by Mary Saums
“I said no at first, but then got to thinking I’d need the money for the doctor. He came back with an even better offer so I took it. At the end of the two weeks, I went to see if they were cleaning up right and their equipment was still all over the place. I told the guy he’d have to get his things out quick. He…,” Cal choked a little. “He had other ideas.”
They wouldn’t leave. First, they told Cal they’d like to extend their survival classes for another week. When they didn’t pay him, he went armed with his shotgun to run them off. Poor Cal. That had always been enough. This man and three others with him were heavily armed.
They disarmed Cal and surely taunted him, though Cal didn’t say so. They knew he was old, sick, and alone, and knew he could do nothing to harm them. Cal was told if he alerted the authorities, they would kill him. To them, that was the ultimate threat. Not so for Cal. He would be more afraid of what would happen to his land if he died before it was safe and in good hands.
“They said they knew I had money. That if I gave them fifty thousand dollars, they’d go.”
“I see.” Had he no one to help him? Found no one to trust as he trusted me? Not in all these years? I wondered if it were only when he got so sick that the truth of his mortality hit him. “We must call Detective Waters at once.”
He protested, insisting that was the wrong thing to do. “Please,” he said. “Trust me on this. You can’t call him.”
The man was exasperating. “All right. You’ve trusted me and I will trust you, though I do so with much reserve.”
“It’s going to be all right. See about getting the money. That will put an end to it all. Then they’ll go. And I can die in peace.”
I agreed to call about a money transfer straightaway, provided he would go home and rest for the remainder of the day.
I left Cal and Homer at the split in the road, they on their way to Cal’s house and I to mine. I’d tried again to convince him to let me call the police, but he was even more angry and determined that I should not.
I made him promise to let me accompany him when he gave the militia men his money. Deep down, however, I knew I couldn’t let it come to that, not without the help of the police. Cal was desperate and not thinking clearly. I could understand that he wanted things taken care of quickly and easily. I had to think of some other way, or else these criminals would be back again and again. That I couldn’t allow.
For the life of me, I couldn’t understand why he didn’t want Detective Waters involved. Their skirmish at the police station when Cal was questioned surely wasn’t enough to make Cal put that nonsense before such a serious threat to himself and his property. The only other thing might be if Cal suspected Waters was somehow involved with the militia men. Being new here, perhaps my instincts were off, but I didn’t think so. Whatever the reason, I had to believe Cal knew best so I would respect his wish. For now. In the meantime, perhaps Phoebe’s friend, Bernard, could be of help. I might need another able-bodied man, one who was also a trained shooter.
twenty- nine
Phoebe Does a
Stake Out
After Jane and I got back to my house from the lawyer’s office, she had things to do at home. I worked in my closets, about the only place the smoke hadn’t gotten in and ruined everything. It was something I’d been meaning to do for a long time anyway. It took me all day to separate out things to give to the church second-hand store. It’s not that I’m a packrat but I do have a hard time letting go of clothes. Once I decided what to give and what to keep, I put the giveaways in my car and dropped them off at the laundry. By that time, it was three o’clock and I still had two more things on my to-do list.
First, I went by Jerry Nell Gillispie’s to pick up my new rifle. I almost cried when I saw it. I couldn’t wait to show Jane. Once I locked it in my trunk, I set out to take care of the next piece of business on my list: Suspect surveillance.
I drove out the 43 Bypass where the new nursing home was being built. Nobody was walking around out front that I could see. I changed lanes and turned left. I circled the block, going as slowly as I could. Not a soul could be seen. Construction people must quit work earlier than other folks.
Just when I thought everyone had already gone home, I saw a curly blond head pop out of the construction office trailer door. I wasn’t surprised to watch Treenie Dodd walk out, looking around like she didn’t want anyone to see her.
She carried a thick plastic bag but was holding it underneath, not by the handle, like it was heavy. She opened her trunk, put the bag in it, and drove out the dirt road onto the main drag. She was up to something. I knew it before I saw where she was headed.
She went straight to The Pool Cue and parked at the side of the building. It didn’t surprise me a bit when she sat there waiting, and guess who came strolling out to meet her. That crew-cut Marine-looking boy, the one I pegged as the leader of those no-account pool players, walked around from the back of the building and up to her car.
I looked at my watch. The second hand was sweeping across the twelve. Exactly five after three. I flipped open my Thomas Kinkade notepad of inspirational cottages and wrote it down. Fifteen hundred and 05 hours. Or was that zero three hundred and 05 hours? I can never remember which is AM and which is PM. On a separate sheet of notepad paper, I jotted, “Buy military watch.”
Treenie smiled but he didn’t. This was strictly biz. I suddenly remembered I had a throwaway camera in the glove box left over from my last trip to Gulf Shores. I had been meaning to finish up the roll but kept forgetting about it.
I clicked a few shots, scooted way down in my seat, and thought how proud Jane and the police would be when they saw these pictures. Jarhead took the bag out of Treenie’s trunk when she popped it open. The bag ripped at the bottom and he almost lost it. The box inside slipped out halfway enough for me to read “Danger” and a picture of the lit end of a bundle of sticks.
Bingo! I clicked one more picture and felt downright proud of myself. I threw the camera back in my glove box as the two of them walked toward the back door. I hurried inside the front so they would think I was already there.
Inside, the party was in full swing. It wasn’t quite as crowded at this time of day but that didn’t seem to keep the ones there from having a good time.
Sure enough, two of his boys were playing pool. I ordered a Coke and had only taken one sip when the leader went to talk to them. They put their cues up. The leader said, “Take the van. Hank, you drive.”
I turned to see the leader tossing a set of keys. Hank had pretty blue eyes and a dark beard and moustache. He raised his hand and caught the key ring. Too bad he had a big ugly snake tattoo on his arm. Otherwise he’d have been downright cute.
thirty
Jane Finds Trouble
I made the call to Florida. My savings accounts were still there in the military credit union. They would transfer the money for Cal’s land into a new checking account under his name. After Mr. Roman’s treatment of me, I didn’t relish putting money in the Bank of Tullulah but it would be easiest for Cal. He could withdraw all the cash he wanted whenever he wanted. After we dealt with his intruders.
My mind was a jumble. A cup of hot tea and a few minutes of meditation helped sort things out. However, no ready answers came to me in regard to how to handle the blackmailers without the police.
I went to my desk where I’d set out one of Cal’s boxes to look through. He had labeled it “Important” for it was full of legal papers and bill receipts, unlike the others I’d peeked in, which seemed to hold only assortments of rocks and arrowheads, scribbled notes on torn pieces of paper, or odd bits of junk.
An hour later, I’d reached the bottom of the box but was no closer to finding what I’d hoped to find, a copy of an old will. Since it was such a personal thing, I’d not asked Cal what his plans for his land had been before I came along. Still, I wondered. Once the intruders were sorted out, I needed to know he was sure he wanted to go forward with our land deal
. In his state of mind, he might not be thinking clearly, just as Dad Burn suggested. I wouldn’t take advantage of him. I would help him out of his present difficulties, but then, if Cal decided he wanted someone else to inherit the land so be it. Either way, we needed to talk about it.
I set out once more across the street onto his property. When I reached the bend in the road near his house, I saw his front door was open. “Hello, anyone home?” I called. Homer had not greeted me in the road, as was his custom. When there was no response, I stepped inside and called again. That was when I noticed the broken clay pieces on the floor.
It was the bowl he used in his ritual or one very much like it. Around it lay ashes and shreds of burned sage. “Cal!” I ran through the house worried something terrible had happened. There was no sign of him or of Homer.
I returned to the broken pieces, looked them over as I set them one by one on the coffee table next to a stack of papers. I accidentally brushed the top papers causing several to flutter to the floor. A sheet from a yellow legal pad caught my eye. Instead of words, a series of pictures, sticklike figures, were drawn across it. They were like those I saw on the rock where Cal performed his ritual. I was looking down, absorbed in the diagrams and their possible meanings, when a black boot stepped into my view. Before I could look up, I was pulled to my feet by a strong grip on my arm.
“Looking for something?” A man dressed in a camouflage T-shirt and olive drab pants stood before me. A black handgun gleamed in his hand.
He didn’t give me a chance to answer. With unnecessary force, he pushed me out of the room and into the hallway. At the front door, he shoved me into the yard.
“What’s wrong?” I said. “What do you want?”
“I want you to shut up and walk until I tell you to stop.” He brought the gun barrel to my temple. I walked.
As soon as the cold metal touched my skin, I felt calm and my body relaxed. It was the reaction the Colonel had taught me through many drills and tests.
We walked a few steps. I looked about, surveying my surroundings as best I could. He aimed me toward the woods. Remembering the camp Phoebe and I discovered, I had a feeling I knew where we’d be going.
I knew I had to act quickly. Escaping from one man would be difficult enough. I couldn’t risk being taken where more men might wait, men most certainly armed.
My captor gave me another shove. Now he walked behind me. He must have felt I presented no danger, for he no longer kept the gun barrel against me, but close to his body. That made us even. My mistake had been in not being alert, in not hearing his approach. His mistake was in not being smart.
I found early on in my defense training that rhythm of movement led to success. I fell in with my companion’s steps, counted two, and on the upbeat of the third, spun around to face him, grabbed his gun hand and twisted it while continuing to walk forward. I pressed the gun against his weak thumb joint until it gave and the gun was mine.
I flipped it round as I turned my body toward him again. Quick kicks to the back of each knee made them give, and an immediate, well-placed knock to the back of the head put him out. It was the oldest trick in the book. I almost felt ashamed of myself for employing such a juvenile tactic.
Just then, a terrible sound came from the forest. A woman’s scream.
thirty- one
Phoebe to the Rescue
Imeant to just see where they went from The Pool Cue and then go on to Jane’s. The funny thing was, it looked like the Jarhead, Hank, and that other no-count lowlife were going to Jane’s, too. I stayed back far enough where they wouldn’t get suspicious. It didn’t matter. There were only three places they could get to down Anisidi Road—Jane’s house, the refuge, and Cal’s place. I knew they must be going to their camp.
They surprised me though. They split up. The van with Hank and the other redneck took the last turn-off, going left into the Shady Lane apartment complex. The leader’s car went straight toward the refuge. I didn’t know what to do, follow Hank or follow the brains and stolen dynamite. Since the leader had to be going to the camp, I decided to follow Hank thinking maybe I could see where they went and write down the apartment number. I pulled in a few buildings away where I could see them but they couldn’t see me.
I watched the other redneck with Hank talk into a cell phone. He seemed interested when a car drove slowly by. He hung up the phone real fast. He disappeared from the front seat into the back. Hank pulled the van right next to the new car as the driver door opened.
The redneck jumped out the van’s sliding door. As soon as the car’s door opened, he grabbed the woman in the driver’s seat and the next second had thrown her in the van. He held her so close and moved so quick, I didn’t get a good look at her. All I caught was a glimpse of her hair, long, straight and red, but that was enough. I gasped. I knew it was Shelley Barnette.
The van didn’t squeal out of the parking lot. It went real slow and casual over speed bumps and around the apartment complex until it circled back to the main road. I followed him out and felt around in my purse for my cell phone as we turned onto Anisidi. I held up the phone over the steering wheel so I could dial and keep my eyes on the road at the same time. When I pressed the first button, the phone squealed. I glanced down at the display. It said, “Recharge battery.” The stupid thing wouldn’t dial. Now what? Flag somebody down? Ram the van from behind?
Then I remembered how a police car had been stationed all the time near the refuge entrance. The van was way ahead of me. When I went around the last bend before Jane’s house and the refuge, the van was nowhere in sight. Not only that, but I could also see that the police car usually sitting in the road was, of all times, gone.
My car rocked to a stop in front of Jane’s and I ran into her yard calling out “Jane! Jane!” all the way up to the porch and inside. She was gone, too.
I nearly had a fit. I ran to her phone and dialed 911 so hard I nearly broke the numbers. Her phone was dead. All I got was that weird loud static instead of a dial tone. “Dagnabbit, now what do I do?” I hollered.
I ran out the door. Cal didn’t have a phone and it would take forever to ride all the way back into town for the police. There was no way I could live with myself if something happened to Shelley before I could get help. I was way out in the yard when the screen door slammed shut behind me. I’d made up my mind what I had to do.
I hurried to the back of my car and opened the trunk. I took a deep breath as I unzipped my new gun carrier, a special fabric one in a green, brown, and black camouflage pattern that Donnie threw in for free.
I lifted out my new AK-46 and a half. Jerry Nell had done a magnificent paint job on it, just like I knew she would. The original black finish, which I loved at first because it was darned scary looking, just didn’t fit my personality Jerry Nell agreed. She knows what I like. She’d made most all the interior decorations in my living room, which is where I planned on displaying my rifle as a wall hanging, so she knew exactly what colors to use so it would match.
I gently stroked the sight now painted in Apricot Blush. The paint job graduated from light at the top to a darker orange at the bottom of the rifle body. Jerry Nell added the two special touches I’d asked for, and she did them just perfect. Up near the barrel, she drew an Indian dream catcher in brown and turquoise, just like the ones she made for me to hang in my windows. Little shadings of gray and black made it stand out real pretty.
The other special touch turned out even better than I imagined. On the big fat end you put against your shoulder, Jerry Nell airbrushed one word in turquoise, the name I’d given my AK-46 and a half for good luck: Smokahontas. A little plume of smoke curled and trailed off the end of the last letter. Oh, what I would give for Jerry Nell’s artistic genius.
I was nervous and sweating like a hog. It was up to me. Me and the Man Upstairs. With both hands, I raised Smokahontas up toward the woods and said what I could remember of a Cherokee prayer that Jerry Nell had written in calligraphy and framed fo
r me. “Oh, Great Spirit… Hear me … I am small and weak… and I forget the middle part… but when the sun sets, may I come to You with clean hands, straight eyes, and no shame.”
Amen to that. After I set Smokahontas down, I grabbed the box of Israeli bullets and held them up to the sky toward the east. I felt like I needed to say a Jewish prayer, but I only knew one word in Hebrew so it would have to do.
“Shalom,”I said, “but not right now.” I kissed the box and bowed several times, and then set the box down next to Smokahontas.
Son, I started stuffing bullets into that magazine as fast as I could. While I stuffed, I thought about angels and how so many people believe in them. I do, too, but not the fluffy ones that float around singing all day.
“Dear Lord,” I said, “You know that’s not the kind I need right now. I need me some warrior angels, preferably of Cherokee or Jewish descent, with tongues of fire flapping off the end of their swords and shooting out of their noses and fingertips and eye sockets.
“But I don’t have to tell you what I need,” I said, as I clicked in the last bullet. I snapped the magazine up into place. It sounded mean. It felt good. “I have faith You’ll protect me and guide me to do the right thing.”
I ran to the refuge and turned left onto the walking trail, just like Jane and I had done. When I got to the place where we walked into the woods, I slowed down and stepped as quietly as I could toward the redneck camp, hoping I’d get there in time to save Shelley.
thirty-two
Jane Finds Cal
The cries came from the east, the direction of the refuge. It might not have been Phoebe’s voice I heard. However, something in my gut told me it was my dear friend and that she was in grave danger.