Family Thang

by James Henderson

  Sheriff Bledsoe stopped whistling and frowned. “Yeah,” he grunted.

  “We need to talk.”

  Sheriff Bledsoe opened the door. “I figured as much. Come on in.” Leonard followed him inside. Sheriff Bledsoe flipped the light switch and said, “You mind I fixed myself a stiff drink?”

  “No, go right ahead.”

  Sheriff Bledsoe sat down and emptied the bag on a desk. Bottles of Maalox, Mylanta, Kaopectate, Pepto Bismo, Milk of Magnesia, and several small boxes of Tagamet HB, Pepsid AC, and Zantac 75 fell out. He retrieved a Styrofoam cup from a trash can and took out two pills from each box.

  He looked up at Leonard. “Sit down, this’ll only take a minute or two.”

  Leonard sat down on a swivel chair missing two rollers. Sheriff Bledsoe put the pills into an envelope, folded it and bit it several times. He opened the envelope over the cup and a pinkish-blue powder spilled out. Then he opened the bottles and poured a dollop of each into the cup. After stirring the mixture with a finger, he put the cup to his mouth, grimaced, winked at Leonard and drank it dry.

  He wiped his chalky-white moustache clean and said, “Ugh! That hits the spot.”

  “Sheriff, you really don’t have to take all that. There’s new medicine will clear up indigestion. Ask your doctor.”

  Sheriff Bledsoe gave him a look. “Yeah, tell me about it.” He tossed the cup into the trash can. “You know, I used to think gas jokes were the funniest thing in the world. All those kid movies where somebody breaks wind or can’t make it to the bathroom in time just had me rolling on the floor laughing. The bathroom scene in Dumb and Dumber had me grinning three days.” He shook his head, clucked his tongue. “That was then, when I didn’t know any better. It ain’t funny. It ain’t funny at all.”

  Is he drunk on antacids?

  “Enough with my problems,” Sheriff Bledsoe said. “What do you have on your mind?”

  “I…” Leonard searched for words. The business with the antacids made him forget what he intended to say.

  “Let me take a guess. You’re itching to get back to the windy city, resume your life. Furthermore, you don’t like the way I’ve handled this investigation. You think I don’t know what I’m doing. Guess what? You’re one hundred percent right. I’m as lost as Newt Gingrich on Soul Train. Yes, I made some mistakes, some big mistakes, whoppers. The good news is I’m not giving up. I’m going to nab whoever murdered your father.”

  “I’m glad to hear your determination, Sheriff. It’s not what I wanted to talk with you. I’m concerned about Ruth Ann.”

  “Ruth Ann?”

  “Yes. I think her life is in danger.”

  “Lester is upset, but I doubt he’ll do anything to her.”

  “You know about the rift between Shirley and Ruth Ann?”

  “Yes, I know all about it.”

  “You think maybe Ruth Ann should be under surveillance for her protection?”

  “Don’t worry about Lester. Last night I stopped by and talked with him. He’s not going to do anything stupid.”

  “Lester isn’t who I’m worried about, Sheriff?”

  “Who are you worried about?”

  Leonard winced. “I really don’t think Shirley would intentionally hurt Ruth Ann. Best to be safe than sorry, right?”

  “You think Shirley might harm Ruth Ann?”

  “No, no, no! I didn’t say that. I’m saying, you know, maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea to keep an eye on Ruth Ann, at least for a couple of days or so.”

  “Look around here,” Sheriff Bledsoe said. “This operation here is what big-city folks call low-rent. In Chicago the police can provide twenty-four-hour surveillance. Here in Dawson, population less than five thousand, it can’t be done. Tell Ruth Ann to chill out for a few more days, till tempers cool a bit.”

  “What if tempers don’t cool? What if tempers have already boiled over?”

  “Something you’re not telling me. Take the guesswork out and tell it straight.”

  “Shirley came over to the house not an hour ago and showed me a copy of Daddy’s will.”

  “Where was Ruth Ann?”

  “She’s gone. Shirley said she’s with her son at the Boy Scout camp.”

  “Ruth Ann has a son? I didn’t know that.”

  “Yes. His name is Shane.”

  “By Lester?”

  “Yes… I think so. Anyway, Shirley said—”

  “Let me see the will.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t bring it with me. I should have. There’s been so much going on lately I can’t think straight.”

  “I was starting to think the will didn’t exist. Where did Shirley get it?”

  “I don’t know. I read it, couldn’t believe it. Daddy willed all his money to Ruth Ann.” Leonard shook his head. “The whole kit and caboodle. Every damn dime! I should have known he wouldn’t leave me anything. Ruth Ann, she’s the stingiest person I know. I’ll never forget, I was five years old, my first tooth. Woke up the next morning… nothing! No tooth, no money. Not a damn thing! I know she took it.”

  “I’m a little confused here,” Sheriff Bledsoe said. “First you come in here sounding all concerned with Ruth Ann’s welfare. Now you sound bitter. Tell me what’s really going on?”

  Leonard looked down and noticed a red chip of glass near his foot. He looked up and said, “There’s a provision in the will you should know about. In the event of Ruth Ann’s death, the money will be split among her surviving siblings.”

  “I’m on board now. You think whoever poisoned your father might go after Ruth Ann?”

  Leonard nodded.

  “Who else has seen the will?”

  “Shirley told me she showed Robert Earl a copy and he crushed it against his head. She didn’t mention showing it to anyone else.”

  “Was Shirley upset she’d been left out of the will?”

  “It’s hard to say. Shirley’s been looking upset ever since I got here.”

  “I need to see that will. Robert Earl crushed a copy against his head, huh? I can see him doing that. Are you worried Robert Earl might do something to Ruth Ann?”

  “Nooooo! Robert Earl is too far left of center, and he’s a big chicken. He…”

  “He what?”

  Leonard didn’t respond.

  “You know what makes my job difficult? People who think the police are psychic. They think if they provide a piece of the truth, enough to shield themselves or someone else, the police will have enough to solve the puzzle. You’re holding back.

  “You come in here seeking help, then you give me a couple pieces to a five-hundred-piece puzzle. I ain’t that good, what should be obvious to you by now. Come clean and we might be able to wrap this thing up. Then you can go back to Chicago, and I can stop having these acid reflux attacks.”

  Leonard started to speak and said nothing.

  “Suit yourself. If something happens to Ruth Ann, or someone else in your family, and you had a chance to stop it….” He paused for maximum guilt effect. “Maybe your conscience could live with it, I know mine couldn’t.”

  Damn! Leonard thought. Another guilt trip. This one damned convincing, too.

  If his mother found out his reticence contributed to the death of one of her children… Too painful to consider.

  Yet he couldn’t mention the haunted look in Shirley’s eyes when she handed him the will. And he certainly couldn’t discuss the phone conversation he’d had with Robert Earl.

  “You did it?” Robert Earl had asked.

  “Did what?”

  “You know? The H-I-T?”

  “What hit?”

  “You know, the hit on the Ruth Ann? Shirley didn’t tell you? Oh-oh, I’ve said too much on the phone.”

  No way could he mention that crazy exchange. He didn’t hate Ruth Ann. He didn’t particularly like her, either. Yet he definitely didn’t want to see her dead.

  “Well?” Sheriff Bledsoe said.

  Leonard shrugged. “That’s it, Sheriff. I
don’t know what more to tell you.” Sheriff Bledsoe intensified the stare.

  Enough, already!

  If Sheriff Bledsoe investigated crimes as well as he stared people down, he could have his own crime show on television. Leonard stood up, his knees stiff again. Stress. “I’ve got to go, Sheriff.”

  “I’d sure like to see the will. I could drop by and check it out?”

  “I got a few errands to run. I’ll bring it here later this evening.” Stiff knees and guilt complexes and all, he limped across the room and out the door.

  Chapter 32

  A redheaded woodpecker drilled on a cottonwood tree behind the cabin. The noise awoke Ruth Ann, fuzzy on where she was and how she got here. Above her no ceiling, only rafters festooned with spider webs.

  She looked to her left and saw Shane sitting on a bed, sharpening something with a stone. “Good morning,” she said, smelling her breath, wishing she’d brought toothpaste. Shane grunted and continued what he was doing.

  The cabin was smaller than she’d thought. The floor simply a dirty slab of concrete. A large rock fireplace dominated one side of the room. The walls, hewed logs, were soot-black and oozed resin. No window or back door.

  Ruth Ann stared at Shane, shirtless, wearing only black slacks torn and frayed at the cuffs. The same pants he’d worn to the funeral. She couldn’t distinguish his face with his head down, intently focused on whatever he was doing.

  Uncombed light-brown afro speckled with green bits. Hands and bare feet particularly dirty. Yet he looked very much a man. Tall, lean, muscular, curly hairs sprouting on his chest, he was the twin image of his father.

  “Where’s the restroom?” she asked him. “I need to freshen up.”

  Shane stopped his work and looked up at her. “No bathroom. You can go behind a tree. No one will see you.”

  “Never mind. What are you doing?”

  “Sharpening my arrows,” resuming his work.

  Ruth Ann sat up and noticed the couch she’d slept on was orange. An orange, paisley couch. It stinks! She sniffed her T-shirt. Ugh! The same odor as the couch. Orange funk.

  “Shane, is there any water around here?”

  “Behind the cabin, not too far down, there’s a stream.”

  Does it have a faucet, hot and cold taps? “Shane, honey, how long do you plan to live out here?”

  He looked up and smiled, teeth straight but yellow. “This is my home. You’re the one visiting.”

  “Don’t you get lonely here? I mean, don’t you think about girls. A handsome-looking young man like yourself, some girl would be glad to get her hooks into you.”

  Shane shook his head. “Girls laugh at me. Always have. I don’t even say nothing and they start laughing. Here I don’t get laughed at.”

  “Sugar, at sometime or other, everyone gets laughed at. It’s no big deal. I promise you all the girls won’t laugh at you, not with your looks. You’ll never know if you stay up here. You have to get out, take chances. You can’t hide from life.”

  Shane stood up, countenance conveying discomfort with the conversation. “I’m going hunting. I thought there was enough meat. It isn’t. There’s two turtle eggs round back. You can eat em.” He started for the door, stopped and stepped to her. “Don’t move.”

  “What?”

  “There’s a tick on your neck.”

  Slapping her neck: “What!” She felt something… A bump?… My God, a tick!… She screamed. “Get it off me, Shane! Get it off me!”

  Shane tilted her head with one hand and pinched her neck with the other. “Here it is,” presenting a small brown bug with a white dot on its back.

  Ruth Ann almost fainted. “What if it has Rocky Mountain spotted fever? Or West Nile disease? I’m dead!”

  “I doubt it. They bite me all the time. The head is still in. You’ll know if you start getting sick.”

  “What! The head is still in?”

  “I didn’t get it all out, just the body.”

  “I feel sick already,” rubbing her neck. She did feel queasy and her neck felt a little swollen where the tick was imbedded.

  “I’m going hunting. Might be a while ’fore I get back.”

  “Shane, you can’t leave! A tick with a dot bit me!”

  “We need food,” and walked out.

  Ruth Ann started to follow him but didn’t. If some unknown tick virus was circulating through her body, she’d better conserve her energy. When Shane came back she would have him walk her down the hill. He could stay as long as he liked, but she’d overstayed her welcome.

  She couldn’t get the tick out of her mind. If she’d been infected with a deadly virus, what would be the first symptom? What if she was too weak to yell for help?

  She jumped up and stripped out of her clothes. The tick might have brought a relative or two along with him. She scrutinized her entire body, including the bottom of her feet, and didn’t find anything. She put her clothes back on and lay down on the couch.

  An hour later: “Peekaboo!” Shane, back already. “Ruth Ann, wake up.” Not Shane—a woman’s voice. She opened her eyes and screamed.

  “Howdy,” Shirley said, standing over her, pointing a gun in her face.

  “Shirley, please! Please, Shirley! Don’t shoot me! Don’t shoot me! Think about Momma—this’ll kill her.”

  “Shut up! You didn’t think about Momma, did you? Didn’t think about any of your family, did you? Your husband, your son, my son, me, nobody! Only thought about your-damned-self, as usual.”

  “Shirley, please! I don’t want to die!”

  “I’m sure you don’t. Didn’t you think I’d be a teeny weenie bit upset when I found out about you and Eric? Didn’t you think Shirley might ding out and do something drastic?”

  “Yes, I did!”

  “Anything you have to say before you go?”

  “Please, Shirley! Please! Don’t do this to me!”

  Shirley thumbed the trigger. “That’s it? Nothing for Momma? Shane? Lester? What about Eric? Surely you want to leave him a message.”

  Ruth Ann covered her face with both hands. “Oh God!”

  “One last thing before you go. Do you love him?”

  “Love who?”

  “Lil Wayne, dammit! You know who!”

  “Just shoot me and get it over with!”

  “Take your hands down and look at me! And answer the damn question! Do you love him?”

  Ruth Ann shook her head… and felt the gun on the back of her hand.

  “Take your hands down and talk to me or I’ll shoot you in your knee.”

  Ruth Ann dropped her hands and said, “No! No, I do not!”

  “Tell me why, Ruth Ann? Why were you fucking him?”

  Ruth Ann stared at her knees, opened her mouth and closed it. A lone tear trickled down her face.

  “Shirley, I don’t know why!” She started crying. “I’m sorry, Shirley. I’m so sorry! I never meant to hurt you. I swear I didn’t. It just happened. It shouldn’t have happened, but it happened. I swear to God I never intended to hurt you! Never! Go ahead, Shirley, kill me! I don’t deserve to live! Kill me!”

  “You’re so right,” backing up a step. “Close your eyes, you’ll never know what hit you.”

  Ruth Ann’s eyes bulged. “Wait a minute, Shirley!” She raised her hands, shielding her face. “Just wait a minute! Maybe we could work this out another way. Why don’t you just beat me down? Okay? You don’t have to shoot me. Just beat me bloody!”

  “You do your dirt and when it’s time to pay the piper, you squeal like a chicken.”

  “Bawk-bawk-bawk-bawk!”

  “Funny. Doesn’t change anything. Have a nice trip. See ya!”

  Ruth Ann closed her eyes. This is it, the end! Seconds ticked by… no bang.

  She opened one eye… Shirley was sitting on the bed, the gun on the floor between them. She rolled onto the floor, grabbed the gun and pointed it at Shirley. “Don’t move!”

  Shirley rolled her eyes at her. “I knew
you would do that. It’s a pellet gun, Ruth Ann, and it’s not loaded.”

  “Pellet gun?” She read the word on the barrel. Mattel. “Shirley, I-what-why-how come—”

  “Sit down and listen to what I have to say.”

  Ruth Ann shuffled to the couch, staring at the gun. Pellet gun!

  “Each month Mrs. Avery sends me a two hundred-dollar check. Lord knows I need the money. The twenty years I worked for Mrs. Avery I always did what she told me, never stole anything, never disrespected her—and, believe me, some days she almost drove me crazy.

  “When Obama got elected something snapped in Mrs. Avery. I’d be working and she’d come get me, want me to listen to a multi-millionaire got rich sitting on his butt dissing welfare recipients complain about a paltry increase in the minimum wage, ignoring the fact if he’d went deaf before he got rich, he’d be praising Obamacare.

  “‘Mrs. Avery, I don’t have time for this! I got work to do.’

  “‘Listen, Shirley, you’ll learn something.’

  “‘The man is out of touch, thinks black folks still saying ‘right on, right on’ and ‘jive honky.’

  “‘Y’all don’t say that anymore?’

  “‘Not since the seventies. Bo Snerdley should update him.’

  “‘Shirley, you know he’s trying to take our future and country away from us.’

  “‘Is he? He must’ve relapsed on OxyContin.’

  “‘Not him! Your president.’

  “‘How is he trying to do all that?’

  “She never answered that one.

  “‘Shirley, look what he’s done to your people.’

  “‘My people, Mrs. Avery? The Harris tribe? What did he do to my people?’

  “‘Nothing! He’s done nothing for your people! African American unemployment has skyrocketed a whopping two percent since he’s been in office.’

  “Now she and I both know if President Obama so much as declared Popsicle Day for African Americans, she and a buncha other like-minded people would take to the streets, pulling their hair out and stomping their feet in one mass hysterical hissy conniption. The back-in-the-day bunch will be in the mix, too, crying it ain’t enough and looking for a shitty-assed mule. I know the history, but I feel sorry for anyone who desires to own a mule.