A Hard Case

by Ron Hess

  Now, thanks to Jeanette, my walk became more determined. As we passed Charlie’s house, I could see his head swivel through the window. I gave him a shit-eating grin. I cared little how mean and evil Ivan was, because I was going to get the first punch. If it became necessary, I would go down with a smile on my face. In that instance, Charlie read my mind like any good cop would.

  “Leo, no, don’t do it!” He shouted from his front porch. I didn’t even look back. He didn’t have his shoes on anyway. I had about a minute to do what I needed to do. I tromped up the steps of the cafe and opened the door. Sure enough, there sat Ivan, his back to the door, eating breakfast with his father, the old man. Without a second’s hesitation, with my vision by now narrowed down to a tunnel, I made for the table. The old man had time to raise his eyebrows before I interlocked my fingers of my hands and lifted my arms like a sledge. Ivan may have sensed something was wrong, but it was too late for him to do anything about it, and instead of hitting him in the temple, I got my wish, one good punch to the nose—square on.

  It was a delicious feeling, that feeling. His nose mashed down and blood flew as he fell backward in his chair onto the floor. But, I didn’t stop there. I went into a battle rage as I began kicking him in the gut, which in turn caused him to throw up. As the Irish would say, “it was a grand brouhaha.” The girls were screaming, old man John was trying to stop me before I stomped his son to death, but it did no good. I was out for blood and it was splattering everywhere. Charlie arrived on the scene, still in his stocking feet, I was later told, and clamped his arms around me in a giant vise that even I could not break. I “came to” with him shaking me like a rag doll, trying to get me to come to my senses.

  “Okay, Charlie. Enough,” I said.

  He let go of me slowly, uncertain if I meant it or not. I stood there swaying on my feet, and despite the carnage, hungry as hell. I looked around and became aware of old John’s stare. I pointed down at Ivan, now sputtering meaningless words on the floor.

  “Your son! Your son, tied me to a tree out in the woods and left me for dead! Did you know that?”

  I could not have hit him any harder. For all parents want to believe the best of their children and some parents, even though their children may be years into adulthood, feel some responsibility for their offspring’s actions. He looked at me in the eye and for a few seconds I saw something, something scary that made no sense. His head bent down.

  “I am sorry for this,” he said in a low voice.

  I believed him as I would have believed my own father. I took a deep breath trying to settle down, feeling remorse for what I had done. Not for Ivan, but for his father.

  “Sir,” I said, “tell Ivan to stay away from me. Because if something happens to me, he’ll be the first one the law will come for. You know that. Tell Ivan it is over and we are even.”

  The old man looked at me in the eye. “I will tell him.”

  I knew he would. But would Ivan listen? I had a hunch he wouldn’t, and I dreaded the day when the final resolution came. Jeanette grabbed my arm.

  “C’mon Leo, I fix breakfast at my house.”

  It was a great idea. The restaurant smelled and no doubt it would take some time to get things straightened up. I looked at Jimmy’s sister, who was already wrinkling her nose. I didn’t envy her having to clean up the puddle of vomit.

  “Ma’am, send me the bill for the clean up. Sorry about the mess.”

  She nodded, already resigned to performing an unpleasant task. I felt bad about somebody else having to clean up the mess I helped generate, but it couldn’t be helped. A dizzy spell came and went. I swayed against Jeanette who again gently pulled on my arm. “C’mon, Leo. You need food.” We walked out the door into beautiful sunlight. Tears came to my eyes. It was so good to be alive, but along with the positive thoughts came the negative ones.

  By beating on Ivan, did that make me any better than his attempt on my life? One part of me said it was necessary, because that’s all men like Ivan respect, someone who can whip them. Only I didn’t whip him in a fair fight, which was why I knew it wasn’t over between us. The best thing I could hope for was that I would be back in Anchorage before he could carry out his plans.

  “We’re almost there, Leo,” Jeanette said, interrupting my thoughts, which made me realize I needed to start thinking about the here and now. I looked down at her.

  “So, what’s for breakfast?”

  * * *

  I sat back from the table, satisfied for the moment. Jeanette gave me a bemused look. She didn’t have to say anything. She knew I had to be full of food after eating a mountain of potatoes and more links of reindeer sausage than I care to mention for fear of embarrassing myself. True, there hadn’t been any eggs, but chicken eggs come dear in the bush. During the meal, I had gabbed like a man who had been out of touch for months instead of just three days. Jeanette remained quiet and simply nodded at the appropriate times. When I related the incident about Mary there was a sharp intake of breath and a nod of the head, like it was something she all ready knew. A problem that would have to be dealt with in the future. At last I began to run down as I related finding the cocaine in the cabin. Her face remained impassive at this news, but I had an idea she was not surprised. More than once I caught her looking intently at my face. What she was looking for, or at, I didn’t know, but I kept on talking anyway, like she was my tape recorder and I wanted to get it all down. I decided to change the subject.

  “It was a good meal, Jeanette. You’re a great cook. So, how come some man hasn’t found out about you?”

  She opened her mouth for an instant before speaking, as if choosing her words carefully. What she remembered and what I had temporarily forgotten was that I was her boss and you were always careful about what you said in front of the boss. Good jobs like the post office in the bush were few, and far between.

  “The right man hasn’t come along. Maybe I’m too choosy, or maybe I’m not looking too hard. I’m not sure.” She paused again, formulating her thoughts into words. I remained quiet and decided not to prod. This comradeship was precious to me.

  “I want to retire from the post office with a good retirement. I want to travel. The village is my home, but there is more to see out there, Leo, and I’m going to see it.”

  I nodded. This was not a simple native girl I was talking to, but a mature woman who had her goals. I should not have been surprised. Post office jobs in the bush usually get the best, and Jeanette and her sister were no exception.

  “I’ll be very surprised if you don’t achieve your wish,” I said. “You appear to be on your way.”

  We became quiet for a moment, like two people that have been together for years, instead of a few short weeks. I liked the feeling. It would be hard for me to think of Jeanette as just another employee when I returned to Anchorage. That thought reminded me that I hadn’t thought about leaving the last hour or so. Must be slipping.

  “You will be going back to the post office today?” she said, as a way of getting us back to the here and now. I took a last swipe with the cloth napkin and laid it on the table.

  “Yeah, I’m afraid so. I’ll have to tell the boss about the fight before he hears about it from someone else. Which reminds me, I need a weapon. The boss doesn’t want me to have one because of post office rules, but this isn’t the big city. Charlie can’t stand guard out side my door twenty-four hours a day. Do you know where I can get one?”

  Jeanette wrinkled her brow. “Yes, I know. My dead husband had a number of them.”

  She got up from her chair and left the room. I heard her rummaging around in what I took to be her bedroom. Presently, she came back with two pistols and two larger weapons, one sawed-off pump shotgun with a pistol grip and a hunting rifle.

  “Take your choice,” she said gravely, like a second would at a duel. Without a moment’s hesitation, I chose the shotgun and the .22 pistol. The pistol was light with a short barrel and would easily fit under my belt. The .35
7 magnum was too big and heavy. I sighed.

  “I really hope I don’t have to use these, but with Ivan it’s not over until somebody is dead or in jail.”

  Jeanette only nodded as she returned the two unwanted weapons back to their places in the bedroom. I sensed a certain sadness coming from her, and that meant I was unfortunately right. Ivan wouldn’t stop trying to get rid of me, be it death or me being transferred elsewhere. I got up from the table as Jeanette came out of the bedroom with a couple of boxes of shells. I gave her a smile as I tucked them into my pockets.

  “Thanks for the weapons, but most of all thanks for the breakfast. The food was good and the company even better.”

  She gave me a bright smile. “Thank you, uh . . . Leo. It was a good breakfast.”

  I almost laughed. Her face was pink. She had come near to calling me “boss.” “I hope,” I said, “that me having breakfast with you doesn’t complicate your life with the rest of the village.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think so, this time. Ivan was seen as a bully and was not liked all that well. He got what he has had coming for a long time. Even his father knows that.”

  She moved closer to me and laid her hand on my arm. “Be careful, Leo. I like you. You are a good man. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  Despite my previous relationship with Helen, I wanted to grab Jeanette and at the very least give her a big hug, but I didn’t. She was a good woman, and I wasn’t sure at that moment that I deserved her. So I just said a simple thanks and smiled and got out the door as fast as I could.

  As I walked back to the post office my mind centered on one big question: where was Jimmy and his Aunt Helen? I needed to talk to them and soon.

  Chapter 22

  I opened the back door to my living quarters to see a surprise by the name of Trooper Wattle standing there, sunglasses and all. When he saw the shotgun, his hand instantly moved to rest on the butt of his holstered handgun.

  “You going to shoot me or throw that shotgun on the bed?”

  My pleasant thoughts of breakfast and Jeanette turned sour as I slowly walked to the bed and placed the shotgun gently down, like it might go off if I didn’t.

  “You make a habit of walking into people’s houses and in this case onto federal property without at least asking permission?” I asked.

  “Do you have any other weapons on you?” he asked, still in a stone-cold voice.

  I nodded and his hand curled around the butt of his automatic and his head jerked once. I sighed. This guy had watched too many cops and robbers movies, or else he was trying to be melodramatic. Evidently, I was someone dangerous.

  “It’s just a twenty-two pistol,” I said.

  “Throw it on the bed! Now!”

  “Sure,” I said. “I guess you want me to put my hands up, too?”

  “Right, and then face the wall, hands on your head.”

  Still facing him, I slowly laid the pistol down and turned to face the wall. Immediately, I felt a hand searching my person. It was so quiet I could hear him breathing in short quick breaths; like he was truly apprehensive I might do something. Or was he just hoping I would? He was acting like a young eighteen-year-old marine M.P. on patrol for the first time on a street of bars.

  “You want to tell me what’s going on?” I asked when I felt his hand stop its roaming.

  “You’re under arrest for first degree assault on the person of Ivan Ermoff.”

  I sensed his breathing was slowing down. Maybe I was out of danger of being shot by a scared Trooper.

  “Is it all right if I turn around now, since you have my weapons taken care of?”

  There was silence. He was probably thinking something like, I know this guy is a drunk and shouldn’t be a threat, but yet he just beat the tar out of the baddest man in the village. The two facts didn’t add up. I heard a floorboard creak.

  “You can turn around, but do it slowly,” he said.

  I did as he asked, aware that adrenaline must be still high in his blood stream. I started to lower my hands.

  “Keep your hands on your head!” He said, his hand still curled around the butt of the automatic.

  “For God’s sake, trooper, take it easy. There’s no way I could clear the eight feet between you and me before you shot me. Now, how about I walk over to the table and sit down. Then maybe we can discuss this in a reasonable manner.”

  Another few seconds went by while he thought this over. “All right, move to the table and sit down.”

  I curled my lips up as I walked slowly to the table, and sat down, trying to look friendly. “Thank you,” I said. This was no time to be sarcastic. I crossed my legs and folded my hands in my lap.

  “Now, Trooper Wattle, suppose we talk about this.”

  I held my breath. He didn’t have to discuss anything with me. He merely had to put me in jail or whatever, but he seemed relieved I wasn’t going to cause problems. He still stood a safe distance from me, though, as he related how he had come to conduct a search for me, but instead had come into the village to find a man severely beat up.

  “Did anyone tell you why?” I asked.

  “Yes, but Ivan denied it happened. He said you were blowing smoke—like all drunks do. Do you have any witnesses?”

  I had to shake my head. “I don’t know. I may have because someone turned me loose.”

  He nodded. “Well, I’m afraid I have to take you in. Charges have been filed, and I have to follow up on them.”

  “I understand,” I said. “So what’s the next step?”

  ~

  I opened my eyes and peered out the window of the small Cessna 185. The next step had been to march me with my hands in cuffs out to the old truck, whereupon I was whisked up the road to the runway. Charlie had come along, sitting next to the window. Insurance, I guessed, to make sure I didn’t pull something funny. He was quiet for a change with a curious glint that I had caught from time to time, like he was reassessing the drunk.

  “Do I really need handcuffs?” I had asked.

  Where upon Wattle had actually grinned and said, “standard procedure.”

  And that had been that. I’ll say one thing for him, he was correct in the whole episode. Even let me phone the boss. Now that had been something, because I had actually heard his cigar hit his desk. Evidently, he was so shocked it had dropped out of his mouth.

  “You were arrested, Bronski? What in hell did you do?”

  I went on to tell him how I saw Ivan and then beat him. What’s more, I wasn’t one bit sorry. In fact, I hoped it took days for him to recover. Later, I was to find it took him no more than an hour to be up and walking around, wanting to kill me. I continued on to bring the boss up to date about the charges being brought against me and that I was off to Bethel where a magistrate would do the arraignment. Then I took a deep breath and asked, “Do you suppose you could make bail for me, as a personal favor, boss?”

  His answer was not exactly a loving one. “Bronski, I send you out there to be a postmaster and you end up causing more problems. Were you drunk when you did this alleged act?”

  I assured him I had not been more sober in my life. If he didn’t believe me, he could ask Trooper Wattle who was standing right there beside me. I was a little angry. I had been sent out here to do more than a postmaster job and the boss knew it. With my anger still boiling, I handed the phone over to the trooper who said I “appeared” to be sober. Not real convincing and I later asked him why he didn’t use a breath analyzer. His only response had been to pull his shades off and give me a look of disbelief, like breath analyzers didn’t grow on trees in this neck of the woods.

  After I got the phone back, and with my temper cooled down, I asked, “So, boss, are you going to help me or do I sit in jail over there in Bethel?”

  “Yeah, Bronski,” was his reluctant answer, which I took to mean that he would help. After the phone call, I made arrangements with Jeanette to be temporary postmaster for the temporary postmaster, which wa
s kind of funny when you think about it. And so, here I sat in the back of a small plane headed for Bethel. Thank goodness, it was a cloudy day so the sun was not reflecting off the ponds making me think it was small arms fire.

  “How’s it going back there?” Wattle asked.

  “Just fine, considering you have me handcuffed to the bottom of the seat,” I answered. I was not a happy person. My back ached and I needed to take a pee in a bouncing airplane.

  He grinned for the second time. “We should be there in half an hour.”

  “We better be, or you’re going to have a wet seat back here,” I said.

  His grin disappeared. He’d forgotten to ask if I needed to go to the restroom before we left and there was all that breakfast coffee. I closed my eyes and made myself as comfortable as possible, knowing it was going to be one of the longest half-hours of my life. Eventually, we landed and I think he was as relieved as I was. There were two troopers waiting by a car and we made the transfer quickly. Getting out of the plane and walking around helped stave off Mother Nature long enough to get to a restroom.

  After that I was hustled from room to room at headquarters with everyone being polite and maybe a little more solicitous than normal. I had the idea I was getting a kind of VIP treatment, the kind reserved for big shots. Any other time I would have laughed, but not this day, and I wondered why Ivan had filed the charges. It was not his way.

  * * *

  I rolled over on the cot and yawned for the umpteenth time that morning. My eyeballs opened to see the prison bars that held me captive. It had been a long time since I had spent any time behind bars. The last, of course, when I had had the accident at the bridge. That had been a hell of a night. The cops had brought me in and not too gently. I was just sober enough to remember what I’d done by running into the bridge, only I didn’t want to remember, thus the crying. There’s nothing worse than a crying drunk, blubbering to the world about his problems. In some jails, the sound echoes down the hallways. Pretty soon the rest of the inmates are yelling to shut the hell up or maybe worse, like they’re gonna kill you at breakfast. Then the cops get angry because their early morning routine is interrupted and they can’t get paper work done. Well, I hadn’t blubbered this time. Instead, it was my turn to listen to a couple of drunks scream and holler.