by Jerry Brown
Eunice Flint was surprised to return home and find her husband waiting. When he told her he was taking a long weekend, she was delighted and quickly arranged for her daughters to visit with friends. She made dinner plans and suggested that they visit his mother for a couple of days. She reasoned that the combination of his mother's adoration and down-home cooking usually settled him. While Eunice was not an outdoors person, she would agree to tromp through the woods with him because it gave him so much pleasure to point out animal life she never would have spotted, and to tell her the boring history of every nook and cranny.
She would wish a thousand times that she followed through on her plans. Eunice had a fiery and impulsive nature. Her emotions and passions were always close to the surface. When she shared her plans with her husband, he acceded, but with little enthusiasm. She reacted angrily and attempted to shame him out of his mood. It did not work this time. She cooked supper with a high flame and with often slammed cabinet doors and banged pots and pans. The meal was silent. He looked down at his food while she stared holes in his forehead. After supper he went to their bedroom to sulk. She left the dishes to soak while she fumed and watched television programs she could later not recall.
It was her nature to flare quickly and to recover almost as quickly. Eunice found her husband in bed, laying on his side facing the opposite wall. His eyes were closed, but she knew he wasn't asleep. She quietly removed all her clothing and slid into a slinky satin nightgown, then slipped into the bed and pressed the length of her body close to him. She was surprised when she got no reaction. It had always worked before. She kissed the side of his neck and asked in a whisper if he was awake.
"Yes," he answered in his usual deep, guttural voice.
"I'm sorry I flew off the handle. I just don't know how to deal with you when you're like this," she said softly, then licked his earlobe.
He crossed his arm over her body and caressed her buttock. "It's not you, it's all me. I know that. It's something I have to come to grips with, and nobody can deal with it but me. Just be patient for a little while and I'll work it out."
"Do you want to go to yo' mama's?" she asked.
"Maybe later. The way I am now would just upset her, too. What I need to do is just go out in the woods and scout for deer signs and trails. I'll have to do that anyway before huntin' season and that'll get me out of your hair."
"You're not in my hair," she answered coquettishly and again kissed his earlobe.
He again patted her buttock and replied: "You know what I mean."
"Do you want me to fix you somethin' to take with you to eat?" she asked softly.
"No, I'll just pick up some snacks along the way," he pulled tenderly against her buttock, closing the conversation.
Eunice murmured: "Okay," and turned away.
Flint arose before first light and took his camouflage clothing to the kitchen to dress. Before putting on his boots, he crept quietly back to his closet for his hunting vest -- which contained a supply of shells, and his twelve gage shotgun.
He arrived at the country store alongside the swamp as dawn was breaking. The owner was just making his way from his house to open the store. Flint identified himself and asked if there had been anymore break-ins. The owner said "Thankfully" there had been none, but the whole episode had ruined his bait business, and he had found himself unable to sleep since that night.
Flint purchased several slices of souse, four cellophane packages of crackers and obtained the man's permission to leave his car parked near the store. The sun was still low over the horizon. It was foggy and a layer of mist settled at the level of his knees. He walked directly into the edge of the swamp and stealthily made his way from cover to cover, always on the alert, scanning the undergrowth, making every use of the terrain to conceal his approach.
He was an experienced deer hunter and, despite his height and large feet, was adept at quiet movement. The going was slow and his senses were working overtime. He stopped and breathed deeply, trying to exhale quietly, but needing to lose some tension. Then he thought about the souse, that spicy concoction of ground pork, garlic and other spices. He was suddenly hungry. He selected a scrub oak near a lagoon. By now the sun was breaking through the fog and mist. He scraped dead leaves away from the the trunk and sat down on the spot he deemed to be the driest one around. He pulled the souse from the pouch on his coat, but before he unwrapped the noisy white paper, he lay the shotgun across his lap, just in case. The aroma of garlic and other spices in souse is pleasant and slight, but it quickly caught the attention of the tall, grotesque looking man for whom Flint had been searching. His eyesight and sense of smell were accentuated, compensating for his other disabilities. It did not take the man long to catch sight of Flint atop a rise, sitting back against the trunk of a tree, eating. The man slipped quickly back to his lair where he sifted through his belongings and chose a heavy oak logging equipment handle he had stolen during his burglary of the store. Then, he returned to the place of concealment, a tangle of wild grape and honeysuckle vines. His face was contorted with hate.
His meal finished, Flint stood up slowly, using his gun as a crutch. His leg had gone to sleep. He shook his head, realizing that he wasn't all he once was. Stretching to his full 6'3" height, he looked in all directions, noting that a wind was growing from the south and clouds suggested the possibility of a thunderstorm. He decided enough was enough. He had taken enough chances and would make his way back to the store. Unknown to Flint, circumstances were no longer in his favor. He was under the surveillance of his prey who was concealed and had no need for movement. Consequently, there would be no cries of alarm from animal or bird life to alert Flint. The growing breeze at his back which would limit chances of detecting his adversary's strong body odor. Flint walked quickly at a crouch, retracing his steps on the sandy trail wending its way between the heavy undergrowth on either side. He caught the odor at the same instant he heard a grunt behind him. He started his turn bringing his shotgun into firing position, but he was too slow. The heavy handle struck the back of his head and he immediately fell, face first to the ground. The attacker stood over his back in an ape like stance, raining blow after blow to the back of Flint's skull. Grunts turned into rapid, frantic squeals. The blows continued as the wound broadened spreading blood and brain matter over the sandy trail.
As suddenly as it began the attack was over. Quiet returned. Ants appeared from nowhere and competed with the absorbing sand for the residue.
Chapter 40
Bowman waited while Annie showered. He yawned and rubbed his eyes with his palms.
She came into the room and caught his eye. She stuck out her tongue with a smile as she passed a little too close to him. She smelled of soap. He slapped her lightly on the rump and grabbed a pile of his clothes in his large hand and moved to take his turn in the shower.
He returned wiping the vestiges of shaving lather from his face and ears with a towel. He stood and admired Annie as she brushed her hair in long strokes with her head turned to an angle.
"What are we goin' to do today?" she asked, still brushing her hair.
"I thought maybe you could show me the sights of Baltimore."
"How in the hell would I know. I haven't been anywhere but here and the hospital since I've been in this town. All I've done is cram and sleep."
Trying to hide his disappointment, Bowman offered, "Listen, if you need to study, I can entertain myself."
She rose and moved to him and hugged him. "No, that's over now. I'm goin' through supervised application now. I just meant that I don't know what the sights are anymore than you do. Let's go to the lobby and grab a bunch of brochures."
Life was more exciting with Annie beside him -- nudging him, holding his arm, laughing at his quips. He enjoyed her attention and took pleasure in watching passing men admiring her in stolen glances. It was Saturday, she was all his, he was all hers and Baltimore was all theirs. Together they toured the National Aquarium, the zoo, Fort McHenr
y and Edgar Allan Poe's house. Dusk found them walking along the cobblestone streets near the inner harbor. He saw a neon sign down the street advertising Padrone's Ristorante. Only then did he realize they had gone all day without stopping to eat. He stopped and grasped her hand resting on his inner elbow and asked: " Do you realize we haven't eaten all day?"
She followed his eyes to the sign. "Of course, I did. I just figured you were too chincy to spend any money on me."
"What?" he said as he looked down into her eyes, his face grimaced.
She looked up at him and smiled. "Chill out big guy, I was just kiddin'. Eatin' never crossed my mind. I can't think of food and you at the same time."
"Well, quit thinkin' about me, but only for a minute. Is Italian okay with you?"
She moved closer to him and brought her breast against his elbow. "Let's check it out, I'm starvin' all of a sudden."
They walked toward the sign and peered in the window. The brick walls were painted white and covered with pictures of mostly groups of people. Four place tables covered in white and red tablecloths were in rows. Customers were absent.
"We may want to reconsider," he said. "It doesn't look like they have much business."
"Don't be silly. It's probably just too early for normal people to eat dinner. We're here, let's go for it."
They entered the door and waited to be noticed. A smiling maitre'd bounded from the kitchen through a swinging door. The aroma of tomatoes cooking with garlic and oregano moved ahead of him. He held up two fingers and Bowman nodded.
They studied the menus. "What are you goin' to order?" she asked.
"That Chicken Marsala looks good to me, but I've got a taste for Chianti. Would the waiter's raised eyebrows bother you?"
"Don't be ridiculous. I don't even think those rules apply anymore. What the hell do we care, anyway. Tell you what, I'll order the Veal Parmigiana. That'll cover you."
"I thought about ordering the Veal Marsala, but I got a picture of calves crowded in dark facilities being force fed with milk and I decided against it."
He looked up from the menu, holding it to his nose to hide his grin, but the tears welling in his eyes gave him away.
"Thanks a lot, asshole. She shook her head. Order me Chicken Parmigiana and Chianti." She flashed an exaggerated forced smile, then dropped the menu on the table, picked up her purse and walked away toward the restrooms.
The day of fasting was evident. They ate without banter. She declined his offer of more wine.
"I guess I'll just have to finish it off by myself," he responded. "Mama's admonitions about cleaning my plate and starvin' children in China is imprinted in my brain."
She rested her back on the chair. "Chinese children don't drink Chianti."
He topped off his glass. "Good for them. Goes to show I've been doin' my part." She smiled at him and pursed her lips.
Returning to the room, overfilled with food and wine, Bowman stretched out on the bed, fully clothed.
Annie turned on the radio, selected a station, and joined him. They snuggled while enjoying the music. He turned on his side to kiss her. She brought her palm to his chest and cocked her head. They listened as a Spanish guitar played a slow, haunting melody. A woman's soft, sweet voice followed the guitar, singing initially in Spanish and then in English.
Mi corazon siente el calore de mi sancre cuando estas en mi mente.
Mi amor, solamente ti mi amor los passiones corren libres.
El savorâ te ti, creciedo en mi.
Moviendo y pensando como uno, vatajando comos dos.
Mido el mundo, yo solo, manuana preparado el tuele.
Siendo me secggo no quiendo mira.
Mi corazon siente el frio, yeno de laqremas.
Y nunca sientir tus labios o amor otrabes.
The blood runs warm in my heart when I can envision you.
My love, my one true love, our passions ran free.
The glowing from you, growing in me.
Moving and thinking as one, striving as two.
I face the world, now alone, future dashed and prepped for pain.
Trying to force myself blind, refusing to to see.
My being lies cold, wrenched in agony.
Never to know your sweet lips or love again.
She pulled him to her and kissed him with parted lips.
Lovemaking was easy and fluid on Sunday morning. They smiled as they left the hotel for a walk, but their mood steadily ebbed. Both avoided discussion of Bowman's departure plans. He realized what was happening and invited her to sit beside him on a park bench. He took her hands in his. "If you won't bring it up, I will. I'll be leaving in the morning. We can share a taxi to the hospital and I'll continue on from there."
Her face flushed and she said, "I don't want to talk about it." She rose. "I'll meet you back in the room." She walked away at a brisk pace, refusing to respond to his pleading calls.
He walked directly to the hotel and made his way to the room. She was nowhere to be seen, but the bathroom door was closed. Bowman crossed the room and seated himself next to the telephone. He decided to telephone Flint for an update on the investigation. No one answered at Flint's home. He called the station. Flint was not there, neither was Captain Aubrian. Bowman left his number and requested either of them to return his call.
It took only about fifteen minutes for the phone to ring. Arceneaux was on the line.
"Well, how is it going?" Bowman asked with all the cheerfulness he could muster.
"Not very well I'm afraid."
"You haven't been able to come up with much background yet?"
"Oh, that part has gone amazingly well. I've almost become a part of the team, thanks to the Captain, but Bowman, that's not the problem. I can't think of an easy way to tell you, so I'll just say it. Flint's dead.
Bowman grabbed the back of his neck. "He went up in the swamp after him, didn't he?" Bowman said more than asked, in resignation.
"Yes," Arceneaux responded. "It happened early yesterday morning, but the body wasn't found until early this morning. He became increasingly morose all last week at what he considered to be weak efforts by the St. Tammany Parish S.O. That really wasn't fair. They stepped up patrols in the area, but things weren't happening fast enough for Flint. The Captain talked with him and thought he made some headway, but obviously not.
"There will be a wake Monday night, and the funeral services are set for Tuesday morning. Will you be coming?"
"Yeah, I'll call you when I get there."
"Do you need me to pick you up at the airport?"
"No, my car's there. I'll call you at work."
"Okay, I'll take care of your room reservations."
Annie returned to the room as he was hanging up the phone. He saw the puffiness around her eyes and knew that she had been crying. He stood and held her close.
"John, I'm not ready for you to go."
"Annie, I'm not either, but after that call, I have no choice. Flint's been killed. He went in after the guy. His wake's tomorrow night and the funeral will be held the next day."
"She brought her hands to his face. "Will you come back here after the funeral?"
"No, you can better concentrate on your work without my demands on your time. Besides, there may be some way I can help to get this guy."
"You know, that's the one thing about you I don't like." She dropped her hands and moved away. "Why must you take on every problem as a personal challenge." She glared at him.
"Annie, I don't think that's true. This is different and you know it. Flint was a friend of mine and we were involved in this case together. How could I not be personally challenged?"
"I don't want you to go. I'll just drop out of the training now and we'll go back to Mobile together."
He moved over to her, taking her face in his hands and kissing her salty tasting lips lightly. "You know I can't go along with that. I'd have to go to New Orleans anyway. You only have a couple of more weeks, right?"
"Yes,"
she answered, looking down.
"Let's make a deal. You finish this thing and I'll meet your plane when it arrives in Mobile. Then we can settle in until you run me off."
"Will you call me every other night until then?"
"I won't make a promise to you I might not be able to keep. I have no way of knowing where I'll be or the circumstances. How about this? I'll call as often as I can, okay?"
She did not answer. He pulled her closer to him.
Chapter 41
Bowman said his goodbyes to Annie at the hospital. She wanted to accompany him to the airport, but he would hear none of it. She did not cry when the taxi pulled away. He stared out the side window, but saw nothing.
He heard the driver talking and looked over to the man's eyes in the rear view mirror. The driver asked if the radio would bother him. Bowman shook his head. He flicked through several stations before settling for an evangelist screaming his message.
Bowman tried to return to numbness, but the preacher's delivery and inane comments prevented it. He watched the driver's gleeful reactions to the preacher's comments. "Who is that guy?" he asked.
The driver's eyes returned to the mirror. "Oh! that's Reverend Righteous. He's a mess. You never know what he's gonna come up with next. He'll say anything to anybody. You gotta respect that." He looked back up at Bowman. "If it bothers you I'll cut it off"
Bowman smiled and shook his head.
Nevertheless, the driver turned down the volume. Returning his eyes to the road, he continued: “I think why I sometimes listen to him is because he reminds me of a banty rooster my grandmama came home with one day. I couldn't understand what she wanted that thing for. She had some nice hens and two huge roosters, one black and one red. If she wanted something else to feed, why not another hen. She just told me to watch him and I would understand. I watched him, but I never understood. Sometimes I thought it was because I was slight back then and the banty had to compete with those big roosters. Other times I thought it was because he was so entertaining.