead. He stopped to help someone with car trouble on the side of the road, and a drunk driver ran him over and killed him.” There, I said it. The rest would be easy. The story was not hard to tell; the admission that dad was gone was always the seemingly impossible hurdle to get over. “The jerk-off was driving on a suspended license after his third DUI. He never even saw my father. He was so drunk he didn’t even remember doing it later.”
“Oh my God.” Ellie had her hand over her mouth as if she were embarrassed she had ever asked the question.
“Yeah, oh my God. Dad, he was killed instantly. Major brain injury. Mom, she saw the whole thing. I wasn’t there. I was on a bus. See, it happened the night I won sectionals in wrestling my junior year. They were driving back from watching me qualify for state again while I rode the bus back.” That darn lump was returning to my throat. I had to pause to regain my composure. Ellie was quiet, allowing me to continue at my desired pace. “Needless to say, I didn’t win state that year. In fact, I never wrestled again. My mother wanted me to go. She said Dad would have wanted me to continue my dream. Truth be told, my dream died that night. Wasn’t anything left to continue, so I quit. Hell, I quit everything. Barely finished my junior year. Didn’t go out for football my senior year. That dream died too.”
“L.T., I had no idea. I’m re—.”
“You want to hear my stupid dream?”
“Sure,” she answered hesitantly.
“I had two going at that time. I was good, Ellie. Some were already saying I had the potential to go all the way to the Olympics in wrestling. I was on my way to being a four-time state champion in wrestling. No doubt about it. I would have had a full ride at the school of my choosing. I would have chosen Iowa. Dan Gable started coaching at Iowa in 1976. I would have been part of his rookie year as the head coach.”
“You said you had two dreams.”
“The other one was pursuing a life in football instead. I had the rare combination of speed and power that had NCAA coaches scouting me. I wanted to play tight end. I say ‘wanted to’ because in high school they had me playing outside linebacker as well. In college, I would have insisted on being a tight end, if I had played. My passion was for wrestling. I liked football, but I loved wrestling. No money in wrestling, though, and I can be quite pragmatic at times.
“So you could have been one of those guys we watch on TV scoring a touchdown.”
“I believe I could have. Never know now. When I quit everything in high school, nearly all my friends eventually gave up on me since most of them were friends because of sports. All of them except Virgil. When I was ready to play sports again, I didn’t want to play with any of the jerks, nor for any of the coaches that gave up on me either. I was no longer a team player kind of guy so I went out for tennis to be with Virgil and we got second in state in doubles our senior year. I started with the martial arts my senior year, which was therapeutic for me. It taught me to channel my anger, and I had a lot of anger.”
“I am sorry about your dad. You obviously loved him very much. We can stop talking about this if you want.” Small tears had formed in the corners of Ellie’s eyes. I hoped she did not start crying. If she did, then I doubted I could hold it together myself.
“We started this conversation; we might as well finish it. It’s about time you figured out what makes your boyfriend tick.”
“Only if you want to.”
I didn’t want to. But I did need to.
“My mother suffered even worse than I did. She felt responsible since they had been arguing about the Gary Shriver situation. She quoted that stupid Edmund Burke quote at him. We had both heard it hundreds of time from her, but that time dad wasn’t buying into it. He spotted the car on the side of the road and decided he should help. When he got out of the car, he made an off-handed comment about doing something for the lady in the car so that evil did not succeed. She felt that by making him mad, she had made him careless. She saw him get hit in her mirror. Saw him hurled through the air. No one should have to see that.”
“So that’s why you don’t drink? Because of what happened to your father?”
“No. I don’t drink because I need to be in control at all times. It’s essential that I always keep my anger in check.”
“It’s been 17 years, L.T. You are still angry? That seems unhealthy.”
“It is. I’ve learned to live with it.”
“Have you?”
“I think so. I can’t seem to make it go away, so I channel it.”
“I don’t mean to sound cold, but you’re not the first one to lose a parent. You have to move on. You need to forgive the drunk driver.”
“Ellie, I already forgave the man. Edward Pitt was his name. My beef is with a man call Scott Beyers.”
“Who is Scott Beyers?”
“Scott Oswald Beyers, more appropriately known as SOB, is the man who took my mother from me. And my last remaining dream.”
***
I teared up after mentioning Scott Beyers. I also clammed up. M
y walk down memory lane was over. Ellie sensed the conversation was over and did not press me anymore. I needed out of the apartment. Despite the enormous size and the general lack of walls, it felt small. Confining. Unnerving.
Ellie agreed to a stroll around Downtown Memphis. Walking hand in hand, I recalled happier memories of my parents as we relished in the fresh, clean smell that can only come after a good rain. I told her of my father’s time in the NFL. He had played in St. Louis his entire career and even though offensive linemen seldom reach notoriety, he was well-known and respected in the community. I described how he met my mother in Scotland while he was visiting the Scottish Borders. She was in Edinburgh performing, and they met at a cafe. He called his trucking company Borders Trucking in honor of their meeting.
It started to sprinkle again as we stopped at LeClair’s. An old blues artist was playing some classic covers. Although his voice and the guitar play were good, his tempo was too slow for my taste. We stayed long enough for me to get the name of the beer distributor, Cornerstone. LeClair assured me that none in the area began with a “g” and it was the only one the sounded like Grayston or Gurston.
Ellie admitted she was still worried about me and didn’t truly understand my compulsion. However, when I told her the last time I had been this angry I dropped out of college and joined the Navy, and that I needed to redirect my anger into something positive, she finally relented and reminded me to be careful. After the walk, Ellie went home leaving me with a twinge of disappointment. I think she had planned more than a dinner for me that evening.
The evening had not been a total loss, though. I had opened myself up making myself vulnerable, and it had felt slightly liberating. For Ellie, it seemed to have a dissimilar result; she had appeared pensive during the rest of the evening. Unlike Virgil, Ellie seemed to need to understand me while Virgil was content with simply appreciating me. Maybe it was a woman thing; I didn’t know.
CHAPTER 13
Monday marked the beginning of a four consecutive 12-hour days in the emergency room. Seven a.m. to seven p.m. However, I was not going to work just yet. First, I had an unscheduled appointment with Eric Parker.
LeClair informed me that the drivers got an earlier start so they could make some of their restaurant deliveries before the lunch rush. My goal was to catch Eric while he was still in Memphis to avoid the need to track him down on his route. It seemed reasonable that getting to Cornerstone at six in the morning should be early enough; however, I had no idea how long I might have to wait. Thankfully, Dr. Chen agreed to cover for me until 9:00 a.m.
Cornerstone was located in South Memphis in an industrialized area, sandwiched between a large supermarket distribution center and a business that made computer components. As expected, the facility was surrounded by a six-foot high chain link fence with barb wire. There were two chain link rolling gates, one for the incoming and outgoing delivery trucks and another for the employee/visitor entrance. Neither gate was guarded. I parked in the employee section arranging my Jeep for a good view of the entrance and waited.
A good classic rock station was keeping me entertained until some inane morning deejays started their nationally syndicated morning show, interrupting what had been a good music set. I was contemplating how anyone could listen to these idiots with their crass, immature humor when Eric drove through the front gate in a new, bright red Camaro Z28. I almost missed him while I was searching for a new station. As I pulled in behind his vehicle, I realized I had no idea what I was going to say to Eric.
Eric did not immediately exit his car. His head was bobbing rhythmically to music, at least he was not stupid enough to be listening to the mindless morning show.
Showing up at an unsuspecting person’s car window can startle someone, so I allowed him to get fully out of his car before approaching. He spotted me and briefly looked my way without the slightest look of recognition on his face. I paused for a second, unsure if I wanted to do this here in his employer’s parking lot. If he decided to get violent, I did not want it to reflect poorly on him and cost him his job. On the other hand, if he hurt Paul in some way, then what did I care about his job.
“Eric,” I said loudly, “Eric Parker.”
He turned focusing on me with a friendly smile. “Yeah. How can I help you, sir?”
I was younger than him by a couple of years, so the “sir” surprised me momentarily until I remembered I was dressed for work: slacks, dress shirt, and sport coat.
I said, “I have a couple of questions for you if you have time.”
“It’ll have to be quick. I’m on my way into work.”
“Do I look familiar to you?”
“A little.”
I said, “We met briefly at Falco’s on Saturday.”
His eyes darted up and left while he nodded affirmatively. “Phil’s friend, the guy who knocked over the chair. I didn’t recognize you all dressed up.”A brief look of concern set upon his face, yet there was no perceptible change in his body language.
“His name is Paul, and, yes, I am the guy who knocked over the chair. Paul is who I wanted to ask you about…”
“Why would you want to talk to me about Paul?” Nothing menacing in his voice, yet the tone was abrupt and defensive.
“Because no one has seen him since Saturday night.”
“Excuse me.”
“I said no one has seen him since he followed you out of the bar on Saturday night.”
Eric stared at me blankly while he contemplated my statement. “Wait a minute, your friend is missing, and you think since I gave the guy a little shove earlier that I had something to do with it?”
“I’m not sure what to think, Eric. All I know is that Paul went out to the parking lot a few minutes after you and your girlfriend. I was hoping you might shed some light on things for me. When we went outside to check on him, he was gone, you were gone, Jackie was gone. All we found was his wallet.”
“So.”
I said, “Let’s face it, it’s not like he was on your favorite person’s list.”
“Listen, if I had wanted to hit him, I would have hit him in the bar, and it would have been over.”
I said, “Well not completely over, but I follow you.”
“What do you mean ‘not completely over’?”
“You would have had to deal with me.”
“I’m not scared of you!” he yelled while taking an aggressive stance, his nostrils flaring, his eyes wide and locked on mine. His fists were balled up.
“I never said you were scared of me. You look like you got 20 pounds on me, so why be scared of little ole me. I just want to know what happened in that parking lot after Paul went outside.”
It wasn’t Eric’s eyes darting to his left that put me on guard; it was the momentary freeze of movement following his eye movement that screamed the fact Eric was getting ready to lie.
“I have no idea what you are talking about!”
“I think you do, Eric. I’m pretty sure you are not being completely truthful with me.”
“Eat me, bitch.”
“No thanks. The offer is not even the least bit appealing to me.”
“Mister, you can go fuck yourself.”
“I love how all you southern gents use ‘mister’ in such a condescending manner. It’s like it is an inherited trait to start your insults with a polite prefix. For some reason, I find it charming.”
Eric was standing there staring at me, chest heaving, face red, jaw clenched, while he repeatedly balled up his fists. It was an act, though; he had no intention of fighting me. I could see it in his eyes. One thing was for sure; he was a liar and a coward. I avoided looking smug. I did not want to rub it in his face.
“Let me repeat myself. Go fuck yourself, mister. There you go; I used it at the end of the sentence. Is that any better, asshole? I am done talking with you.” He turned and started walking towards the front entrance.
I said, “No Mister A-hole. I’m disappointed. I’m also disappointed y
ou weren’t able to help me. I guess I will have to talk to your girlfriend, Jackie Geddes, instead.”
He abruptly turned to stare at me again. He put together a half-hearted attempt to be intimidating, but we both knew it just was not in him. “How do you know her name? Who told you?”
“Didn’t your dad, Chief Parker, tell you? I used to be an intelligence officer with the United States Navy. I have been poking around. It’s something I’m good at.”
“You talked to my dad about this? When? What the hell is going on here?”
“Yeah, I talked with your dad. So did Paul’s dad, John Deland, an attorney here in Memphis who is making calls so we can make your life a living hell if you and your dad don’t start playing ball.”
“So my dad knows all about this?”
“Darn straight, Skippy, and it sounds like you need to talk to him yourself. Plus, you need to get your story straight, because you are hiding something, Eric. I have this pesky inner voice that tells me you are lying, and it’s seldom wrong.”
“What the hell…” He started the sentence with a look of genuine confusion on his face, but he trailed off. I saw fear behind his eyes; at least, it looked like fear. Either way, he looked like he was done talking.
“And you can tell him that the next time he sends six goons to run me out of town he needs to send some real men. I would have hardly broken a sweat taking them out. Wait, don’t bother telling him, I am tired of you and your family, and I will tell him myself. Congratulations, you guys have managed to tick me off.”
Eric was still standing there slack jawed as I left. It was time to meet with Chief Parker again.
Memphis Legend Page 15