Cheryl returned his smile. “I think that being in this café is the safest I’ve felt in many years, and I think I could trust you and Bertie with every secret I’ve ever had.” She turned back and walked closer to Doug so that she could whisper in his ear. “I think your friend, Jason Benton, is the father of my son.” She took another sip of coffee, turned, and walked out of the café.
Angels do not get taken by surprise easily, but Doug had not seen this revelation coming. His mouth dropped open and Bertie punched him when she walked by.
“Heh, heh! You really didn’t see that one coming, did you, handsome!” she whispered and laughed out loud as she passed by Doug. She moved into the kitchen to confirm that Max had heard the conversation, too.
Cheryl took a deep breath of the cool, refreshing air when she stepped outside the café. The previous tension inside her had evaporated, and she closed her eyes. She didn’t know why this was happening now, but she knew she had to find out more about Jason Benton. She stood by her car for several minutes and stared at the woods across the road—the woods that Jason Benton called home. She zipped up her jacket and began a slow walk across the parking lot, across the highway, and through the bushes to a camp ground of sorts. She saw three, large cardboard boxes and two makeshift tents. She walked closer to each of them and peered inside. “I wonder if one of these is where you sleep, Jason Benton.”
She saw a slight movement out of the corner of her eye and glanced toward the concrete overpass about fifty feet away. She watched while a young man seemed to be inspecting the ground before he stood and rubbed his fingers against the concrete wall. He was too far away for her to identify, and she wondered if it might be Jason Benton. A longer inspection of the man’s silhouette proved her wrong; the body was smaller than the man she remembered sitting next to on Saturday night. No, it wasn’t Jason Benton, but something about him seemed vaguely familiar to her. The young man turned toward her, and Cheryl sensed a moment of hesitation on the young man’s part. No, it definitely was not Jason Benton, but she was certain that she had seen him before. She raised her hand and started to call out to him, but the young man took off running through the woods.
“Well, that was strange,” Cheryl muddled. She turned to walk past the smoldering camp fire and back through the brush that would lead her across the road and back to her car. She never saw the other man who had been watching her and Kirk Blankenship.
Jason walked slowly from where he had hidden in the woods when he first heard the teenager scavenging through their camp site. He recognized the boy as being the same one he had confronted in the park Saturday afternoon. He also recognized the beautiful, auburn-haired woman with the green eyes; the same green eyes he had dreamed about time and time again over the years. “No,” he shook his head. “It’s not possible. She couldn’t have remembered me. It’s just not possible…”
CHAPTER 8
Finding Stella
Kirk jerked open the car door and quickly slipped down in the driver seat. He pushed the START button and only sat upright after glancing toward the woods across the street to make sure that Jimmy Crennan’s mother had not followed him. He had recognized her immediately; not many of his friends had mothers who were as hot-looking as Cheryl Crennan. “That was too close,” he whispered hoarsely as he sped out of the café’s parking lot. “What the hell was she doing there? If Crennan said anything to his mom…”
He knew he should report to school, no matter how late he was, but there was something more important than school on his mind at the moment. He had to find the homeless woman who saw them at the underpass Friday night; she was the only one who could positively identify them. He felt confident that the hundred-dollar bill he gave her, along with the chilling warning that he would come back for her if she told anyone what she had seen, was enough to ensure her silence; however, he had too much to lose if she did decide to speak to anyone. He had to find her, to talk to her, and, if he had to, silence her permanently. His entire future depended on the old hag keeping her mouth shut.
Kirk drove all over south Rome, searching every park bench, every underpass, any place he thought a homeless person might hide out during the day. He knew absolutely nothing about being homeless, but he knew that he had no use for these people who did little more than occupy space, and did nothing to better themselves. His cell phone beeped, indicating a new text message. It was from his best friend, David Mizen, wanting to know why he wasn’t in school.
Kirk turned his car around and fumbled on the keyboard while he was driving. “Tkg care of bzness,” he texted back. David had been one of the three other people who had been with him the night that the old man died. Kirk drove slowly up and down the main streets of Rome. “She has to be around here somewhere…” he mused. He rubbed at his right temple as he allowed the memory of what had happened Friday night to bounce around inside his brain.
Kirk and his two best friends had decided to invite the younger, new kid in town to Kristy’s party. Her parents were out of town for the weekend, and that always resulted in one hell of a good time for Kirk and his friends. Kirk had a college friend who had provided them plenty of beer for the party, and they had all taken advantage of that friendship. The new kid had stopped drinking after a couple of beers and had tried to leave the party, but Kirk had persuaded Jimmy Crennan to stay and hang out with them. He promised to get him home before his mom got off work from her night shift job—not that the kid had any other choice—he was a long way from home.
Kirk and Kristy had disappeared upstairs for a couple of hours; by the time he stumbled back downstairs, Jimmy Crennan was waiting for him—insisting that they take him home. Kirk pulled away from him. “Get your hands off me, Crennan. I told the others you were too young to hang out with us, but they thought it would be fun to show you the ropes. If you want to go home, little boy, there’s the front door. Start walking. ”
Jimmy backed away. “I live a good twenty miles from here, Kirk. You promised that you would take me home when I needed to go.”
“Too bad you don’t know me any better than you do,” Kirk smirked. “I rarely keep promises. You could learn from that.” He watched while Jimmy turned toward the front door, ready to leave on his own, no doubt. He shook his head. “Oh, what the hell. Wait up, Crennan. It’s too late for you to be out walking now, not to mention that it’s colder than a witch’s tit out there—my Dad says that all the time. Give me a few more minutes, and then we’ll go. Why don’t you go round up David and Mike?”
Jimmy looked at him with justifiable uncertainty.
“Go on!” Kirk smirked. “I promise I’ll take you home.”
It was almost two-thirty in the morning when Kirk pulled Kristy to him for one last kiss and touch. “Okay, everyone, pile in the car. We’ve got to get Crennan home before he turns into a pumpkin.
David Mizen and Michael Bozeman snickered as they walked ahead of Jimmy. Kirk followed behind all of them. Once they were all situated inside the car, Kirk rolled down his window to let the cold air hit his face. “We can’t go straight home, guys. I need to drive around for a little while, until I sober up some. If my Dad sees me like this, I can forget this month’s, and next month’s, allowance.”
“But, you said…” Jimmy stammered.
“Shut the hell up, Crennan,” Kirk stared hard into the rear-view mirror to where Jimmy sat next to Michael in the back seat. “I told you that I would get you home, and I will. Quit acting like a baby.”
“Yeah,” David snickered from the front passenger seat. “You were right, Kirk; it was a mistake to invite someone as young as him to hang out with us. Hell, we’ll be seniors after this summer, and he’s only a freshman, who doesn’t even know how to drink, much less, anything else.”
“You can shut up, too, David,” Kirk warned. “I have one hell of a headache and none of you are helping it any. I just need to sober up a little.”
They drove in silence for the next fifteen minutes until Kirk pulled sharply off t
he road. He glanced over at the empty parking lot of the diner that had recently opened. The café was closed, but the golden halo that floated—literally, floated—above it provided sufficient light for what he needed to do. “I’ve got to piss. Come with me, all of you.”
“Why do we need to come with you, man? I don’t need to piss,” Michael swayed in the back seat. “I just want to sleep.”
“Get out, NOW!” Kirk shouted. I want to lock the doors and I don’t want to leave any of you in my car without me being in it, so get out!”
The three young men reluctantly followed Kirk into the bushes. Kirk turned away from them and unzipped his pants. David and Michael ambled slowly around what appeared to be a camp site, while Jimmy remained standing near the edge of the wood line.
“I think someone must live here,” Jimmy whispered. “We need to get out of here.”
David and Michael kicked dirt onto the dying embers of the fire that had, hours ago, been the center of jovial conversation and good food among a group of homeless comrades. David pointed toward the concrete underpass, to a lone figure moving about. “We’re not alone,” he laughed. “Come on, let’s go say hello. I’ve never met a homeless person before.”
Norman Weissman had awakened several minutes before the group of teenagers arrived. Nature called and he had taken care of business in the woods behind their camp. He stopped at Skipper’s rolled-up sleeping bag, on his way back into camp, and saw the bag of food sitting on top of it. “Such a waste of good food,” he sighed as he bent down and sorted through the contents. He left the meatloaf sandwich for Skipper, but couldn’t resist the piece of buttermilk cake that he loved so much. He removed the cake from its wrapping and walked over to the under pass, where the silvery glow of the moon offered a little more light. He reasoned that there was, also, less chance of him waking his fellow comrades if he ate his late-night snack away from the main sleeping area. He had only taken one bite of the delicious cake when someone shoved him from behind. His hand tightened reflexively around the piece of cake.
“Well, well…what do we have here?” Kirk snorted. “What are you doing, old man? Who told you that you could sleep here in my woods?”
Norman swallowed the bite of cake and turned around slowly. He saw three young boys surrounding him, and he noticed another one standing alone, close to the main highway, maybe acting as a lookout. “I’m not bothering anyone—I’m just having myself a late-night snack before turning in for the night.” He smiled at them and shook his head. “No, no, I’m not bothering anyone. If you want me to leave, I will be more than happy to leave. I was not aware these were your woods.”
Kirk took two steps closer to the old man and shoved him again, this time in Michael’s direction. “Now, you’re just being a smart-ass, old man.”
Michael giggled drunkenly and took his turn by shoving Norman directly into David.
“Get off me, you filthy buzzard!” David shrieked. He quickly shoved the old man back to Kirk.
“Please!” Norman spoke softly, trying to maintain his balance. “Please, don’t hurt me. I’ll leave, I promise…” He tried to turn around toward the camp fire, but a loose boot string entangled his feet and tripped him up.
Kirk shoved him away from him—hard—toward the concrete wall, just as Norman’s feet twisted against each other.
The sound of a man’s head bouncing off a solid concrete wall was more than enough to ensure instant sobriety. They heard the man gasp at impact with the wall, and they watched in horror as blood spurted from the crack in his skull. Nobody moved—nobody except Norman—who took one final gasp of air before falling to his knees and, then, face-first onto the frozen ground. The group watched as the old man’s hand closed tightly around the cake that he held, his eyes rolled back in his head, and, he took his last breath.
“Ooohhh…” a cracked voice came from the woods behind them.
Kirk, David, and Michael quickly turned to see a really old woman standing behind them. Her wrinkled face showcased eyes that were wide with fear. They stood dumbfounded while she stumbled forward, toward the body of the homeless man. They watched on with disbelief when the old woman kneeled down and felt for a pulse at the old man’s neck. They gaped in horror when the old woman looked up at them and began shaking her head.
“You killed him—you killed Norman.”
Kirk was the first to re-gather his wits, and he quickly jerked the old woman up by her bony arms. He wasn’t thinking—he was simply reacting to the situation. He fumbled in his pants pocket for the first bill that came out, and stuffed it down the front of the old woman’s shirt. He stared into her cataract-filled eyes and shook her hard. “You didn’t see anything, do you understand me, old woman?”
Stella shook all over and closed her eyes tight. She shook her head from side-to-side. “I didn’t see nothing—nothing at all—I didn’t…”
Kirk pulled her close to him and whispered into her ear. “I will find you—you can be sure of that. If you say anything, to anyone, I will find you, and personally slit your throat. Now, you take this money, and get the hell out of here. Remember what I said…I will find you.”
Stella fell backward when the boy released her abruptly. She pushed herself up and continued backing away from the group of boys. “I didn’t see nothing…” She backed up until she could touch the concrete wall of the overpass. She wanted to run away, but her eighty-two year old legs felt like lead-weight and the ground was a magnet for them. She waited until the boys ran off before she started screaming.
It was almost lunch time, and Kirk was ready to give up his search for the old woman. If he showed up for half a day at school, there was a chance they might not notify his father of his tardiness. “Where are you, old woman?” he muttered. By now he was back where he started from, sitting in the parking lot of the Heavenly Grille Café. He leaned his head back against the head rest and closed his eyes. When he opened them, he glanced at the woods across the street. “Whatever! I may as well have one more look.”
He waited for a break in traffic and darted across the street. A sense of déjà vu quickly came over him when he stepped into the clearing. He would never admit it to his friends, but he would have given anything if he could have turned back time and prevented what happened to the old man Friday night. It had never been his intention to hurt anyone, but he had an image to maintain—his tough-guy image that began to develop the day his father married Rae Sanchez.
He scanned the area to make sure nobody was around before he entered. He walked past the burned ashes of a camp fire and peered inside the three cardboard boxes. He was ready to turn around and leave when he saw her—the old woman was there, crawling out backwards from one of the makeshift tents, on her knees. Kirk moved quickly toward the tent and stood still, until the old woman backed directly into him.
Stella gasped and shouted, “Who’s here?” She pushed herself, shakily, to a standing position and slowly turned around. She was prepared to confront PJ, Bernard, or Joe. She wasn’t afraid of them; however, she hoped it wasn’t either of the other two men who shared the camp site.
The last person Stella expected to see standing behind her, with his arms crossed against his chest, was the boy from Friday night—the one who had shoved the hundred-dollar bill down her shirt. The temperature was in the low fifties, but Stella Sieber began to sweat profusely. “What? What are you doing here? What do want? Don’t come near me, or I’ll scream!”
Kirk stood still and smiled. “Oh, please—do it. Give me a reason to slit your wrinkled throat right here and now.” He pulled a three-inch Spyderco Embassy Automatic Knife from his jean pocket. The expensive switch blade had been a Christmas present from his father, who was an avid collector of guns and hunting knives. “Come on, old woman, give me a reason.” When the old woman began to tremble and shake her head, Kirk shoved her back onto the ground. He knelt in front of her, reached into another pocket, and pulled out five, one-hundred dollar bills, and waved the money in front of her
face. “You and I are going to have a little talk. If you listen to me, and do as I say, this money is yours.”
Stella was still shaking her head and clutching a large paper bag against her chest. Everything she owned was in that paper bag and she was not going to release her grasp on it. “Leave me alone. I already told you I wasn’t going to say anything. I still have your money.” She fumbled inside her shirt and threw the wrinkled, hundred-dollar bill on the ground. “Take it, and leave me alone. I don’t want your money. I mind my own business.”
Kirk picked up the money and shoved it back inside her old, flannel shirt. “Keep it. Like I said, if you do what I tell you to do, there’s another five-hundred in it for you.”
“You want me to leave town, don’t you?” Stella blurted and shook her head. “I don’t want to leave town.”
Kirk squeezed her chin between his thumb and forefinger and jerked her head up, forcing her to look at him. “It’s not a request, old woman. You will do as I tell you to do, and you will do it before Friday. I’ll know when you’ve done it, and I’ll find you and give you the other five hundred. You will leave this city before the weekend is up, or I will slit your throat while you sleep. Do you understand what I’m saying?” He squeezed harder, until tears formed at the corners of the old woman’s tightly closed eyes. “Open your eyes and look at me, old woman!”
Stella had a sudden flashback to a time when another man had beat her, and threatened her. That man had died under “mysterious” circumstances. She knew that if she was even twenty years younger, she could probably do the same to the young punk who was currently crushing her jaw. However, she wasn’t twenty years younger; she was an eighty-two year old woman who didn’t see many options lying in wait for her. She could make six hundred dollars last a while; she could even get off the street for a couple of months, until the weather began to warm up. She opened her eyes and nodded assent. “I understand. I’ll do whatever you tell me to do…”
Star-Spangled Rejects (The Heavenly Grille Café Book 3) Page 7