Witness Rejection

by David R Lewis

  “What explosion?” Crockett asked.

  Montero looked at the big rifle where it lay in front of the spider hole. “That’s that fifty-cal M107 LRSR, isn’t it?” he asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “First one I ever saw in the flesh. Mind if I look at it?”

  “Help yourself.”

  Montero stretched out in the hole and shouldered the rifle. ‘What’s in the pipe?” he asked.

  “Armor piercing incendiary,” Crockett said. “Six more in the clip.”

  Montero put a plug in each ear, took his sight and touched the rifle off three times. White propane mist began shooting from the tank in several places. A report spounded from the right, and Crockett looked that way in time to see the glint of a projectile approach the lodge. When the propane tank exploded, he and Cletus could feel the concussion in their lungs. Across the valley airborne debris trickled back to earth from the seething overhead cloud. The lodge, now in full burn, no longer had an end wall, and burning chunks of logs and wood were scattered over the entire slope.

  “Holy shit!” Clete said.

  Montero removed his earplugs. “Gas explosion. Killed everbody in the place. What a tragedy. That was the M-32 multiple grenade launcher with one of those new H.E.D.P. rounds. Pretty much makes mortars obsolete. Call your transport and get outa here. I got work to do and I don’t need the two of you to do it.”

  Crockett activated his radio. “Firebase to Blackbird. Firebase to Blackbird. Over.”

  “Ah, this is Blackbird, Firebase. Five square, over.”

  “Roger, Blackbird. Extract, extract, extract. Over.”

  “Roger on the extract, Firebase. Three minutes out. No need to pop smoke. I see plenty. Blackbird is inbound. Buster. Out.”

  “Our ride’ll be here shortly,” Crockett said.

  “Okay,” Montero said. “I’ll get outa your way, straighten up a little, and get the Forestry people notified.”

  “Who’s the guy with you?” Clete asked, pointing across the slope with his chin.

  “The best long shooter the U.S. Marshal’s had to offer,” Montero said. “Nice workin’ with the two of you. Helluva job. Thanks from me and the Bureau. Don’t worry about your brass. I’ll police the area. Want some advice on what happened here today, Crockett?”

  “Sure.”

  “Fahgedaboudit,” Montero said. He turned and began walking down toward the valley. Neither Crockett or Clete could think of a thing to say.

  When Montero was about fifty yards distant, he stopped and turned around. “Hey, Crockett!” he yelled.

  “Yeah?”

  Montero was grinning.

  “Ba-da-bing!” he said, and continued down the slope.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Home Sweet Home

  When everybody arrived back at Ivy’s, Goody had three massive beef patties warming on the counter and was slicing Yukon Gold potatoes for French fries. Satin and Carson were hugging everybody in sight, and Ivy was her usual glowing and complimentary self. Athos, Porthos, and Aramis took seats at the kitchen table and accepted coffee and accolades with equal relish.

  Goody beamed. “Welcome home, Lads. Burgers and fries shortly. All is well, I assume?”

  “All is fine,” Clete said. “Carson’s ex-husband, his wants, his people, and the Federal Bureau of Investi-by God-gation are no longer a factor in her life. Carson, you are a free woman.”

  Tears in her eyes, Carson rose from her seat, hugged Cletus again, hugged Stitch again, and sat back down next to Crockett.

  “This is wonderful,” she said. “I can have my life back.”

  “You may now have a new life, child,” Ivy said. “That is the specialty of this house. New life. You are not the first to be presented with such opportunity by these marvelous men who have just returned to us. You may now construct your life to your specifications without the concern and worries that have burdened you for so long. You are new, my dear, and without blemish. All that has been cast away. As a butterfly emerging from its chrysalis, you may now become what you truly are and soar to the heights that you choose. How splendid this must be for you who have so long labored under the will and weight of others.”

  Again Carson rose and rounded the table. This time her embrace and tears were for Ivy.

  “Ah, since you got this whole hug jones goin’ on,” Stitch said, “let me, like, unselfishly offer myself to assist you in satisfying this need as often as you feel is, y’know, like, necessary, man.”

  “What a guy.” Satin said. “You’d do that for Carson?”

  Stitch grinned. “Yeah! For you, too. Should the need, you know, like, arise.”

  Satin fanned herself with a hand. “Oh, my goodness! Am I flushed? Is it warm in here?”

  Goody spoke up from his position by the stove. “If one of you ladies would care for company of a more mature nature, and all of what that extended experience implies, feel free to assist me in the delicate art of producing the perfect French fry. Think of it as foreplay if you like.”

  Needing movement and busy work, Carson again got to her feet. “I’m yours,” she said.

  Sir Thoroughgood Henley-Wahls smiled. “Of course you are, lass. They don’t call me Goody for nothing. I promise to be gentle.”

  By the time the meal was over, Crockett was nearly asleep in his chair. Carson kissed him on the cheek and badgered him into taking a nap. Crockett carried his plate and glass into the kitchen. Goody was fussing in the fridge.

  “Great meal,” Crockett said. “Thanks a lot.”

  Goody smiled. “Ruby told me once that burgers and fries were comfort food for you, lad. Traditions are very important. Go rest.”

  Crockett creaked upstairs, took a moment to call Lyle at Higgenbotham Realty and set some things in motion, and stretched out on the bed. Nudge myrrphing at the door got Crockett up to let him in. Both the cat and Satin were waiting in the hall.

  “I know you won’t discuss some things in front of Ivy and Carson,” she said, “but I gotta know. Is that sonofabitch dead?”

  “Him and his entire group,” Crockett said. “Nine of ‘em. Stone dead.”

  Satin kissed him quickly on the lips and put her arms around his neck. “You’re a helluva man, Crockett,” she said. “Carson is very lucky.”

  She broke contact before he could reply and walked off down the hall. Crockett and Nudge went to bed.

  Two days later, they went home.

  After a pre-dawn departure, Carson, Satin, and Crockett arrived in Kaycee in the early afternoon. Carson, who seemed a little nervous and jumpy, asked to be delivered to ‘Cheese Please’ in Zona Rosa. Promising to call the next day and declining assistance, she departed the truck with her duffels in hand and disappeared inside her store. Crockett negotiated the twisting streets and brain-dead pedestrians, and headed for Hartrick.

  “Now what for you?” he asked.

  “I gotta see if I have a job anywhere,” Satin said. “I may be unemployed and destitute.”

  “You could always be a kept woman.”

  Satin eyed him suspiciously. “I could, huh?”

  “Why not? Room, board, and thirty-five dollars a week spending money. All that and a pallet under the stairs. Helluva deal.”

  “And to qualify for all this generosity, what would I have to do?”

  Crockett grinned. “Me,” he said.

  “I’ve done you. Even though it doesn’t take very long, thirty-five bucks a week ain’t near enough. That wouldn’t begin compensate for the boredom.”

  “I could go forty.”

  “Now you’re just insulting me. I don’t have to put up with this. Take me home.”

  When they arrived in the alley behind the post office, Crockett got serious. “I don’t know what your financial situation is,” he said, “and maybe it’s none of my business, but this time off you’ve taken can’t have done your cash flow much good. I can, and will gladly, help if you need it. No strings attached.”

  Satin smiled. “Yo
u’re a peach, Davey,” she said. “I really don’t think there’ll be a problem with either of my jobs. Besides, Ivy made me take a check from one of her businesses. All this time I spent at her place I’ve been employed as a corporate consultant. It pays very well. I’m in better shape than I’ve ever been in my life.”

  “Ah. Well, I guess you don’t need me then, do you?”

  “Nope. Live with it.”

  “Okay. I’ll go. Just another lost soul, alone, walking into the sunset.”

  Satin kissed him on the cheek. “I don’t wanna see you tomorrow. I’ll be busy with girl stuff. Forget the sunset and walk your ass back in here the next morning. Breakfast is on you.”

  “Eight?”

  “Nine,” Satin said, opening her door. “I need my beauty sleep.”

  Crockett sneered. “You got that right,” he said.

  On the way to his land, Crockett called Lyle Higgenbotham again. The old man met him at the new cabin.

  “Good to see ya, boy. Hope yer business trip went good for ya.”

  “Just fine,” Crockett said, eyeballing the backside of his new home. “Bigger than I thought.”

  “Eleven hundred and twenty-two square feet,” Lyle said. “Got the furnishings inside ya wanted, the hot tub is in the screened end of the side porch, ya got food in the cabinets and the fridge, power, water, and a rick a red oak for the fireplace, cut split, and stacked on the east side. C’mon in and look around.”

  Crockett was impressed. The place was nicer than he hoped it would be. He made coffee, took advantage of some of Lyle’s sightin’ oil, and the two of them retired to the porch.

  The natural valley in front of the cabin didn’t look so natural anymore. It was deeper, a great many of the trees were gone, and dozer tracks had denuded the majority of the underbrush.

  “What happened here?” Crockett asked.

  “I had a couple a ol’ boys from the Department of Conservation come out an’ look the place over, plus a friend a mine from the Army Corps of Engineers. Down the way and around that corner to the east is your dam.”

  “My dam?”

  Lyle grinned. “You said you wanted a little lake. They figger about twenty acres or better when it fills up.”

  Crockett grinned. “No kidding? That’s terrific!”

  “Uncovered a pretty good spring on a hillside when they was diggin’ for the dam. You got a acre or so under three or four feet a water right now, and the dam’s only been in for a week. Git some snow this winter and rain this spring, and you’re set, boy.”

  “Guess I owe you some money,” Crockett said.

  “Not me. Ya owe my daughter a couple a hundred bucks for groceries and such, and some other folks for the dozer work and all. The bills are in the drawer next to the sink. No rush. Everbody knows yer good for it. I put some salt and mineral blocks out on the other side a the draw. You’ll be kickin’ deer outa the way to get to your truck. Your gonna have to seed your yard this spring. Probably git some more gravel on the drive and stuff. Nice place, Crockett. In a year, it’ll be beautiful.”

  “You’ve worked your butt off, Lyle. What can I do for you?”

  “You can share a little coffee and sightin’ oil with me now and then, and enjoy your new home,” Lyle said, standing up and carrying his coffee cup into the kitchen. Crockett followed.

  “My payment is in your eyes right now,” the old man went on. “I gotta git goin’. Don’t wanna wear out my welcome.”

  Crockett walked Lyle to his truck, then carried in several boxes from the bed of the power wagon that contained stuff from the motorhome, and a couple of cartons that Ivy had given him. Unable to relax, he drove to Carter Kennels and picked up Dundee. The dog kept trying to sit on top of him on the drive home, and Crockett emerged covered in canine spit and hair. She and Nudge bumped noses in greeting and promptly went on woods patrol.

  Crockett fixed himself a ham and cheese sandwich and took it to the porch overlooking the gutted valley in front of the house and visualized sparkling water teeming with famished bass and gluttonous crappie. After the sandwich, he spent several hours unpacking the things from the Pequod and stowing boxes away. Around nine, he put in his Young Frankenstein DVD, made sure Dundee and Nudge were inside, and crashed on the couch. Gene Wilder and Terri Garr were dealing with the rotating bookcase when his phone rang. It was Carson.

  “Hey, Sweetheart.”

  “Hi, Crockett.”

  “How are things? Gonna take you two years to catch up?”

  “Things are fine. Sally has done really well while I’ve been gone. Can I come out?”

  “Can you come out?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Of course you can come out,” Crockett said. “There is never a time when you’re not welcome in my home or my life. Want me to come in and get you?”

  “No. Sally took me out to the stable. I have my car. Are you sure it’s okay?”

  “Of course. Come ahead.”

  “I’m sorry to bother you, but I feel disconnected, you know? It’s like one of those animals that’s been in a cage so long, they’re afraid of freedom or something. I need your safety, Crockett. I need you.”

  “You got me, Carson. C’mon out. Where are you now?”

  “Just turning into your drive,” she said.

  Carson spent the night clinging to Crockett and, occasionally, crying in her sleep. When Crockett walked her to her car at ten the next morning, she was better, but still weepy.

  “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she said.

  Crockett smiled. “Very little,” he said. “This is part of a purge. You’ve got a lot to get rid of now that things have changed. Take it easy. Get emotional. Let it happen. Your life has transformed dramatically. That’s never easy. I’ll help.”

  Carson kissed him and got in her car. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” she said, and motored off down the drive.

  “You’ll think of something,” Crockett said, and turned away toward the house.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Satin Revisited

  It was a snowy winter. Extreme cold wasn’t a problem, but Crockett was glad for four-wheel drive. With March came early spring rains, and his little lake began to fill. His grass seed did well, and he even bought a mower, amused by his domestic commitment to the care of his tiny lawn. He and Satin talked on the phone from time to time and went shopping together now and then, enjoying each other’s company.

  Carson left in early March, returning to Kalamazoo to be near her mother and restart her life. Crockett hated to see her go but was also pleased that her future had become more important than her present, and a little relieved that he had not become a hindrance to her growth. He was alone again, but seldom lonely. There was always something to do around the place, and he and Dundee became as close as he and Nudge.

  As April approached, Crockett set about to clear out the rest of the unwanted stuff in his storage shed and came across the two boxes Ivy had sent home with him. The first one, a wide and flat carton, contained the painting of herself that Ruby had given him, and the Vargas pencil sketch of Vonda Gold, the Amazing Disappearing Woman. The second carton contained a brass urn and a note from Ivy.

  My Dearest David,

  In this urn are the remains of Ruby LaCost. She is gone. Free of us, she now makes her own way toward whatever destiny the cosmos has in store for her. Now is the time for you to truly let her go. More than that, you need to free yourself of her. Ruby would not want to be a burden to you. In your heart of hearts, you understand this. Take the wonderful things she has given you and go on. You have too much of your own to give to squander it on those now free of the mundane.

  All my love,

  Ivy

  Crockett carried the boxes into the house, set the urn on the mantel above the fireplace, and turned his attention to the pictures. They were almost exactly the same size. Thirty minutes later, the sketch of Vonda Gold was in the frame on top of the painting of Ruby, and h
anging on the living room wall. Crockett looked at it while he sipped a watered down Coke. When he poured the leftover ice in the sink, he returned to the living room. Almost without thought, he took the urn down from the mantel and carried it outside and through a quarter mile of undergrowth to the dam of his growing lake.

  “Thanks for everything, LaCost,” he said. “We don’t need to hold each other back.”

  With that, he scattered the ashes across the water and tossed the urn into the pond.

  Three hours later Crockett, realizing that he was hungry, stood in the kitchen contemplating his open fridge. Dundee’s barking drew his attention to the rear of the cabin. There, coming down the drive in her new Jeep, was Satin. He walked outside and assisted her with a bottle of wine and a box of pizza.

  “What a surprise,” Crockett said. “Good to see you, champ.”

  “I was gonna call and make sure you were around,” Satin said, scratching Dundee behind the ears, “but why? You’re always here. You never go anywhere. You don’t have a life, you pathetic old hermit. Thought I might make points with Jesus if I brought some food to our sick and shut-in friends. Can I send you out some magazines or something, honey?”

  Crockett chuckled as he opened the door and followed her inside.

  “That pizza,” Satin went on, “is one of them U-Bake-It ones they make at the grocery. I added extra pepperoni. I don’t know shit about wine.”

  Crockett looked at the label. Australian Shiraz. “Perfect,” he said, putting the bottle on the table and firing up the oven.

  He found Satin in the living room staring at the recently hung sketch. “She’s beautiful,” Satin said.

  “That’s the drawing that Vargas did of LaVonne Goldstein. Vonda Gold.”

  “The ghost you told me about.”

  “Yeah,” Crockett said. “Her granddaughter looks just like her. Beautiful girl.”