by James Ross
“I was mad,” Keith rationalized.
“And we’re just kids,” Justin added.
“That doesn’t make it right. I don’t care if you’re black or white . . . purple, green or orange. It doesn’t make any difference if you’re a man, woman, or child. If you make a mistake or cheat, then you have to be strong enough to admit it,” Curt reminded the boys. “Do you understand?”
Both boys nodded their head. “Yeah,” Justin said.
“Okay,” Keith added.
“There are little things about the game that make it so beautiful,” Ginny added. “Not moving in someone’s backswing. Being quiet when someone else is making a shot. Not walking in the line of someone else’s putt. Things like that.”
Curt smiled. “There are a lot of things that make the game of golf great. It really is the only sport where the participants can call a foul on themselves.” Curt looked at the boys. “Now let’s load the fireworks and we’ll go out on the course and shoot them,” Curt said.
CHAPTER SEVENTY
It was the first Wednesday in March and across town the planning and zoning meeting at city hall was getting ready to start. Harold Syms was expecting to have a financial windfall due to all of the politicking that he had done over the last several months. The banker already knew what the outcome was going to be. It was going to be a rubber stamp approval for two projects that he had proposed to the city. Monty DiMonte had reserved a room for a victory party. Then after that an after-hours party with entertainment had been arranged for a select few.
With the expected purchase of the land that once housed Nehemiah’s Neighbors Have Arisen and the property that Tuey O’Tweety at one time had under contract next to it, a large shopping center development was to be approved. A little later on the agenda an announcement was to be made that the city had approved the building of a new, private Catholic high school on ground that Harold had in a joint venture with Neal Brownfield.
Father Alphonso Blair and companion Scottie P. Lampe, along with landowner Neal Brownfield were in attendance for the good news. All of the city council members were prompt. Harold was in a lively mood as he bounced around the room. When he shook hands with Festus, the Sergeant of Arms, he slipped a twenty dollar bill into the palm of his hand and thanked him for all of his help. When the guard mildly balked Harold shook his head, crumpled the bill in his hand, and let it fall to the ground. Festus grinned and picked up the litter as the banker turned away.
After the call to order Festus slinked his way to the front of the room and led the group in the Pledge of Allegiance. Mayor Leavitt quickly advanced to the podium. “We have a full agenda this evening,” he began, “however we’re going to deviate from the normal procedure. A special request came across my desk this afternoon so I’d like to start the meeting with an announcement.” The mayor turned and welcomed the Public Works Director, R. W. Reeves to the lectern. “R. W.”
R. W. opened a file after reaching the podium. “I’d like to thank the mayor for allowing this brief announcement.” He grabbed a single sheet of paper out of the manila folder and began to read a prepared statement. “After much thought and many weeks of hesitation I offered my resignation to the mayor this afternoon. I’d like to thank Mayor Leavitt and the council members for the opportunity to serve the city.” Mild disbelief fell through the room. Reeves looked toward Big Bertha. “I’d also like to take this time to invite Bertha Taylor to the podium.”
The fair-skinned, heavy set woman waddled to the front of the room. It was evident from the start that she had copped an attitude. “I’ll make it short and sweet.” The large lady paused and then blurted loudly. “I quit!”
Tillie Vinton, the Ward One council woman with the horrendous overbite, was visibly shaken. “What has brought all of this on, R. W.?”
“Let’s just say that there’s been an ongoing injustice over the years,” R. W. explained. “Big Bertha and I no longer want to be a part of what I’ll term ‘Leavitt’s Lever’.” He looked at each and every council member. “I think that all of you are aware of what I am talking about.” He placed the paper into the folder. “I’m willing to be man enough to admit that what has been going on is wrong. Big Bertha feels the same way.”
“The bigot attitudes that I’ve had to enforce have gone too far,” the large woman emphasized. “I got another job and I’m moving on.”
The upbeat mood in the room was suddenly filled with drawn faces. Council members exchanged stunned looks with one another. Plenty of responsibility could be shared. City attorney Kenneth Ficke spat a sunflower seed into a plastic cup to break the silence.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
Justin and Keith grabbed the box that had been stored in the cart barn and loaded it into the back of the John Deere. “It’s a celebration that we’ll have about six months late,” Curt said. He had wanted to shoot the explosives after they finished working at the course for the summer and then on New Years’ Eve, but postponements kept occurring.
“Finally,” Justin said as he and Keith crawled into the bed. Like most teenagers they wanted to blow something up. Ginny hopped into the passenger seat. She was enjoying the extra time off and the country club atmosphere of the golf course. Her extended hours with Curt and the boys were a source of unexpected pleasure.
Curt inched the vehicle out of the barn, across the parking lot, and turned on the lights for the trip onto the course. Dusk was setting in. Even though he knew almost every bump on the course he thought that he should light up the way since he was responsible for so many passengers. “The golf course only offers a secluded spot away from the public,” Curt said. “You know that I’m not big on this fireworks stuff anyway.”
Justin and Keith wrinkled their noses. “Where are you taking us?” Justin asked.
“To a place that J Dub showed me,” Curt answered. “After all of these years we discovered something that we didn’t know was here.”
“What is it?” Keith asked.
“You’ll see in a minute,” Curt said. He continued driving out on the course, past the maintenance shed, and crisscrossing across a couple of fairways. He parked the utility vehicle along the side of the creek and glanced into the woods. “We can park here and it won’t be as far to walk.”
Justin and Keith looked into the trees. It was getting dark. “We’re not going in there, are we?” Keith asked.
The light of the moon was beginning to illuminate the surroundings. Curt laughed. “Why? Are you scared or something?”
The boys kicked at the grass. “Well, no. Not really,” Keith said.
“It looks like it’s a long way to carry this box,” Justin said as he looked at the size of the box in the back of the John Deere.
“From here, we don’t have to go too far,” Curt explained. “All we have to do is cross the creek, go down a short path, across an old foot bridge and then we’ll be there.”
“Be where?” Justin asked.
“To this old cave,” Curt said. “We can shoot the firecrackers in there and listen to the echo.”
Ginny took the first step toward the woods. “Come on. I’m not scared. You shouldn’t be either.”
The boys grabbed the box and the foursome headed into the woods with Curt leading the way. The low hanging limbs and underbrush made travel somewhat harrowing especially as the foliage blocked the moonlight. A spider web here and some bug bites there added to the discomfort. As they approached the creek on the opposite side of the woods a beaver scurried up the bank startling Keith. In an instant he grabbed a stick and swung wildly, landing a direct hit. “Got him!”
“What did you do that for?” Curt chastised the teenager.
“It half scared me to death,” Keith said.
“You didn’t have to kill it.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO
Nobody was home at Nehemiah’s Neighbors Have Arisen except the cleaning crew. And that wasn’t who Tuey wanted to see in his desperation. He was reaching out for Reverend Puld and the com
fort that the preacher could provide. Now, as he pulled off of the parking lot of the makeshift church he was alone . . . all alone.
Aimlessly Tuey drove his pickup around the streets of Wiebbey bottom. He always kept a watchful eye out for Big Bertha and her ticket book. After cruising along the streets of his neighborhood, for some inexplicable reason, the truck was pulled toward the town square. As he had so many times in the past before he was banned from the meetings, Tuey parked the pickup on a side street and headed for the back door of city hall.
Twilight was turning into darkness. With the warmer temperatures the trees were waiting to bust out in their springtime glory. The dormant lilacs and forsythias were just a couple weeks away from blossoming. Aromas of Chinese food from Happy Peking restaurant blew through the breeze around city hall. Tuey raised his left forearm up to wipe the beads of sweat off of his forehead. He applied vice-grip-like pressure to his temples. As his hand traveled down his face he wiped the creases of his mouth and licked his lips hoping to moisten them.
The back door was locked. He knew that it would be. Tuey hyperventilated as he continued along the walk around the side of the building. As he approached the front and prepared to turn the corner, a voice came out of nowhere. “Tuey, it’s after seven. You know you’re banned from the meetings.” It was Riley Lawton, the outside security guard, his two buck teeth shining in the moonlight.
Startled and crazed, Tuey instinctively reached into his jumpsuit for the knife he had used so often to de-bone carp. In a lightning-quick move he swished the blade through the air slitting the security guard’s throat from ear to ear. Blood spurted like an active geyser across the manicured grass. Bucky’s eyes rolled backward and froze in time as his body fell to the ground.
The excavating contractor muttered, “Have mercy on you.” Tuey grabbed Bucky’s revolver, tucked it into a side pocket in his overalls, and headed for the front door of city hall.
R. W. Reeves and Big Bertha were walking away from the podium. Mayor Leavitt readied himself to preside over the meeting and planted both hands firmly on the lectern. Harold Syms anxiously awaited the next order of business which was to be the zoning for the new private Catholic high school. That decision was not only going to be a financial coup for him, but for Father Blair and Neal Brownfield as well.
“I’s done bein’ played,” Tuey barked as he barged through the door. “Now’s I’s gonna do da playin’!” Before Festus could raise his body from its slouched position, the blast from Tuey’s .357 Magnum found its mark in the Sergeant of Arms’ head.
Meanwhile on Prairie Winds Golf Course . . .
“That was neat!” Justin yelled as a firecracker that he threw into the cave caused a flash of light.
“Did you hear how loud the sound was?” Keith shouted. The noise from the firecracker echoed through the chamber.
The critters had been stirring. The flash of light and the deafening sound caused them to scatter. “What’s going on here?” Bandit asked to anyone within earshot. The raccoon’s nightly hunt for food was interrupted.
“Beats me, but I’m getting out of here,” Socks said. The fox dashed to the rear of the cave.
“Get under a rock or something,” Deputy Matt said as he scurried along the wall looking for shelter.
Another loud explosion and flash of light ripped the darkness. Burp sprang through the empty space. A second blast knocked the frog out of the air. “That’s killing my ears,” Wisconsin said. The badger waddled out of the center of the chamber.
“It’s killing my eyes!” Minnesota said. The gopher rapidly started digging a tunnel.
Ginny’s cell phone rang under the moonlight. One look at the caller ID indicated that work was calling. She thought it could wait a few minutes. Watching the boys have fun took precedence.
Justin rifled through the box. “Let’s light a whole pack!” He ripped the wrapper off of several dozen firecrackers and held it up for Keith to light.
“If you’re going to light the whole pack,” Curt warned, “be ready to get rid of them in a hurry.”
Keith lit the wick and Justin threw the bundled explosives into the cave. In series of quick pops the firecrackers exploded and provided an impressive light show. “That’s wild!” Keith yelled.
“This is insane!” Bandit shouted to the others in the cave. He covered his eyes with his paws. “Take cover!”
Back at city hall . . .
“Tuey, no!” Mayor Leavitt screamed as pandemonium broke out in the room. “Tuey. Stop it!” The spectators were frozen in disbelief. No one could believe what was happening. Everything seemed so surreal. The man who had sat with them on so many occasions had gone berserk.
“Have mercy on you’s!” Tuey screamed as he refocused on the people closest to him. R. W. Reeves took a direct hit. His toupee swished across the floor like a wet mop as his body crumbled.
Tuey looked into the eyes of his daily nemesis. “Sorry Big Bertha. Have mercy on you’s.” He aimed the pistol at her head and pulled the trigger. The deadly round felled the mother of two and sprayed the wall with her crimson blood.
Folding chairs flew toward the contractor as bodies dived to the floor. Tillie Vinton, grandmother of three, didn’t stand a chance once Tuey leveled his New Years’ Eve special. She had arrived at the meeting only moments before the pledge of allegiance having spent the entire day at the shopping mall with her grandchildren. Her blood-soaked body slumped off the chair and to the floor.
Tense uneasiness enveloped LaVerne Price. Tuey took a step and pointed the barrel of the revolver at her head. She was wide-eyed and frozen in time. A second later a flash of light and deafening sound ended her life. “Have mercy on you’s,” Tuey said as her limp body fell off the chair.
Harold Syms was as nervous as a football bettor laying down a sizeable wager. With a lawsuit against the shooter he figured that he was next. The small man dove to the floor and squirmed under Scottie P whose arms were wrapped around Father Blair. “Scottie, do something,” the priest whimpered. The smell and haze of gunpowder filled the room.
“Dis is fo’ you’s Minnesota an’ Wisconsin.” Tuey changed to the gun that he had taken from Bucky. His next two victims were councilmen Hank Hardin and Lamar Dalton. More chairs flew toward Tuey only to bounce off him and land in the puddles of blood pooling on the floor.
“No, Tuey! No,” a voice shouted across the room.
On all fours, Monty crawled like the rat he was down the hallway that emptied into private chambers. He wasn’t about to be a hero.
The crazed gunman looked next at the mayor. Tuey screamed, “You’s next Mayor Leavitt!” The head of the city rapidly raised his arms in an attempt to shield his body from the ballistic onslaught. The gun fired. “Have mercy on you’s.”
“Now I’s played you!” Tuey’s icy glare rested on the mayor’s lifeless remains. “Now you’s off uh my bumpa!”
City attorney Kenneth Ficke relentlessly fired folding chairs toward the executioner. He was in a fight for his life as sirens blared outside. Someone had hit the panic button which alerted the police.
“Where you be Socks?” Tuey shouted. Harold sensed his time was next. He squirmed along the bloody floor and tried to hide his head under Scottie P’s legs. His tailbone was exposed to attack.
“Dere you’s is,” Tuey said as he spotted the banker’s butt twisting under the legs of the priest’s partner. He pulled the trigger but instead of the resultant blast, the gun only clicked. Tuey quickly pulled again, but the gun had jammed. Neal Brownfield, realizing that a split-second opening existed, jumped on the gunman knocking the revolver loose. Without delay, Scottie P jumped on the pair knocking them all to the floor. The three men wrestled, slipping and sliding on the blood-soaked tongue-in-groove.
Seconds later the police SWAT team barged through the door. Instinctively, Tuey leaped for the gun on the floor. Theo Beckett, the cop who had noticed the old couch hanging off the tailgate of J Dub’s pickup, fired the bullet that ended Tuey
’s life.
“Thank Mary, Joseph, and . . .” Father Blair whispered as he shook uncontrollably.
In a little less than two minutes the carnage was over. Nine city employees had been massacred. Counting the gunman, ten people had perished.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
The community was still in shock two days later. No one could understand how a crazed gunman could gain entrance into city hall. The situation became more complicated once the man’s identity was revealed. To outsiders there were overtures of a hate crime. The national media was all over the story.
Neal Brownfield entered Norma’s Diner and plopped down on the stool at the counter. Morning newspapers with sensational headlines were scattered across the countertop. “Well, if it isn’t the town hero,” Norma said as she placed an empty cup in front of her regular customer. She filled it with hot coffee.
Neal’s sorrowful look said otherwise. “There are a lot of things I wish I could take back,” he said as he idly stirred the brew. A trail of smoke and heat escaped from the cup.
“Wouldn’t we all,” Norma said. They were the only two in the eatery. A pall had been cast over the town and it seemed like no one even went outside.
“In a way I sort of feel responsible,” Neal lamented. His normal morning energy had dwindled to a lethargic shrug of the shoulders.
“What are you talkin’ about?” Norma said as she stood in front of him with her arms folded.
“If I hadn’t have been so greedy, then maybe all of this would have gone away,” Neal rationalized.
“Greedy? What’s that got to do with a maniac losing it?”
“It was my idea to sell the land.”
“Oh, come on,” Norma whined. “Your farm stands in the way of progress. It was your turn to cash in.”
“Yeah,” Neal said with a sigh, “but at the price of ten lives?”