Soul of Cole

by Micheal Maxwell

  “There’s no need to apologize. You know, we exchanged letters many times while Molly was at college, but when my mission moved to Guatemala, sending and receiving mail from my small village was nearly impossible. Once I received a packet of twelve letters from Molly, tied in a bundle. They had gotten wet and molded, and for the most part were illegible. It was one of the few times that I cried on the mission field. I’m glad I didn’t know she was sick. I probably would have dropped everything and came home. Maybe that’s part of God’s plan. He knew I couldn’t bear to see her so ill.”

  “When do you think you’ll go back?”

  Maryann’s words were like a shot through the heart. Up until this point Becca had not considered what the future would hold. What would become of the Children’s Center? Then there was the estate of her parents to deal with. She dreaded the thought of having to deal with Cassie. For her part, Becca didn’t really care about the money, but she knew that Cassie would scratch and claw for every cent she saw as her share. Becca felt her face flush. What a horrible thing to think of her sister that way. But, she knew down deep that it was true.

  “To tell you the truth, it hadn’t even occurred to me. I somehow feel I need to stay here. There is the ministry my father started here with the Children’s Center. What will happen to it? I know Cassie wants nothing to do with it. It would seem a shame if it were to just close up. Oh, Maryann. What am I going to do?”

  “There’s plenty of time to worry about that. When Doyle died it took me nearly a year to sort out all the loose ends, benefits and details that I was completely ignorant of. He took care of everything, paid the bills, deposited his checks, I didn’t even know what the house payment was. If I can be of any help at all I hope you’ll feel comfortable asking me. I’ve certainly learned a lot in the last three years.”

  “What do people in town think of the Center?”

  “Oh, you know how people are, you’ve got the ones that see the need and are thrilled someone else is doing it. You’ve got the people who volunteer and donate money to support the ministry. Then you’ve got the haters that think the government should have to take care of anything and everything having to do with Indians, as long as it’s on the reservation.”

  “My sister thinks we should just shut it down.”

  “I think that would be a tragic mistake. But you know, I’ve heard, and I’m not saying it’s true, that even the Indians can’t decide whether they like it or not. We’ve had some of the fathers of the kids come and really raise Cain. They’ve complained that we are trying to destroy their culture. They don’t want their kids bringing home Christian teaching. More than once I had to call the police because this crazy father was threatening your dad.”

  “Was that a common occurrence?”

  “I wouldn’t say common, but it was frequent enough to where it was a concern.”

  “You don’t think one of them could have, could have—”

  “I don’t know, I don’t think so. I think we shouldn’t think like that.”

  “But what if it were one of them?”

  “We need to let the police do their job and we need to concern ourselves with just getting through this tragedy. The law, and God, will see that justice is served in the end. Jumping to conclusions and speculating will just turn you bitter and resentful of the very people your dad was trying to help.”

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. That makes me just as bad as the haters.”

  Maryann replenished their tea. “Have you met Kelly Sage yet?”

  “No, who is she?”

  “She and her husband came to town shortly before you left. She’s been volunteering at the Center. I think you’d really like her. The day your parents died and the police came I went all to pieces. Kelly stepped up, took charge, and was a real blessing. If anybody would be a good sounding board for the future of the Center it would be her. Maybe we should all have lunch together after things settle down.”

  “I would like that. The thing I worry about most with my dad gone is raising support for the Center. He had all the connections, all the old friends, and all the people from the church. People my age don’t have money. It really worries me.”

  “Well, if it’s meant to be, the needs of the Center will be provided for. Maybe it could take a new direction.”

  “Maybe so.”

  “I promise you, if you stay and take over the operation of the Center you can count on me to be behind you every step of the way.”

  “That’s very kind of you, but I don’t know that I’ll be staying to run it. Oh Maryann, there are so many things pulling me this way and that. How will I know what to do?”

  “I think God has led you and protected you this far, I’m pretty sure He’ll see you through this and you’ll know just what to do. What do you say we go into the family room where it’s a little more comfortable?”

  “Yeah, I’m a little bonier than when I used to sit in these barstools all afternoon.” They both laughed and moved to the other room. Becca stopped when her eyes caught a collection of family pictures on the wall. Her eyes were drawn to an 8X10 toward the edge of the grouping.

  “I remember this. This is when we all went to Arrowhead Lake. Remember how sunburnt I got? You were right there with the Aloe lotion. Thank you, Maryann. Thank you for all the things you’ve done for me. You’ve been just like a second mom. I don’t think I’ve ever told you how much I appreciate you.”

  “Stop it or I’m gonna start crying again. Let’s change the subject, but, thank you. What did you bring with you from Guatemala?”

  “Just my backpack.”

  “Do you have something to wear to the Memorial Service?”

  “Oh, gosh, no. I’m going to have to go shopping.”

  “I don’t know how you would feel about this, but I want you to feel free to go see if there’s anything in Molly’s closet that you could use. I know the dress she wore to Doyle’s funeral is still in the closet.”

  Becca looked at Maryann for a long moment. “I think that would be a wonderful thing. It would be as if I’m honoring Molly, too. Oh, thank you, I wonder if it would fit.”

  “Well there’s only one way to find out. Let’s go have a look.”

  As they walked down the hall to Molly’s room, Maryann stopped. “I haven’t been in here since—”

  “You don’t have to come with me if you don’t want to.”

  “No, I think it’s time, and there’s no one I’d feel more comfortable doing it with.”

  It was nearly two hours later when they left Molly’s bedroom. They spent the time reminiscing, laughing, crying and telling Molly stories. The time together seemed to comfort them both, and was healing to their broken hearts. Becca ended up with not only a lovely, navy blue dress for the service, but Maryann insisted she take two pairs of jeans and several tops to get her through till she could go shopping.

  To Becca’s surprise, Maryann opened the top drawer of the dresser. From it she took a long, blue, velvet box. “Here’s something I would like you to have. I don’t want you to refuse because it would mean the world to me for you to have this.”

  Becca turned from the closet to face Maryann. “Oh Maryann, I know what this is. Are you sure you want me to have it?”

  “Without a doubt.” Maryann extended the box to Becca.

  She opened the box and looked down on the simple, but elegant, string of pearls. “I remember the night you gave these to her. It was her eighteenth birthday and we all went out to dinner at the Carriage House. They are so beautiful. It’s funny, I was so jealous. They seemed so grown up and so beautiful.”

  “Well, now you’re grown up, you’re beautiful, and they’re yours.”

  Becca put her arms around Maryann’s neck and gave her a hug. “Thank you so much, this means the world to me.” The whisper was for Maryann’s ears alone.

  As Becca prepared to leave she felt a great burden was lifted. Her love for Maryann was no longer just that of her best friend’s
mom, but moving forward she felt that they would grow even closer. As she waved from her car, she realized that the greatest gift of all was their time of bonding.

  CHAPTER 8

  As Michael Blackbear entered the Chew’n’Chat, it looked almost frozen in time. One man at the counter, two men at a booth on the left side of the restaurant, and in the back booth on the right side were the same three men in the same position as they were several days before. He walked passed the waitress at the register and she made no acknowledgment of his presence. The man with his back to the wall in the far booth looked up with an expressionless glance at Michael. There was no sign of welcome or recognition. He immediately went back to his conversation. The backpack that Michael carried suddenly felt like it carried the weight of the world.

  “Back again.” The man against the wall finally looked up.

  Michael set his backpack on top of the empty table and sat down at the booth with his back to the door.

  “What have we got here?” A second man with his back to the wall pulled the backpack closer. He lifted his black Rayban sunglasses and propped them up on top of his head. Unzipping the top of the backpack, he pulled the two sides apart and gazed down at the fruits of Michael’s first robbery.

  He looked at Michael. “You’ve been busy.”

  “How much?” Michael tried to not let his nerves show.

  The man holding the backpack looked at his two compatriots. “Five grand.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.” Michael’s nerves shot from fear to anger. “That stuff is worth a fortune.”

  The man lowered the Rayban’s, zipped the bag closed, and fiercely shoved it towards Michael. “Then take it somewhere else.”

  Michael glared at the pair sitting across from him. He could feel the man to his right bristle and tense like a coiled snake.

  “Ten.”

  “This isn’t Let’s Make A Deal.” Rayban wasn’t backing down. “Take your crap and leave.”

  After a brief pause Michael pushed the bag towards the center of the table. “Alright.”

  Rayban nodded at the man at Michael’s elbow, and he nudged him signaling to get up. He left the booth and the restaurant. Michael and the other men waited in silence. After about five minutes the man returned with a small manila envelope and placed it on the table in front of Michael. “Now get lost.” The boss gave a jerk of his head toward the door.

  Michael picked up the packet. “I’ll see you in a few days and I’ll expect more.” None of the men responded or even acknowledged that Michael spoke.

  As he got back to his car Michael slammed the roof with his fist. “It’s not worth it!” His rage boiled over. The car felt like an oven as he drove back toward town. He turned the air conditioner on full blast, but soon realized the heat was from his anger. He drove around Orvin for about fifteen minutes, cursing and talking to himself, and gazing at the storefronts that he passed. Without thinking, without emotion, and without a plan he headed for the highway.

  Arapaho Wells was a thirty minute drive from Orvin and the opposite direction of Enid. He cruised the small, but fairly modern, main drag of the town. There was nothing that stood out or seemed like a good target. He turned down a cross street and within a couple of blocks came to a strip mall. Without signaling or barely breaking, he turned into the parking lot. He passed a Baskin Robbins, a Greek Gyros shop, and a comic book and baseball card store before he spotted Marco’s Discount Jewelry. There were no cars in either direction for several spaces.

  He reached in the back seat and retrieved the blue burka head covering that was tucked in the pocket behind the passenger seat. A canvas Wal-Mart shopping bag was on the seat next to him. Michael folded the bag into a small square, then bent and reached under his seat for the gun he hid there.

  Without hesitation he left the car, bag in hand, the gun tucked in his belt at his back. He approached the door and there was no buzzer for entry. He stopped and turned from the door. It only took a second to put on the Burka. In just a matter of seconds he was in the door. Four steps into the store he pointed his gun at the man standing behind the counter looking down at a newspaper. “Both hands on the counter.”

  The man complied. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

  “I already have.” Michael thrust out the Wal-Mart bag as he reached the counter. “Is there anyone in the back?”

  “No.” Marco’s voice quaked with fear as he shot a look to the back room door.

  “Is lying worth taking a bullet for?”

  “I’m not lying. I’m here by myself right now.”

  Michael rounded the corner, gun still pointed at Marco. “Let’s go in the back.”

  Marco led the way, receiving gentle nudges with the barrel of the gun poking him in his lower back. In the back room against the left wall was a large safe. It was standing ajar as if Marco recently opened it to stock the display cases. “We’ll start here,” he ordered, “Open it wide. Scrape the contents into the bag.”

  Little boxes and trays were clumsily put into the bag. “Dump the trays,” Michael demanded. Marco complied and tossed the empty tray onto the floor. On the third shelf was a black box. “Open it and dump it.” Michael poked Marco in the neck with his gun as he took the lid from the box. Dozens of small paper packets filled the box. It was apparent this was where they filed their stones.

  Michael glanced around the back room seeing only a workbench and a desk. He looked back in the safe. He was satisfied most of its contents were in the bag. He stood for a moment considering if slamming Marco in the back of the head with the gun, or simply tying him up, was best. He decided that knocking him out would be the easiest, fastest course of action. Michael slammed Marco at the base of his skull with a tremendous blow.

  Marco made a grunting noise and dropped to the floor. Michael turned to leave when he saw what must be the alarm system recorder. Yanking the cables from the back, he untwisted a coax camera line and shoved the unit in his bag with the valuables and left the store.

  Carefully, slowly, and deliberately, he made his way back to the highway. He pulled over just before he reached the onramp. The burka and gun were already in the canvas bag. He got out of the car and put it in the trunk. Driving home he was careful not to exceed the speed limit or change lanes without signaling.

  A half hour later Michael pulled into the driveway of his small house. As he stood at the back of the car, he looked around the dusty row of small houses in lots with no grass, no trees, no flowers, no fences, just despair. Opening the trunk, he removed the bag and went into the house.

  The idea of committing two robberies and a serious assault sent a shiver through Michael. Did he hit the man in the jewelry store too hard? What if he killed him? He wondered as he set the bag on the small kitchen table. Placing the security recorder on the table, he set his gun on top of it, and covered them with the burka. He determined he would later take a hammer to the recorder, destroying it and the hard drive inside. He looked down in the bag at the packets, rings, necklaces, watches, and gold ingots.

  He got up from the table and went to a drawer next to the sink. He fished around until he found a zip lock bag. He returned to the table and began to pull the packets from the bag. In his frustration that it was taking too long he turned the bag upside down on the table. Taking the little paper packets he dumped their contents into the zip lock bag. Dozens and dozens of diamonds fell into the bag over the next few minutes. He meticulously laid the paper wrappers on the table and flattened them with his hand. Next he sorted the watches, the rings, and necklaces into separate piles. One by one he tore off the identifying price tag from each item and placed them with the tissue papers from the diamonds. As his adrenaline began to subside, his hands began to tremble as he was having more and more difficulty removing the price tags. When he completed the task, he stood and got the small, plastic garbage can standing next to the refrigerator.

  He brought it back to the table and scooped the price tags and tissues into the garbage can
. He retrieved a packet of matches from the drawer next to the sink. He took the can in hand, went to the back door and out into the backyard. Near the center of his hard, dusty, dirt lot set a rusting 55 gallon metal drum. He dumped the pail into the drum that was already half full of trash. He reached in his pocket and took the packet of matches, struck one and then lit the remaining matches in the pack. Holding for a long moment to ensure they were all sufficiently alight, he dropped the flaming packet into the barrel. Within moments flames were leaping out of the top of the barrel. That should do it, Michael said, gazing at the fire.

  “Hey, neighbor.” Michael’s head snapped to see Mary Wilson, the old lady who lived next door.

  “Hi Mary, how are you today?”

  “I’m still poor. I’m still drunk, I’m still an Indian, and this stupid dog has to pee a hundred times a day.”

  “You need one of those doggy doors.”

  “Maybe Santa will bring me one next Christmas.” Mary’s speech was slurred.

  “I tell you what, you let me store a couple boxes in your shed and I’ll put one in for you.”

  “You can do that anyway. I ain’t been in that thing since my Charlie died.”

  “Then it’s a deal. How about tomorrow?”

  “Just not before noon, I like to sleep late. How’d you like to join me for a drink?”

  “I’m good, thanks.” Michael chuckled and looked back at the burning barrel.

  Mary called the dog. It ignored her until she yelled its name in a harsh angry rasp. Only then did they both go back in the house.

  Michael walked over to her shed. There was no padlock on the bolt. He slid the bolt, pulled the door back with a rusty creak and looked inside. There were boxes, tools, and an inch of dust on everything. This will be perfect, he thought. He returned to the house.

  He reached around under the sink for a plastic garbage bag and found just what he needed in a damp box of rags and brushes. He pulled out two drawers before he found the one with a small stack of dishtowels. Using one of the more faded towels he wrapped up his gun tightly and put it in the garbage bag. Michael returned to the waiting shed, moved one of the boxes and slipped the bag into the box below, replacing the dusty top box.