Stag Party (Blanco County Mysteries Book 8)

by Ben Rehder

  Each episode struck Marlin as contrived—as if the producers had assembled a master list of stereotypical redneck behavior and were using that list as a guiding template for the show. A typical episode might include the men castrating bulls, shoeing horses, repairing a tractor, unloading hay, mending fences, filling deer feeders, or building a barn. The women, meanwhile, were busy jarring preserves, fixing dumplings, sewing up overalls, getting their hair done, or making sure the books in the local school libraries didn’t cross any lines of moral decency.

  When the Endicotts played, they played hard. They went mudding in their trucks. They rode ATVs and dirt bikes. They swam in the creek and fished for bass or catfish. They even golfed occasionally, but only ironically, and they never wore traditional golf outfits. It was blue jeans and boots instead of slacks and golf shoes.

  Above all, more than any other activity, the Endicotts hunted. Almost every episode showed a few minutes of hunting—often on their ranch in South Texas, sometimes on other ranches in Texas, sometimes in other states, and occasionally in other countries. They hunted deer, pig, turkey, javelina, bear, dove, duck, geese, alligator, elk, mountain lion, squirrel, coyote, rabbit, raccoon, bobcat, and just about anything else on four legs that could be shot legally.

  They even went on a wolf hunt, thereby ensuring that animal-rights activists and anti-hunting organizations would scream bloody murder and call for a boycott of the show and all Endicott products. Marlin could understand the outrage. In his opinion, the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service had acted prematurely in proposing that the gray wolf be removed from the ranks of endangered species in all states. He would have preferred to see wolf populations get re-established in a greater percentage of their former range. And he had no interest at all in seeing a wolf get killed on TV by a couple of faux-rednecks in an obvious attempt to garner ratings. Marlin gritted his teeth when Jasper Endicott high-fived his brother Dirk after bringing the wolf down from a distance of eighty yards.

  Marlin noticed that the final three or four minutes of each episode followed a pattern. The Endicotts would gather at sunset—usually on the front porch of Walter and Donna’s house—and reflect quietly on their day, and on life in general. The two women would drink sweet tea while the men sipped whiskey, and the conversation would often become political in nature.

  For example, Dirk might make some remark about how politicians were trampling the Constitution nowadays, and that was why it was so important to defend the Second Amendment. Walter might complain that Americans were turning their backs on God, and all of our problems started when prayer was taken out of school. Sissy might lament the fact that so many people were on food stamps or unemployment benefits, and wouldn’t it be great if they would just put some effort into building a better life for themselves instead of gaming the system. The self-righteousness was thick enough to cut with a knife. They would often repeat talking points that Marlin knew to be inaccurate or deceptive.

  Jasper Endicott, on the other hand, provided comic relief. Not that he steered clear of politics or social commentary. But he preferred to make wisecracks or deliver what were obviously intended to be unique and insightful witticisms. It was his (or more likely the show’s writers’) attempt to be a modern-day Mark Twain or Will Rogers—but Jasper didn’t have the cerebral horsepower or nonpartisan objectivity to pull it off. Most of his humor danced just this side of being outright objectionable or offensive at the expense of one group or another. He seemed particularly concerned about the topic of immigration. The biggest difference between that alien E.T. and illegal aliens is that E.T. eventually went home.

  The most tolerable—and tolerant—person in the family was Donna Endicott, who tended to live by the old rule that if you don’t have something nice to say about somebody, don’t say anything at all. She was more of a watcher, sitting on the sidelines offering motherly remarks about the family members’ various activities. She came across as more thoughtful and empathetic than the other Endicotts. Less judgmental. More open minded. Whereas Walter was cranky and harsh, Donna appeared more genuinely concerned about sinners’ souls.

  Only problem was, there was no way of knowing what was real and what wasn’t. “Reality TV” was almost certainly not reality, Marlin knew. Maybe Donna was a raging bitch in real life. Maybe she tortured kittens for fun. Maybe Walter enjoyed opera and fine French food instead of Merle Haggard and chicken-fried steak.

  Was that what was bothering Marlin? That he couldn’t be sure he was getting an accurate picture of each Endicott’s personality? Because he had a feeling that something wasn’t quite right, but he couldn’t figure out what it was.

  23

  Seventy-three-year-old J.D. Evans was clerking his usual three-until-midnight shift when the bell on the door tinkled and here came a young fellow wearing a black T-shirt, blue jeans, and high-top basketball sneakers. He had a full sleeve of tattoos up his right arm.

  J.D. had never seen this kid before, but that was one of the things J.D. liked about his job—interacting with a near-constant stream of customers of all ages and from all walks of life. J.D. had been a clerk for nearly four decades, from Florida to Texas and every state in between, and he’d enjoyed every minute of it, except for the half-dozen times he’d been robbed at gunpoint.

  “Howdy,” J.D. said, and the kid stepped right up to the counter without going any farther into the store.

  Cigarettes, J.D. thought. Easy one. When things were slow—as they were now, with an empty store—J.D. sometimes played a game where he would check a customer’s age and appearance and try to guess what that customer might buy. This kid was cigarettes all the way.

  “Pack of Marlboros,” the kid said.

  Bingo.

  “Reds?” J.D. said, already reaching to the rack overhead, because almost all Marlboro smokers went with the reds.

  “Huh?”

  “Reds?”

  “Uh, yeah.”

  J.D. slapped a pack on the counter.

  The kid looked at the pack and said, “Uh, wait. I was wanting the ones without filters.”

  “Marlboro don’t make an unfiltered cigarette. Never have.”

  J.D. started to tell him that Marlboro was originally marketed as a woman’s cigarette, nearly a hundred years ago, and it used to have a red band around the filter to hide lipstick stains. J.D. figured the kid wouldn’t care.

  “Okay, then just any cigarette without a filter,” the kid said.

  “Pall Mall?” J.D. said.

  “Yeah, that’ll be fine.”

  Odd conversation. Obviously the kid was a new smoker, but it was strange that he hadn’t picked a brand. Stranger that a new smoker wanted an unfiltered cigarette. Shame for a kid his age to be picking up the habit. That was one thing J.D. didn’t like about the job—helping smokers and drinkers kill themselves slowly—but he put the Pall Malls on the counter just the same. Wasn’t his place to lecture anybody about bad health choices, which was a good thing, because if it were, he’d be questioning the purchases of every second or third customer. Ever read the list of ingredients in those Twinkies? Do you really need the large bag of Doritos? What’re you gonna do when that Copenhagen eats a hole plumb through your lip?

  “Anything else?” J.D. asked the kid.

  “Got any rolling papers?”

  Okay, then he was a dope smoker, too.

  “Brand?”

  “Uh, whatever you’ve got.”

  Another curveball. What kind of dope smoker doesn’t have a preferred brand of rolling paper? J.D. set some Zig-Zags beside the Pall Malls and rang it up. As the kid was reaching for his wallet, J.D. studied his tattoo and noticed the words “Straight Edge” incorporated in a banner across the kid’s forearm, with a large X directly underneath, and a snarling wolf’s head below that. Lots of bright reds and blues. Whoever did the work was a pro.

  The kid handed over a credit card, but just as J.D. was about to swipe it, the kid seemed to get all flustered and said, “Wait, hold on. Don’t u
se that. I’ve got cash. I’m gonna pay with cash.”

  For dinner, Marlin suggested Russo’s, their favorite restaurant in Marble Falls. Nicole was quiet during the 30-minute drive.

  “Where are you?” he said as they passed through Round Mountain, although he suspected he knew the answer.

  “Sorry,” she said, offering a smile that wasn’t very convincing. “How was your day?”

  “I watched some reality television,” he said. “That Endicott show. And I would have just as soon pulled my fingernails out with a pair of pliers.”

  “That bad?” she said.

  “It’s just so...” he was trying to find the right word, and he realized Nicole wasn’t even waiting for him to finish. She was already off in her own world again, unaware that he hadn’t completed his thought. “Boy, you are really distracted tonight. What’s going on?”

  “Heather,” Nicole said.

  “What’s the latest?”

  “I’ve been thinking about something,” she said, turning slightly in her seat to face him. “I wanted to talk to you about it, and I hadn’t planned to do it tonight, but I guess why not?”

  “What’s up?”

  “Just promise to hear me out, okay?”

  “This sounds serious.”

  “Well, maybe. Here’s the deal. I’ll just throw this out there. Doesn’t it seem crazy that most of us—healthy people like you and me—are walking around with two perfectly good kidneys, when we only need one? Meanwhile, people like Heather are literally dying or leading pretty miserable lives because they don’t even have one functioning kidney?”

  Marlin looked over at her. He realized now where she was going with this discussion, and he hadn’t seen it coming. He should have, but he hadn’t. He turned the radio off. “Nicole, I don’t know if—”

  “I want to donate a kidney to Heather.”

  He let that sink in for a few moments. He could feel her staring at the side of his face as he drove.

  “Any reaction?” Nicole said.

  “Give me a minute.”

  He drove another mile and put his thoughts together. “Honey,” he said, “you are the most giving person I know. That I’ve ever known. The lengths you are willing to go for other people—it’s amazing, really. But this is just too much.”

  “I can understand why you’d feel that way,” Nicole said, “but it’s a safe and common procedure.”

  “It’s still major surgery, though.”

  “Yes, but it’s not brain surgery.” She grinned, trying to lighten the mood.

  He didn’t reply.

  “Look,” Nicole said, “don’t get me wrong, I totally get why you’d be reluctant to get on board with this. When the idea first occurred to me, it seemed a little crazy.”

  “Trust your instincts,” Marlin said.

  “But that’s why the problem exists in the first place,” Nicole said. “Because people aren’t willing to step forward and help out.”

  “Giving someone a kidney is more than helping out,” Marlin said. “Helping out would be driving them to the hospital or bringing them a casserole while they recover.”

  “But why not do more than that?” Nicole said, her voice beginning to rise with passion. “I don’t need two kidneys, and research shows that the risks are very low.”

  “But there are risks?”

  “Well, sure. Any surgery has risks. Lots of things we do have risks. Driving to Marble Falls has risks. Going hunting has risks. Arguing with your wife has risks.”

  Marlin could feel that his hands had tightened on the steering wheel. He turned the AC down by a couple of degrees.

  “It’s not fair for you to get angry at me simply for considering it,” Nicole said.

  “I’m not angry,” he said. “Who said anything about being angry?”

  She started to say something, then thought better of it.

  “I’m worried,” Marlin said. “And that seems reasonable. That seems logical. It’s noble what you want to do, no doubt about that, but you can’t blame me for worrying about it.”

  She reached over and put a hand on his shoulder. The early evening sunlight was angling in through the driver’s side window, and when he looked at Nicole, her face was bathed in golden light. The gentle waves of her hair were a deep mahogany.

  “Have you made your mind up about this,” Marlin said, “or is it still at the discussion phase?”

  “Discussion phase, of course,” Nicole said.

  “Have you brought the idea up with Heather?”

  If she had, Nicole would feel obligated to move forward with the donation, even if she began to have second thoughts.

  “I haven’t talked to anybody about it except you,” Nicole said. “And I hope you know by now that I wouldn’t make a decision like that without you being okay with it.”

  He was starting to feel better. “So I can veto it if I don’t like it?”

  “You can veto it after you’ve genuinely studied the facts and understand the donation process. Yes, then you can veto it. If you still feel strongly about it.”

  He was waiting for the other shoe to drop. “Really?”

  “Yes, really,” she said. “But don’t forget that veto power goes both ways.”

  “Meaning you can veto some important decision of mine,” Marlin said.

  “Well, that’s fair, isn’t it? Say, for instance, that Phil ends up needing a kidney and you decide to give him one. I can veto it, and Phil might die because of it.”

  Now he was starting to get angry. He found a place to pull over on the side of the highway—a grassy area beside the shoulder.

  “That’s not an equal comparison at all,” he said, staring through the windshield. “I’ve known Phil since I was kid. He’s like a brother to me. The only person on this planet more important to me is you. Heather, on the other hand—your relationship with her isn’t nearly—”

  “Okay,” Nicole said. “You’re right. That was out of bounds.”

  They sat for several moments in silence. He could feel himself cooling off.

  Finally, Marlin said, “Do you feel like we are equal partners in this marriage?”

  “Absolutely, yes, I do. If I didn’t, you’d be hearing about it from me on a daily basis. Where does that question come from?”

  “Would you agree that there are times when one of us has valid grounds to say, ‘Nope, no way, that’s not gonna happen?’”

  “Probably, yes,” Nicole said. “Although I’m having a tough time thinking when I might say that to you.”

  He grinned at her.

  “You’re setting me up, aren’t you?” she said.

  “Remember last summer, when I brought up the idea of buying a motorcycle?”

  “Really?” she said. “You’re using that?”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, I would have felt different if you had grown up riding them regularly. But to suddenly take it up at your age—that didn’t seem safe.”

  “And you vetoed the idea.”

  “I wouldn’t say I vetoed it. I discouraged it.”

  “So I can go buy one?”

  “No, you may not.”

  “So that’s a veto, and I will respectfully accept your wise and prudent decision. No motorcycle.” He put the truck in gear and eased back onto the highway. “Besides, aren’t we getting ahead of ourselves? How do we even know you’ll be a good match for Heather?”

  “I know I’m the same blood type, but you’re right, I still don’t know if I’m a match. They would have to do antigen testing, and check HLA markers, and to be honest, I don’t even know exactly what all that means.”

  “It means you might not be a match,” Marlin said, trying not to sound too hopeful.

  “Yes,” Nicole said, “but even if I’m not, they do this thing called a paired exchange, where I would give a kidney to somebody else, and as a result, Heather would get a kidney from a stranger. Or they do these long donation chains, where a big bunch of donors are matched up wit
h an equal number of recipients. Bottom line, if I’m willing to donate a kidney to help Heather, she’ll get a kidney, whether it’s mine or someone else’s. Assuming I pass their screenings.”

  “Yeah? What kind?”

  “Physical and psychological. Some people with various diseases can’t donate, and of course they want to make sure you are emotionally stable.”

  He opened his mouth, but she pointed at him.

  “No cheap jokes about my mental state,” she said.

  He closed his mouth.

  “All I ask is that you know the facts instead of rushing to some hasty conclusion,” she said. “Fair enough?”

  “Fair enough,” he said. “Now, how about if we continue this discussion at another time, and right now we go have a nice dinner?”

  She reached over and grasped his hand in hers. “Sounds good.”

  24

  A troubling realization had been slowly crystallizing in Liam’s mind, gnawing away, insisting that he acknowledge its presence. He had been resisting it for the past 24 hours or so, but now he couldn’t ignore it any longer. He had to face it.

  He was having second thoughts.

  Not that he was scared to carry out the mission. It was more like he’d lost the fire in his belly. His anger had cooled. His motivation had dissipated. Now that they were getting down to the nitty-gritty, just hours away from actually doing it, it just didn’t seem worth the risk, and he was certain there had to be better ways to get their message across. Liam didn’t have to be some genius in psychology to understand why his attitude had changed.

  Jessi.

  No question, it was his relationship with Jessi that had given him second thoughts. Before, when he was just some single guy, the idea of following in the footsteps of Daniel Andreas San Diego was important to him. It wasn’t like it gave his life meaning—he wouldn’t go that far—but it gave him a goal to shoot for, and something to do with his free time.