Treed

by Virginia Arthur

  The revolving door that had become their hotel room swung open to let the sheriff out while (now) eight surged in.

  While Oak commenced hand picking who could stay or go, Monty Cross passed by him and seated himself comfortably in one of the nicer sofa chairs, the others noticing with suspicion how he made himself at home right away.

  Piqued, Oak said, “not right now” to Monty Cross, motioning for him to leave. Making eye contact with Millicent’s son, Oak welcomed him in.

  “Who’s that?” someone asked.

  “Mr. uhm, Bildershack, my mother’s accountant, financial advisor, just in case…” Oak feigned tears. Jim Bock didn’t say anything, thankfully catching on quick. “Everyone else, please.” He herded them out, closing the door in their faces. “Nicely done,” Jim said.

  Recognizing Jim’s voice, Maybelline moved closer to the bathroom door to listen. Jim Bock had come on a mission. It seemed he and Laura were genuinely upset with the idea that Maybelline was missing. They broke Millicent’s heart when they decided to sell off the land, the last tree. They saw this now. They were grateful for what he and “his mother” were doing. He apologized to Oak, asking him to deliver the same message to “his Mom” should she be found alive. They pledged to help save the tree and made Oak promise to contact them should anything come up. Maybelline pulled away from the door so beset with emotion, she got in the shower to cry. She whispered, “Millicent, did you hear that?” When a roll of toilet paper sitting on the sink suddenly fell off, Maybelline whispered, “is that a yes?”

  Of course, Monty Cross was just outside the door when Jim left. Oak found a use for him, playing up the rumor that “someone” saw Tank standing over his mother’s body the night she disappeared. Monty bit, asking all the same questions the sheriff did, Oak giving the same answers. His plan to corner Tank in a serious fucking way was in motion. It wasn’t until Monty asked to use the bathroom and Oak said no a little too ‘passionately’, claiming the toilet was backed-up, that Monty got a little suspicious.

  Finally, after a little over an hour, everyone was gone. Maybelline had heard just about everything. Oak called the front desk to demand the hotel deny entry to anyone else unless it was his girlfriend or a “family member”. Any questions, they needed to call.

  To insure everyone was really gone, Oak searched through their room and asked Maybelline to look under the beds. Reading the look on her face that asked, “really?”, he insisted. After opening the door to their room to look up and down the hall, he closed it and took out his cell phone. He laid it on the table, put it on speaker, and pressed “voice mail”.

  There were three messages, two from his parents, the last one from the County Sheriff’s Department.

  “We are looking for someone who calls himself “Oak”, possibly Oak Emmons. Call us as soon as possible. If this message reaches you, we need to hear from you immediately. Call xxx-xxx-xxxx and ask for Deputy Carlton. As soon as possible. Thank you.”

  “They traced this number. Fuck.”

  “Well, I am dead,” Maybelline reasoned. “Drastic times call for drastic measures. I do feel a bit special now.”

  He smiled at her, “you are special, Mom. We’ll be recycling this phone soon anyway.”

  “Now yours.” He pointed to her cell phone. Her messages included one from her neighbor reporting that everything was fine at home, three from the sheriff’s office trying to locate her, and two from Tamara, the first one reporting the “Acorn Gang and a bunch of new people” had taken up “occupation” of the tree during the day, everybody climbing down at dark. The second message, she was in tears.

  “Mrs Maybelline? It’s Tamara. We’re all real worried. Please call us.”

  “This has to be over soon,” Maybelline said tearing up, rife with guilt.

  “No Joni,” Oak stated. “Didn’t call either of us.” Attempting to slough it off, he abruptly moved to put his tennis shoes on, releasing a cry of pain. Maybelline handed him his shoes. As soon as she started to say something—

  “DON’T,” he insisted. “JUST DON’T.” Using his good arm, after donning a dark blue baseball cap, he picked up the envelope. “We’re almost done. Please stay here. I know it’s going to be tough but don’t answer the door. If you have to go out, keep it short, wear the wig. On to Phase II, the grande finale.” The door clicked shut just as she was telling him to be careful.

  Oak parked in a crowded grocery store parking lot and huffed it two blocks to Darden Enterprises where he hunkered down behind a hedge and watched the front of the building. A sheriff’s car was parked in front. Would they emerge with Tank in cuffs? He hoped not. Seemed a stretch since the photo of Tank standing over him hadn’t materialized and wouldn’t. He needed the sheriff’s to leave. He had to get to Tank. Then he moved to where he could see the back of the building. Another deputy was talking to a group of men in work clothes and one younger professionally dressed woman. Their voices rose and dropped. Seemed the deputy was trying to settle them down. After about a half hour, the sheriffs left offering Oak full opportunity to transgress on the Darden’s ingress. He strode up to the main entrance, opened the door with his good arm (as strategically as possible—never show your enemy you’re wounded), and bolted in.

  He heard “WHAT THE FUCK?” from all directions. Soon he was surrounded by a pack of wolves. A large man grabbed him and lifted him off the ground by his shirt. Oak couldn’t suppress a cry of pain.

  “No, no. Please. I need to talk to Tank. Please. I may be able to help him. Please. Put me down. I need to talk to him,” Oak said trying not to panic.

  “He’s not here,” they answered. “How in the hell can YOU help him since that’s the LAST thing—”

  “Put him down,” said an older woman that appeared from another room. “Put him down,” she demanded again.

  The man dropped Oak. Gripping his left shoulder, Oak moaned in pain.

  “In here,” she barked, ignoring his discomfort as she led him into what looked like a conference room. Still gripping his shoulder, Oak had a quick conversation in his head that if he wasn’t dead after all this was over, he was definitely heading to an emergency room. He followed her. She closed the door then whipped around and faced him with angry eyes.

  “He didn’t kill your mother. Seems he got caught standing over her body after the deed was done and he was stupid about it. Should have called somebody but he was afraid of what would happen and well, what happened was exactly what he was afraid of—it would be pinned on him.”

  “Who are you?” Oak asked.

  “Margaret Darden, the grandmother, oldest one left. Basically the owner of the company though Tank was taking on more and more.” She sighed. “It’s not easy managing all of them.”

  Oak pulled a piece of paper from his back pocket and handed it to her. “I have to talk to him immediately. It’ll be just me. No cops. I can help him out.”

  “You know who did it then,” Mrs. Margaret Darden directed straight into Oak’s eyes, a stare Oak fought to keep as he answered, “I can’t explain here, now. Please, send Tank. I’m not fucking around here.”

  “I’m not following—”

  “My number, all the info’s on the paper. I’ll be at the SOUTH picnic pavilion at Sonoma County Park at 6:00 p.m. tonight. He needs to show up—ALONE. It’s in his best interest.” Opening all the doors with his good arm, he bolted back outside, relieved to still be alive, for the chance to bring the plan to fruition; but there was a weight on his heart, a heavy one. Even as he appeared the eminent warrior, seeker of eco-justice, able to defy all obstacles, there was one he couldn’t master, one starting to look more important to him than anything else, maybe even paramount to his existence…

  Sitting in his van, he had to let it in, out. “It’s all building up,” he thought, holding on to his shoulder and sobbing.

  Once back in the hotel room, Oak collapsed onto the bed, completely drained. He tried to explain to Maybelline what happ
ened, admitting that he really thought he would be hurt, even killed; that maybe the stress of everything was getting to him. He began to sob again. Maybelline’s heart felt like it was shattering into a thousand pieces. He was broken. Her son was broken and it wasn’t over Millibelle because they had won, the pinnacle coming within hours.

  “You’re not super human my son, even if you think you are.” She pressed an ice pack against his shoulder. He winced, not entirely from the physical pain.

  “I need to face Tank,” she insisted. “You’re broken, tired…heart-broken. This can tear you up more than any physical pain.” She handed him another ibuprofen and a glass of water.

  “It’s too late now,” he stated then broke into a sob. “Fuck,” he said grabbing a pillow and putting it over his face. “FUUUUCCCCKKKK!” he screamed into it. “I’ve never been without her when we finally save our trees. She’s always been there. This is the first time…She’s my muse, my Daphne. I need her.”

  Handing him a glass of wine, they both downed a glass then tried to grab more rest. They would need it.

  Chapter 26

  Both grateful for the power of chemistry, specifically the fermentation process, they were in far better shape when the alarm went off at 4:00 p.m. After they rehearsed the ‘final act’, Oak decided it would be better to get there early, scope it out. He parked where he could see the pavilion while Maybelline hid in the back of the van. Scoping for Tank, he looked across the parking lot only to notice Tank doing the same thing from his pick-up. They looked at one another. Picking up his cell phone, a six-pack of cold canned beer they bought on the way (a peace offering of sorts), and the envelope, Oak got out, “be careful” issuing from the back of the van. Oak walked to one of the empty picnic tables under the pavilion, sat down and waited. Within a few minutes, Tank stood in silence in front of him.

  “Thanks for coming,” Oak said. “Have a seat. Have a beer.”

  Tank did neither.

  Oak removed the papers from the envelope and laid them on the table. “You have a copy of these? Seen ‘em?”

  “How can I answer that when I don’t know what the hell they are,” Tank answered, predictably.

  “You’ve been saying you have them,” Oak reminded him.

  Tank turned his head to look at the lines on the paper as Oak read aloud: “Timber rights as of August 12, 1965 are hereby granted, grandfathered, to the Darden Family, care of Lyle Darden, and shall expire in 50 years, August 12, 2015.”

  “That’s today,” Oak confirmed.

  Shoving his hands into his pockets, Tank let out a tank-sized sigh and looked up. Still looking at the roof of the pavilion, he said,“we knew it was some time this month. We were waiting for the title search to finish, any day now. Looks like you got to it before we did but we were all headed to the same place. We weren’t lying about it as you can see. It was just a race I guess, and you won. Where did you get those if I may ask? Who did the search?”

  “I have a partner who is the best at this. She always knows who to contact. We’ve been doing this for awhile now Tank and we’re good at it. We know what we’re doing.”

  “I need to know. I mean, we knew it was coming up but now you need to confirm with us. How do I know you didn’t fab—”

  “Roberta Robsen, best Sonoma County—”

  “Yeah, I know. We sent her a request too, a few weeks ago, still haven’t gotten anything back. Interesting,” Tank grumbled.

  “Her brother’s ill, there’s some issue with a family member I think,” Oak explained with no idea where in the hell this was coming from except he wanted to keep the heat off her if she delayed responding to help save the tree, and from what Joni said, she was very interested in helping them save it since old trees, natural landscapes also preserve history.

  “There’s something else.” Oak pulled out another set of papers and read aloud:

  “July 1975. Darden Enterprises. Employed the following men to clearcut last 47 acres of original Arboles Costeros ranch“. Of the eight men listed, Oak read off the names of Lyle and Emmet Darden, Tank’s father and uncle, respectively, listed as supervisory loggers, then Oak put his finger on one name on the list and read: “Washington McDaniel, a black man“.

  “This is Tamara’s and Terrence’s grandfather. He was one of the men that logged-out the last of the original ranch. He spent his last days sitting under that tree and you know why?”

  “I know,” Tank said, again looking up at the sky, unable to meet Oak eye to eye, “because I was there. I was 15, helping out where I could—”

  “and?” Oak prodded.

  “He convinced my father to leave a few of the giants standing, including that one.”

  “Yup. This is what his daughter told us and this is why they moved to that apartment building. He wanted to be by one of the trees he saved on the last two acres of a past built on the obliteration of everything, including the Native Americans. Goddamn it but don’t you people have any shame?” Oak asked, disgusted.

  “Why do you think it’s still standing?” Tank countered. “It was an act of desperation. We’re not doing well. I didn’t want to cut it down but things are tight. Anyway, it’s a moot point now and I’m fucked.”

  “And the branch you amputated?”

  “I didn’t cut off one goddamned limb, I didn’t fire one goddamned shot, and I didn’t kill your mother,” Tank answered taking on a stance Oak recognized from the public meeting: legs straddled, arms folded across his chest, puffed up big.

  “The branch that was amputated was the one that Tamara used to scramble up to knock off her grandfather’s hat when he was sitting under it. It was a game she played. Whoever cut it apparently knew this.”

  Tank sat down, grabbed one of the beers, and opened it.

  “Well it wasn’t us,” he said with a sigh. “You have no idea…”

  “Listening,” Oak said.

  “The Hatfields and McCoys?”

  “Yes?” Oak answered, reaching for a beer as well.

  “They saw an opportunity and they used it,” Tank stroked his chin.

  “Who?”

  “The Byrd Family. Our families didn’t always hate one another but after the parents died…then a bad deal…Our family feels it was the Byrds that shot at the apartment building, threatened you, cut off that branch, and as I told the sheriff, likely took your mom somewhere. They’re framing us. I guess the younger ones are that hateful and criminal now. We would never have thought they would kidnap, maybe murder…”

  This jived with what the sheriff told him but Oak couldn’t let on if this was to end the way they intended.

  “Why should I believe you?”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “Why were you at the tree the night my mother disappeared?” Oak shot the final arrow.

  Tank shifted uncomfortably.

  Oak brought out his phone and acted like he was flipping through images.

  “She emailed it to me a few days ago,” he said, quickly waving it around, hoping Tank wouldn’t want to see the completely fictitious photo. Tank got up. Not wanting to lose him, Oak continued.

  “We’re done here,” Tank announced. “The timber rights on that tree have EXPIRED. You win.”

  “No, we’re not,” Oak said pulling out another set of papers.

  “Sign these or my next stop is the sheriff’s office with the photo.” Oak waved the phone around again, Tank squinting at it, trying to make something out…Deflecting him, Oak read the important part out loud, the final coup de grace. “The Darden family, any and all associates, affiliates otherwise connected to the family in any way permanently dispense of any and all title to APN XX—XXX—XX that includes any and all trees and this includes any and all egress and ingress.”

  “That’s not necessary,” Tank stated.

  “Sign it or I’m off to the sheriff’s office. Sign it now.” Oak pulled a pen out of the envelope.

  “Show me th
at goddamned photo,” Tank fired back.

  “You do understand that the photo is available even if you take my cell phone? In fact, I think she’s going to post it on social media except I made a deal with her depending on how things go here, right now.” Oak leaned in, “you know you were there the night my mother disappeared you fuck. There are other witnesses.” Oak jammed his finger into the agreement and once again, handed Tank the pen. This time, Tank signed it. After slamming the pen down, Tank leaned in to talk directly into Oak’s face. It was amazing nobody had hit anybody yet.

  “I am being sued for $20,000. I promised a company in Vermont the wood from that goddamned tree. I don’t have $20,000. I was at the tree that night to get the branch most likely cut off by the Byrd’s to frame us. There’s no use in good wood going to waste. Maybe we could mill it so they could use it…save our asses in other words. I wasn’t there to kill anybody and anyway, she was already lying on the ground when I got there and I didn’t see or hear anything.” He paused then looking up at the sky continued. “Our family’s company is ending. Done. This was the last straw. Times have changed, you probably think for the better.”

  “Well, at least now you won’t need legal fees to defend yourself against charges for murder,” Oak said waving the envelope around in the air with his good arm to let Maybelline know it was time to rise from the dead.

  “What are you doing?” Tank asked, gasping when he looked up to see Maybelline walking towards them.

  “I’m not dead,” she said to a completely baffled if not profoundly relieved Tank. “I just fell out of the tree. It knocked me out but as you can see, I’m fine.”

  “You assholes,” Tank said seeming to catch on that something wasn’t quite right but before he could interrogate them, Oak handed the envelope to Maybelline who pulled out one last thing—a check for $25,000 made out to Tank.