UnderCover

by David R Lewis

  “You’re gonna make somebody a great wife someday,” Satin said.

  “Only after three more surgeries and the new hormones I’ve been promised,” Crockett said, “then the beard and ‘stash’ll no longer be an issue. I already have to sit down to pee. Ain’t science grand?”

  “How long ‘til we eat?”

  “A couple of hours. I want the veggies to marinate for a while.”

  “Great. I’m gonna run over to Wally World and pick Danni up some things.”

  “Suits me. Stay out of Hartrick in case the monster continues to cruise the area. If you promise you’ll still respect me in the morning, you can spend the night out here.”

  Satin grinned. “I don’t respect you now.”

  With that, she bid goodbye to Danni and headed for her car, Dundee bouncing along by her side. Crockett returned to scrubbing the grill. As he was putting it back together, Danielle spoke up.

  “You really gonna tangle with Train?”

  “Probably,” Crockett said. “But very carefully.”

  “Have you seen him?”

  “No. But I know he’s six-nine, weighs about three-seventy, and is a lot younger than me. Did you know his real name is Devon?”

  Danni looked at him from her seat in the canvas chair and shook her head. “You’re not very bright, are ya? I’ve seen him just grab a guy and, like, break him, ya know?”

  “I’ll try not to let him grab me. How long have you known Train?”

  “A couple years. I sorta lived with him for a little while, but he wanted to pimp me out, so I split.”

  “Did he?”

  “Did he what?”

  “Pimp you out.”

  Danielle flushed and looked away. Crockett gave her time. After a moment she look at him again.

  “Yes,” she said. “For a couple of months. He has an escort service. Most of the girls rotate in from Vegas or Reno. After a while, I couldn’t take it anymore.”

  “That’s when you went to Arizona?”

  “Oklahoma. Tulsa. What a dump.”

  “Why come back to Kaycee?”

  “I had to get out of Tulsa. I was hangin’ with this guy until he pissed me off, so I fucked up his car with a softball bat he always carried in the back seat and left before the cops could get me.”

  “Ah. Interstate flight to avoid prosecution. An old story, and a familiar one.”

  Danni looked at Crockett through slitted eyes. “You’re pretty strange, you know that?” she said.

  Crockett smiled as he took a seat in the swing. “I like to think of it more as interesting than strange,” he said. “Or quirky. Quirky is always good.”

  “And you live out here all by yourself?”

  “Yeah. Your mom shows up from time to time. Lord knows I’ve tried, but I can’t seem to run her off.”

  “You like being alone?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Not me,” Danni said. “Too lonesome. I gotta have people around me. You know, go do things and shit.”

  “What about your little girl?”

  “Lucy’s with my aunt Velvet right now. As soon as I get settled again, I’ll get her back.”

  “And by settled, I assume you mean safe from Train, making some money, and living with another guy.”

  Danielle nearly sneered. “I don’t see no marriage license for you and mom,” she said.

  Crockett smiled. “Not my point,” he said.

  “What is it, then?”

  “That your entire adult life has been a series of making the same mistakes over and over again. Of looking for someone to provide things for you that you can only provide for yourself. Of basing your worth on how many drunks wanna put folding money in your G-string. Of hating men because you’ve never encountered a good one, and never encountering a good one because you, for whatever reason, don’t believe yourself to be worthy.”

  “That’s what you think, huh?”

  “The best definition of insanity that I’ve ever heard is doing the same thing, in the same way, over and over again, while expecting a different outcome. You had any different outcomes lately, kiddo?”

  “You think you’re pretty fuckin’ smart, doncha?”

  “No,” Crockett said. “I’m no smarter than you are, but I’m better informed. I’ve got a different perspective and more experience. The only way any of us learn life lessons is the hard way. You’ve taken the hard way, no doubt about that. And that would be fine, except you’re not learning anything. You’re a poor excuse for a daughter and a worse excuse for a mother. You’ve got people who are willing to help you, take risks for you, worry about you, and yet, as far as you’re concerned, none of that seems to mean a damn thing.”

  “I do okay!” Danni flared. “I make good money when I dance!”

  “Got any?”

  “Got any what?”

  “Money.”

  Danni shut up and looked at her feet. Crockett went on.

  “When’s the last time you bought your daughter a new dress, or took her to a park, or played stupid little kid’s games with her, or held her and told her you loved her? When’s the last time you did something nice for your mother or your aunt? When’s the last time you did something nice for yourself?”

  Danielle continued to avoid his eyes.

  “I’m not making any judgments on your morality as far as dancing or hooking go. The plain truth is that you are on a slope that is only gonna get steeper and more slippery as you get older. You’re getting by on tits and ass, kid, and tits and ass wear out. Ten years from now, when everybody that’s on stage is at least a decade younger than you are, where you gonna be? Back in a hospitality cubicle passing out blowjobs and giving half your take to the house? Where will your daughter be then? Still with your aunt, while you hide from the newest ex-love of your life?”

  Danielle was sunken into the chair, her eyes full, her posture the picture of defeat. Crockett was on a roll.

  “There are a lot of good people out there,” he went on. “And a lot of those good people are men. Men you won’t have to control, men you can rely on. What you’re doing right now is building a wall between you and any kind of real and trusting relationship. You’re doing unto others before they can do unto you. You are creating emotional calluses that you will never be able to overcome if you don’t start soon. Before long, you won’t be able to feel anymore. You’ll become numb to life. And the really sad thing is, life will become numb to you.”

  Nearly growling, Crockett stomped inside to freshen his coffee. When he returned, Danielle was hugging her knees to her chest and softly crying. Crockett sat in the swing and waited. Gradually she settled down. At length, she peered at him with bloodshot eyes out of a swollen face.

  “Mom says you’re a really good man,” she said.

  “Your mother doesn’t get out much.”

  “I’ve known a lot of guys.”

  Crockett smiled. “Now you’re just bragging,” he said.

  “None of ‘em ever talked to me like you just did.”

  “Why do you think that is?”

  Danielle thought for a moment, then wiped her nose with the back of her hand.

  “’Cause it was never about me,” she said. “It was always about them.”

  “That’s correct! Johnny, tell our contestant what she’s won.”

  Danielle peered at him and shook her head. “You’re really strange.”

  “Quirky,” Crockett said. “But, I’m also loveable and fairly cute in a one-legged, elderly kinda way. You, on the other hand, look like shit. Hanging on the back of the bathroom door, across from the kitchen, is a big assed robe. Go take a shower, clean up, relax, put on the robe, and come back out here. Open the bathroom window or leave the door cracked a bit. The exhaust fan is on the blink. By the time you’re done, I’ll be ready to start the fire; and Satin’ll be showing up with some clothes and stuff. If you’re sitting here like that when she comes back, she might think I’ve been slapping you around and kick my
ass. I am not prepared to live with that level of humiliation. Scoot.”

  Danielle stood up and schlepped across the porch and through the sliding glass door. Crockett was mulling over his handling of the situation when he heard her muffled scream. He tore into the house to find the bathroom door half open, Danielle huddled behind the translucent shower curtain, and Nudge sitting in the middle of the floor, swishing his tail and eyeballing the shower stall.

  Grinning, Crockett quietly sneaked back outside and returned to the swing.

  Shock therapy can be very effective.

  *****

  Sarah was coiled on the living room couch watching something on the National Geographic channel. Mandy, after a warm rinse in the shower and most of a slightly stale pancake, was crashed in a dim and quiet bedroom. The dishes were in the dishwasher, the counters were wiped down, and Cheryl, staring numbly in the general direction of the microwave oven at the end of the counter, sat at the kitchen table listening to spring rain rattle on the fiberglass patio cover.

  What had she seen? The fishpond had fieldstone seated around the edges, overhanging the water. It would have been nearly impossible for Mandy to climb out of the pool if it would have been possible at all. Besides, Mandy didn’t climb out anyway. She flew. No matter how hard Cheryl tried to convince herself that she’d seen some sort of stress-released panic hallucination or something, the plain truth was that she’d seen Mandy launch upward out of the water with a huge splash, move in an arc, and land seven or eight feet away on the grass beside the pond.

  Mandy’s assessment of the situation was simple. Her great grandmother, a woman dead four days and buried for one, had saved her. Mandy didn’t seem to believe anything remarkable had occurred. That was to be expected. Children cared much more for possibilities than probabilities, and Mandy was well below the age of cynicism. And, as far as Cheryl could tell, Mandy had yet to develop the skill of lying. Not only that, Mandy also did not like water in her eyes or over her head. She’d been water shy since she was tiny. Hair washing had gotten easier over the years, thank God, but it still could be a trial. Cheryl just couldn’t imagine why the child would ever jump into a deep body of water. And she did jump. Cheryl witnessed the whole thing. Mandy did not trip, stumble, or fall in the water. She ran to the edge of the pool, stopped, looked into the pond, and jumped in.

  And then something threw her out.

  What?

  Martha sat in a chair on the patio doing one of her favorite things. Watching the rain drip off the roof. Thank goodness. The whole Kansas City area was way behind on precipitation and the water table was low. The rain was more than welcome. She attempted to lose herself in the weather for a while, as she had done so many times before, in that chair on the patio; but she could not get Mandy’s most recent stunt out of her mind. It was so typical of the girl. If Grandma was in the pond, she should be in the pond, too. The fact that Grandma was dead didn’t slow Mandy down a bit. Martha would have to be careful and not let the child see her again. And poor Mandy. At her age, trying to convince an adult that she had seen something that was simply not possible, must have been terribly frustrating.

  Martha was also frustrated. Several times that morning she had attempted to move something, her chair, a rock, the bar-b-que grill, with no more success that she’d ever had. She’d walked out by the street to shout and wave at people, but no one noticed her except a passing dog that bolted to the other side of the road and vanished between two houses. Okay. She was still invisible to people and still ineffectual in dealing with her newfound environment, but she had managed to toss the only person who was able to see her out of the pond. Were the two facts related? Could she actually grab Mandy because the girl could see her? Could the girl see her because Martha could touch her? Which came first, the chicken or the egg. With a heavy sigh, Martha leaned back in her chair, closed her eyes, and tried to change the subject for a while.

  At around eleven, Cheryl made some hot chocolate. She delivered a mug to Sarah in the living room, filled Mandy’s old Spongebob cup, entered the bedroom where the child slept, and sat on the edge of the bed. Mandy woke up easily, smiling at her mother, spurred into a sitting position by the smell of hot chocolate and the sight of her favorite mug.

  “How you feeling, Sweetie?”

  “Fine.”

  “Do you remember what happened this morning?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “What?”

  “You make pancakes.”

  Cheryl smiled. “What else?”

  “I jump inda wadder.”

  “Yes, you did. What else?”

  “Gramma throw me out.”

  “She was in the pond when you jumped in?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Swimming?”

  Mandy giggled. “No, Mom!” the thought of a swimming Gramma was almost too much for her. “That’s silly!”

  “What was she doing?”

  “Sitting onda bottom.”

  “Just sitting there?”

  “She waved at me.”

  “Did that surprise you?”

  “Nope. She did it before. I told ya, Mom.”

  “I know you did.”

  “You didn’t believe me.”

  “No, sweetheart, I didn’t.”

  The girl shrugged and sipped her drink, beginning to lose interest in the conversation.

  “Is that where she stays? In the pond.”

  “I dunno.”

  “Have you ever seen her anywhere else?”

  “Nope.”

  “Does she talk to you?”

  “Nope.”

  “What do you think she is?”

  “Gramma,” Mandy replied around a swallow of hot chocolate.

  Cheryl smiled at the simplicity of it all. “Okay. You really saw her, right?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Sitting in the bottom of the fishpond.”

  Mandy sighed at her mother’s density. “Yes, Mom. I told ya.”

  “Is she in the pond now?”

  “Mom, I dunno. Why doncha go see?”

  “You want to come with me?”

  Mandy peered at the curtained window. “Is it raining?”

  “Yep.”

  “Can I have da little yellow umbella?”

  “Um-brell-uh, honey. Sorry. It’s not here. It’s over at the apartment. I’ll try to find you one of Grandma’s.”

  “Then can I have a peanut butter and manana sammich?”

  “Bah,” Cheryl said, stifling a grin at Mandy’s negotiations. “Bah-na-nah.”

  “Can I?”

  “Yep. I’ll fix a big one, and you and Sarah can split it.”

  “Can I pick out my own clothes?”

  “Can you get your suitcase open?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Okay.”

  Mandy handed her mother the empty cup and squirmed her way to the side of the bed. She patted Cheryl on the knee.

  “I saw her, Mom.”

  Cheryl looked at her daughter and said the only thing her heart would allow her to say. “I believe you did, sweetie. Let’s see if she’s still there. Do you have to go potty?”

  The rain had picked up. While Mandy got dressed, Cheryl cut head and armholes in a garbage bag for a make-do slicker and found four or five umbrellas stashed in the hall closet. Mandy arrived on the scene wearing purple corduroy pants, a red t-shirt with white lace on the neckline, her favorite faded green hoodie, her black tennis shoes, untied, and one blue sock. Cheryl sat her on the kitchen counter to tie her shoes.

  “Where’s your other sock?”

  “It went for a walk,” Mandy said.

  Cheryl glared at her daughter. “No, it didn’t. Where is it?”

  Mandy giggled. “Monkeys got it!”

  “No, they didn’t. I chased all the monkeys away while you were asleep. Where is your other sock?”

  “Alligators ate it!”

  “Look, kidney, I want some straight answers from you right now. The beatings a
re about to start. You can’t go outside with just one sock.”

  “I’m not!” Mandy nearly squealed, waving her socked foot around. “I got two, Mom!”

  “What?”

  “They both on this foot!” Mandy hooted, and fell into a seizure of I-fooled-my-mom giggles.

  At length, after a wardrobe struggle of threats and tickling, mother and younger daughter, abandoned by Sarah who was glued to a television documentary on Lemurs, made their umbrella grasping way through what was rapidly becoming a storm to the edge of the pond. The surface of the water was heavily stippled by wind and rain. Cheryl peered at the water.

  “Can you see her?”

  Mandy looked at the pond. “Can’t, Mom. Da water too splashy.”

  “So you don’t know if she’s in there or not?”

  “Huh-uh.”

  “Okay. Let’s go back inside. We’ll come out and look again after the rain stops.”

  Mother and daughter walked back across the yard, leaning into the wind and rain. Impervious to the storm, Martha escorted them back to the patio and watched as they went inside. She sank to her favorite chair and smiled. Lord, she did love to watch the rain.

  Several times over the next few days, Cheryl saw Mandy sitting by the pond looking down into the water. Mandy was nonchalant about the whole thing, apparently finding nothing unusual in seeing her dead great grandmother sitting in the water with the fish, and would, now and then, report to either her mother or her sister that Martha was still there. Cheryl, on the other hand, became worried about the child. A couple of trips to a children’s psychologist resulted in nothing more satisfying than the determination that Mandy seemed to really believe that she did see Martha. Mandy was described as bright, healthy, intelligent, and several other pleasing adjectives that did nothing to allay Cheryl’s concern. She even considered having the pond drained and filled in, but couldn’t bring herself to destroy all Martha’s work and love. Plus, the memory of Mandy flying out of the pool and onto the grass haunted her. As much as she hated to admit it to herself, Cheryl knew that something truly unusual had happened and was still happening.