Star-Spangled Rejects (The Heavenly Grille Café Book 3)

by J. T. Livingston

  “Ernest…”

  His normally friendly, placid eyes turned the color of cold steel. “I made a mistake, Rae. My wife—my beautiful, loving wife, Elizabeth—had only been dead a few months. I was a single father, with no clue on how to raise my son alone. I didn’t want to be alone. I didn’t think Elizabeth would have wanted me to be alone.” He took a deep breath and shook his head again. “I screwed up, Rae. The day I married you was the day I began to lose my son. He has never forgiven me for trying to replace the mother he loved so very much. He was a good kid back then—kind, loving, compassionate. That all changed within a few months of mine and your marriage. I should have had it annulled as soon as I saw the change in him, but I was in denial, I guess. I convinced myself that things would get better.”

  “I don’t believe it!” Rae spun around and grabbed her fur coat. “You’re blaming me for the mean and psychotic creature that you call a son? Well, you’re crazier than I ever thought you could be, Ernest. I had nothing to do with creating the monster that walks all over you, steals money from you, take advantage of you—who cares about nothing or no one except himself. He’s YOUR son, not mine, and if he hasn’t turned into the fine upstanding citizen that you had hoped he would become, then it most certainly is not my fault. And another thing, if you think the last four years have been a walk in the park for me, then you’re more of a pea-brained idiot than I first thought you to be…” Her hand flew to her mouth to try to stop any more scathing words to escape. She moved quickly toward him and tried to touch him. “Oh, Ernest, I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean any of that…”

  Ernest took her coat from her and helped her put it on. He turned her around to face him, and smiled for the first time since she had entered his office. “I think we’ve both said exactly what needed to be said, Rae—and, it’s been long overdue. I need you to leave now. We will talk more about what happens next, later.”

  “What do you mean—what happens next!” She stiffened her back and squinted her eyes as she stared back at her primary source of revenue. “If you think you can get rid of me so easily, Ernest Blankenship, then you have another thought coming. Trust me, I will take you for every cent I can get, and I know a very good attorney.”

  Ernest sighed. “I’m sure you know a lot of attorneys, Rae—not to mention, a lot of pool boys, massage therapists, personal trainers—the list is long. Did you honestly think you were being discreet all those times?”

  “Oh, no…” Rae’s mind was racing. “He couldn’t possibly know about the affairs. No way! The man is too stupid…” She opened the door to leave, but turned back around and glared at her husband. “It won’t be easy to get rid of me, Ernest. You may want to rethink things before you come home tonight.” She turned and slammed the door shut.

  Ernest stood at the glass windows and watched while his wife shoved people out of her way in her attempt to rush from the building. He closed his eyes and bent his head backwards. “Thank you, God, for giving me the strength to do that…”

  PJ finished her daily physical therapy session and was returning to her room when she decided to take a detour to the second floor. She knew that Skipper was being released at the end of the day, and she wanted a chance to say good-bye to him.

  PJ was surprised to find that there was still a guard posted outside Skipper’s room. She rolled her wheelchair up to him and asked. “Excuse me, is it possible for me to see him?”

  The officer nodded and opened the door to Skipper’s room.

  PJ rolled in and found Skipper sitting on the edge of his bed. His left hand was bandaged and positioned in a sling to keep it mobilized. “Hi,” PJ spoke softly. “I was hoping to see you before you left.”

  Skipper slid off the bed and rolled his shoulders. “Come on in, PJ,” he nodded to the police officer, who closed the door behind her.

  “Why are the cops still outside your door, Skipper? I thought you were free to go now—that you were cleared of all charges.”

  Skipper offered a half-smile. “I have been, but, evidently, the police department must feel bad for locking up the wrong man, so they left one of their own behind, to give me a ride to wherever it is I want to go. Officer O’Brady wants to do that, but just in case he doesn’t get back in time, another officer will drop me off.”

  “And, where do you want to go, Skipper?”

  Skipper sat down in one of the visitor’s chairs and lowered his elbows to his knees. He clasped his hands together beneath his chin and stared at PJ. “It doesn’t really matter, now does it? I’ll probably have him drop me off at the old camp site.”

  “You’re going back there?”

  “Why not?” Skipper shrugged. “It’s as good a place as any. I’ll probably stay a few more days before deciding where to move on to next.”

  “Have you ever thought about going home?”

  Skipper’s face went blank as he stared back at her. “I have no home, PJ. I left all that behind a long time ago. There’s really nothing to go back to.”

  “But, I heard someone say that you had a brother who is still living. Why don’t you go back to him?”

  “Charles?” Skipper shook his head. “No, my days of taking care of Charles are long over. One of the biggest favors I ever did for him was leaving when I did—forcing him to live again and take control of his own life.”

  “Why did you have to take care of him? Was he sick or something?”

  Skipper didn’t like talking about his personal business or life with anyone, but he didn’t feel threatened by PJ. There was nothing she could do about any of it, and he didn’t think she was the type of person to judge him for leaving his brother to finally fend for himself. “Some people might call it a sickness, I don’t know. Personally, I think my brother is just a very weak example of a man.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s a long story, PJ, but—long-story short—Charles is about five years older than me. He joined the army when he was eighteen, during the Korean War. He was only over there for a few months when something happened to him—something he has never been able to come to terms with.”

  “What? What happened to your brother?”

  “He killed someone.”

  “But it was war—a lot of people were killed.”

  Skipper shook his head. “No, you don’t understand. It was his first battle and—truth be told—he was scared out of his wits. He had no business having access to a gun and being in battle; he should have been working in S-4 ordering supplies for the troops. I don’t have specifics about what happened; all I know is that Charles tripped and fell, and his gun went off.” Skipper smiled at the puzzled look on PJ’s face. “His gun went off and he killed one of the men in his troop—friendly fire, they called it.”

  “Oh, no…” PJ shook her head. “That must have been a lot for an 18-year old to handle.”

  “Even harder for Charles because, like I said, he never should have been a combat soldier—that wasn’t his calling. They didn’t call it PTSD back in the fifties, but I’m pretty sure that’s what my brother suffers from—something a lot of soldiers battle every day.”

  “So…you took care of him?”

  Skipper nodded. “I did—until I joined the Army when I was eighteen. I never went home again after that. Well, that’s not exactly true. I went home a couple of times—for funerals—but, Charles had married and had someone to look after him by then, so I didn’t feel bad about leaving for good twenty years ago.”

  “That’s a long time, Skipper. Doug said that your brother has been calling—that he wanted to come see you when you were in jail.”

  Skipper grinned. “Well, maybe I can high-tail it out of this town before that happens.” He shook his head. “No, PJ, I am no longer my brother’s keeper, and I sure as hell don’t need for him—or anyone else—to be mine.”

  CHAPTER 30

  Shift Change

  Jimmy had to admit that it felt good to have clean underwear on. He had been in the same clothes sinc
e early Friday morning, and he had no doubt that his drawers were standing at attention by the time David had tossed them into the washing machine. David’s sweats had been too short for him and were super baggy on the old lady, but at least he had not had to see the old woman in her birthday suit.

  He had tried several times during the day to engage David in conversation. He knew that, if he was going to get out of this predicament, David was his best resource to make that happen. Unfortunately, David seemed as though he was in a world all his own. He had brought them breakfast and lunch, and given them plenty of water to drink, but, his actions were almost robotic.

  Jimmy glanced at the large elk clock on the wall close to the sliding glass doors. It was five o’clock and the sun would be setting in about half an hour, at best. The old woman was in the bedroom, lying down, so Jimmy thought he would try talking to David again. “So, what happens now, David?”

  David continued staring off into space.

  “David? Hey!” Jimmy yelled to get the boy’s attention. “David!”’

  David turned slowly toward Jimmy. “What do you want, Crennan? I’ve told you not to talk to me, or ask any questions.”

  “So, you don’t know what happens next, do you?”

  David shook his head. “Not true—I do know what the plan is, and trust me, you really don’t want to know.”

  “Why is Kirk doing this? I told him I wouldn’t say anything to anyone—and I haven’t—not even to my mom, and we tell each other everything.”

  “Haven’t you figured it out by now, Crennan? Kirk is C-R-A-Z-Y, and I, for one, do not ever intend to get on his bad side. If he says we have to take care of things, then that’s what we’ll do.”

  “So, what? The plan is to kill us—me and the old woman?”

  David nodded. “Initially, it was just the old woman. Kirk said he didn’t trust her to keep her mouth shut, or to not come back later, demanding more money from him. He didn’t want to have to keep looking over his shoulder for the rest of his life.”

  “You said, initially, it was just the old woman? Why did he change his mind about me? Did I do something to make him not trust me?”

  David stared at Jimmy and smiled. “You’re cut from a different mold, Jimmy. You’re not like the rest of us. We’ve had everything handed to us—born with a silver spoon in our mouths, as they say—but, not you. Kirk knows you well enough to know that you have a conscience. My guess, is that he thought your conscience would lead you to tell the truth to somebody down the line.”

  Jimmy didn’t respond.

  David shrugged. “Looks like he was probably right about you. Hey, it’s nothing personal.”

  “Nothing personal?” Jimmy stood up and the heavy chain on his ankle clanked against the wood flooring. “You guys want to kill me and want me to believe it’s nothing personal? Man, you’re just as crazy as Kirk and Mike are.”

  The glass doors slid open and one of the subjects of their conversation popped in. “Did I hear my name?” Mike grinned and took a toke off the joint he held between his thumb and index finger.

  David jumped up. “It’s about time you got here.” He began gathering up his bag and putting on a heavy jacket. “It’ll take me at an hour to get home in late afternoon traffic, and I don’t need my mom asking me a bunch of questions about what I’ve been doing all weekend and what took me so long to get home from school.”

  Michael shrugged and grinned. “Like she really cares? Who are you trying to fool, David? Your parents probably don’t even realize that you haven’t been home all weekend.”

  “Oh, and you think yours does?” David screamed back. “Yours have probably been passed out since Friday and don’t even realize what day of the week it is—much less, where their kids are. Your sister’s probably been whoring around all weekend and your kid brother stays at his friends’ homes more than he does his own.”

  Mike pointed his finger at David and approached him slowly. “Cool it, David. I know you’re a little antsy, but it would be in your best interest to shut your damn mouth about my family. I can say what I want about them, but you need to shut up.”

  Stella stumbled out of the bedroom, scratching her crotch and dragging her chain behind her. “Who the hell can sleep with all this racket going on?” She scratched her crotch area again and snarled. “What did you wash my underwear in—lye soap?”

  David shot the old woman an invitation from his middle finger and looked down at Michael when he brushed against him at the door. “They’re all yours. I’ll be back Wednesday after school.” He jumped in Michael’s car and sprayed gravel as he sped away from the lake house. He would drop Mike’s car off at the Bozeman home and walk the half-mile to his own home; chances were that Mike’s parents would see their son’s car in the driveway and assume he was locked in his room, as usual.

  Michael watched David speed away and did his best to keep a worried expression off his face. He didn’t want Jimmy and the old hag knowing how worried he was about David’s role in all this. He didn’t think David had the balls that it was going to take, to do what had to be done. Personally, he was looking forward to it. He had seen people die in movies, but this would be his first experience at watching someone die close up—well, his second experience—he kept forgetting that he had seen the homeless man die after his head cracked open against the concrete wall—but, that really had been an accident.

  He stepped onto the back porch and brought in several pieces of firewood. He dropped them onto the hearth. “Make yourself useful, Crennan, and put another log on the fire—I think there’s one of your country songs with those words.” He giggled and looked over at Stella. “What about you, old woman? Can you do anything useful? Do you know how to cook, at least?”

  Stella spat on the wooden floor. “It’ll be a cold day in hell before I cook anything for the likes of you.” She spat another wad of green phlegm on the floor.

  Michael walked slowly toward her until he was within a couple of feet. He stared hard at her and said, “Clean it up.”

  “Like hell I will!” Stella bellowed. “Clean it your damn self!”

  Mike never hesitated. He turned sideways and delivered a karate kick to her stomach.

  Stella groaned and went down on her knees. She was gasping for air when Jimmy rushed over to her.

  “Stay back, Crennan, unless you want some of what she just got.” Mike grabbed Stella by what little hair she had left on her head and jerked her head as far back as it would go. “Take off your shirt, old lady, and clean that crap up.”

  Stella shook her head and spit dribbled from the corner of her mouth. “No, you can’t make me do that.” She had finally caught her breath, but still held onto her stomach.

  Mike kneeled down and pulled tighter on her hair. He grinned at her and whispered, “Unless you want me to take that shirt off for you, I suggest you do it NOW.” He released her hair and waited for her to stand up. “Don’t ever spit on that floor, or anything else, again.” He turned and walked into the kitchen area. “Get over here, Crennan—give the old hag a little privacy while she cleans up her mess.”

  Stella removed her clean, flannel shirt and used the hem of it to clean up the two large wads of phlegm. The look of her own bodily fluids almost caused her to gag, but she managed to keep control of her weak stomach. She held the shirt out to Michael. “This needs to be washed again.”

  Michael grimaced at the sight of the old woman’s sagging skin and breasts; she had not been wearing a bra when they took her. “Yeah…that’s not going to happen on my shift, old lady, so you better hope it dries up quick. Now put that shirt on so we don’t have to look at your shriveled-up old body anymore.”

  Stella saw the look of embarrassment on the kid they called Jimmy. She remembered that he had not been part of the three who were pushing old Norman around. He had been their lookout. She shrank bank when the younger kid moved toward her, offering his help. She almost spit another wad out, but stopped herself in mid-hack. She rubbed the
hem of her shirt against her worn-out pants and slowly put it back on. She took her time buttoning the shirt up and never took her eyes off Jimmy. “I don’t need your help. You ain’t no better than the rest of your friends, and I hope you all burn in hell.”

  Jimmy flinched and moved away from Stella. He had a feeling it was going to be a long, long night with Michael at the helm.

  ⟡

  The dinner crowd had thinned out, and there were only about three tables with customers when Jason and Cheryl entered the Heavenly Grille. Bertie was quick to greet and seat them at the counter; she knew that Doug wanted to talk to Jason about Skipper.

  She placed an arm around Cheryl and squeezed her tight. “How are you doing, hon? I know all this has got to be so hard on you, but you have to have faith that Jimmy is going to be okay.”

  Cheryl’s religious upbringing had been nil-to-none; however, when she moved in with her grandmother, that all changed. Her grandmother had not been ashamed to take an unmarried, pregnant teenager with her to church every Sunday. Cheryl had felt uncomfortable and on display the first couple of weeks she went, but it had not taken her long to warm up to the wonderful folks in Hogansville, Georgia. They had all taken her under their wing and helped her find her way through the Bible and to a Lord she had never heard anything about. Cheryl was baptized at the same time Jimmy was—when he was just six months old. She sighed and closed her eyes. “I’m doing my very best, Bertie, but—it’s really, really hard. I keep asking myself why God would allow this to happen. I mean, Jimmy and I—we’ve never hurt anyone.”

  Jason had been raised in a large family, and all his family was still alive, but none of them had any strong religious beliefs. His parents had never forced or encouraged their children to attend church; they left that decision up to their children—so that they could make up their own minds about God and Heaven. Jason was still in limbo—he wasn’t sure what he believed at this point.