Late in the afternoon the cabin smelled of sugar and baking from the morning when the group moved back inside. It was pleasant and homey smelling. Rocky and Jazz made grilled pizza on the new barbeque. They concocted a huge salad, and splurged on a glass of red wine each even though they knew that it would put them to sleep instantly. The friends sat on the little back porch. They fed an apple to Thumper and watched the stars appear before the moon rise.
“That is one of the reasons I like this place,” said Jazz pointing at the rising moon.
“Boston is so light that you hardly ever see the stars. As far from city center as we live, we don’t see the stars like this,” Jazz said. “This is magnificent."
They lapsed into comfortable silence enjoying the chirps, sighs, peeps from the sleepy wild critters and the thumping song of the frogs near the bridge. Rocky wondered if Callaghan liked to look at the stars.
* * *
“Darn, they did it again,” Rocky was fuming from the front porch in the morning sunshine.
“Did what?” said Jazz between sips from a glass of juice.
“They knocked down the mailboxes, and if you look over to the right, you will see that they also tagged the bridge with graffiti,” Rocky said. “This is the second time this week for the mailboxes and the post office lady won’t deliver the mail unless they are upright.”
“I thought only urban areas had problems like that,” Jazz said looking at the desecrated historic bridge.
“The mailboxes catch it at least once a week and the bridge about once a month,” Rocky said. “I’ll get the paint and roller. This is not what I wanted to do this morning,” Rocky commented in disgust. “If I ever get my hands on the little brats I’ll wring their scrawny necks,” Rocky planned.
“You are going to paint the bridge? Why don’t you call the city to come and paint it out?” Jazz asked.
“Because waiting on the county to do it, will take as long as the city of Boston to take care of it. I’m a proactive citizen. I straighten them up and paint it out,” Rocky explained.
“I don’t know how long the city would take to do that, we don’t have graffiti or a vandalizing problem in our neighborhood. It happened once a long time ago, Dad took care of it, and it hasn’t happened again,” Jazz said offhand.
“What did he do?” Jazz had Rocky’s full attention. She was tired of this paint and repair routine.
“I don’t know exactly, I was a teenager. I didn’t ask. I’m sure it was very proactive, though,” Jazz got an amused look on her face.
“I’ll be a half an hour or so,” Rocky said pulling on her boots.
After dark and dinner, there was a terrific shriek of metal against metal coming from the county road.
“Dang it, there go the mailboxes,” Rocky yelled as she made for the flashlight.
Jazz was out of the door before Rocky could breathe. As she jumped down the steps she could hear Jazz’ footfalls down the driveway. The dogs lit out after her, always ready for a good chase and capture.
By the time Rocky hotfooted it to the mailboxes, what she saw was a big truck impaled on the metal stake that Jazz had driven on an angle into the end of the row of mailboxes. Rocky heard a noise near the bridge and saw by flashlight beam Jazz duck walking a man toward the bridge. Rocky could catch a slight murmur of Jazz’ voice, by the time she ran onto the bridge she could hear the man shouting.
“I’m a juvenile, you can’t do this to me,” said the male voice.
Rocky arrived there in time to see Jazz dangle the juvenile over the edge of the bridge by his feet.
“Bitch, you are going to get in big trouble. You can’t do this to me. I’m seventeen. Pull me up right now, and I won’t hurt you,” he yelled.
Jazz leaned over the side of the stone bridge and said something to the boy. Then she swatted his body against the side of the stone bridge.
“Jazz you can’t do this. Whatever are you thinking?” Come on I’ll help you lift him up,” Rocky said.
“No, don’t come near here, Rocky, I’ve got him,” Jazz said now holding him with one hand as she warded Rocky off with the other.
“Jazz, this is not good, you can get into real trouble,” Rocky pleaded.
“Hey, listen to her bitch, ya know, you are going to be in trouble. You are going to jail, to jail. My Dad will see to it that you rot. I’m a juvenile, you can’t do a thing to me.”
The boy was bent in the middle so he could look at Jazz as he screamed at her.
“When does being a juvenile excuse property damage and a bad mouth?” Jazz again slammed the kid into the side of the bridge.
“Crap that hurts, stop that. Are you fuckin’ nuts? Let me up. I said I wouldn’t hurt you, I won’t, I promise,” the boy crossed his heart as Jazz slapped him for the third time against the bridge.
“How much do you weigh, bambino?” Jazz asked in a calm reasonable voice that was scaring the heck out of Rocky.
“Huh?” the startled frightened boy responded.
“Come on, how much do you weigh? Stop stalling if you want to get out of the mess you have gotten yourself in,” Jazz was almost whispering by then.
Jazz turned to Rocky, and with a glint in her eye asked, “How deep is the river right here?”
“It is around twenty feet at this time of year,” Rocky answered, hoping against hope that it was a bluff with the kid.
“Honey Babe, answer me this, how much do you weigh?” Jazz asked for the third and Rocky suspected the final time.
“Uh, one twenty, why? You stupid ugly old witch, you are going to be in trouble. Get me up, my head is starting to hurt. I need some Tylenol. This is kidnapping, you can’t do this to me. I have rights,” the kid was winding up for another tirade.
“The only right you have is the right to shut your mouth,” Jazz advised.
“Ya know what you are, you’re brainless. You’re Looney Tunes, nine cents short of a dime, one bulb short of a…,” the boy did not finish his sentence.
Jazz let go of the boy’s ankles and dusted her hands together like she was ridding them of kid cooties.
Jazz said, “That was proactive, Rocky, not painting.”
With her back held in a confident attitude Jazz stalked back across the bridge, leaving Rocky staring over the side looking for the boy’s body.
In a brief moment the sputtering teenager, was splashing on the surface of the river, and Rocky saw Jazz smoothly dive into the water.
Rocky ran as fast as she could across the bridge, arriving at the river edge in time to see Jazz with a headlock on the teen, climb out of the river. Jazz had the boy bent backward with the headlock, even though he was taller, and she looked as if she had no intention of letting go. Jazz again duck walked the boy back up the rise toward the mail boxes.
When Jazz was close to the impaled truck, she shoved the boy into the cab of his truck. She tossed him his cell phone.
“Call your Dad to come and get you,” she demanded. “Do it now.”
The boy sat on the driver’s side and rubbed his neck. He started to shiver and not from the cold.
“I said call your father now, tell him to come and get you. Do it now,” Jazz demanded again in a colder than a glacier voice.
“I can’t call my Dad, he will kill me,” the boy replied using the classic standard teenager excuse.
“Sweet Pea, there are two options here in this game plan. One is that you call your Dad, and he kills you. Can you guess what your second option is?” Jazz asked softly.
The boy’s head flew up and he looked at Jazz standing next to the truck with her hands at her sides.
Somehow, she was looking threatening and yet nonthreatening.
“What’ll I say; I don’t know what to say? He’s going to kill me,” the boy whined.
“You’ll tell him that you mowed down the mailboxes and in doing so you impaled his truck’s radiator on a metal stake. You’ll tell him you were going to paint obscenities on a historic bridge, but thought better of
it. You’ll tell him that the truck will require a tow truck and you will require a ride,” Jazz stated as she turn away and walked toward the driveway. As the women walked up the driveway Rocky still had the feeling of dread in her stomach.
“Jazz, setting aside the fact the kid is a juvenile, he could have hurt you.” Rocky said feeling the need to talk, though uncertain how to approach the subject.
“Not even close,” Jazz replied succinctly.
“Yes, you were, he is so much bigger than you are,” Rocky stated flatly.
“Rocky, that kid gets exercise by rolling a mouse. His arms were like marshmallows and he had a gut. He isn’t old enough to have his full strength and coordination. Two years from now, I wouldn’t consider messing with him myself.” Jazz was looking like they are discussing some gymnastic event she coached, instead of assault on a juvenile.
“But he could have been hurt when you dropped him off the bridge. Jazz that was a stupid thing to do,” Rocky said.
“Not stupid, Rocky I do not do stupid things; don’t ever say that I’m stupid,” Jazz was raising her voice.
Rocky took a step away from Jazz as they continued toward the cabin.
“It was physics, just physics; there is enough water in the river for someone his weight to dive into safely,” Jazz stated, her voice back under control.
“But he didn’t dive; you deliberately dropped him off the bridge,” Rocky said not wanting to let Jazz off the hook.
“Was he hurt? No, well, maybe his ego was hurt, but not his body,” Jazz stated in a tone that suggested she did not intend to discuss the incident further.
Jazz went into the guest room and closed the door. Rocky sat on the porch and watched until the parents and the tow truck left on the county road. No one came up to the cabin to talk.
In the time she waited in the dark, Rocky decided to talk to Deputy Justin Dixon, even turn herself in. The thought also occurred to Rocky that diving underwater with someone who can flip moods that readily was not what she wanted to do. Rocky had never seen that side of Jazz and she was wisely scared.
Rocky woke up after sunrise on day she could return to the river. She still had the anxious feeling in the bottom of her gut regarding Jazz’ emotional stability.
She heard a dredge motor puttering in the distance. Probably that damn Callaghan was there. She could smell coffee brewing.
Jazz was up and dressed in what she was wearing under her wet suit. She had oatmeal cooked and the coffee was freshly ground and brewed waiting for Rocky.
Jazz was bubbly and excited to get into the water. Rocky was still brooding regarding the danger to the boy that night and possible danger to herself underwater today.
But, go underwater and find gold they did. The flooring of the sluice box on the dredge was covered in a thin layer of sparkling gold flakes. Rocky could not help but catch some of Jazz’ excitement surrounding the gold production of the day.
A few days before the accident, Rocky bought a locket to put gold flakes into. It looked like a clear marble, with gold flakes floating in water. She planned to give it to Jazz to commemorate her first day of gold mining. If they found a little nugget Rocky planned to give that to her, also.
When they were too tired to move another rock or swing the dredge hose again, they quit for the day. Rocky set Jazz up on the porch with the electric concentrator to run the black sand through and retrieve each of the tiny flakes and bits of gold.
Normally, Rocky panned out the big pieces of gold at the river's edge before she used the machine that was intended to collect bits and pieces the size of a pinhead or smaller.
She thought that Jazz would have more fun running everything through the machine. She also wanted Jazz in one spot while she tried to talk to Justin on the phone.
“You sure you don’t want me to cook dinner,” Jazz asked as she spooned another tablespoon of sand into the green revolving pan.
“No, I’ve got it covered, I knew we would be famished, I have stew all finished in the crock pot. I have to make the garlic butter for the bread and salad. Carry on there, Miss Miner Forty Niner,” Rocky called back from the kitchen putting a better face of her feelings than what was actually happening in her heart.
While Rocky was making the meal she balanced the phone with her chin, and tried calling Justin’s private number. No answer nor was the cell phone answering. Rocky did not want to call the Sheriff Department, it would take longer than she had to talk without risking that Jazz would overhear the conversation.
Rocky heard voices from the porch, she instantly had hopes that one of them was Justin’s, but then again if Justin was here in person, that may mean that the parents had signed a complaint. The screen door slammed hard. Jazz literally stomped into the kitchen.
“That jerk Callaghan is out there, I’ll take over the dinner,” Jazz had a very disgusted look on her face.
“What does he want?” Rocky asked while she peeked around the door frame so she could see out the front door screen.
“I didn’t hang around long enough to find out. I don’t like that guy Rocky. He gives me the creeps. He is bad news.” Jazz was pulling on the oven mitts like they were boxing gloves.
“Okay, slow things down a bit in here; I don’t want to feel like I have to invite him to dinner,” Rocky suggested.
“Yeah, good idea, get rid of him ASAP though please, I’m hungry,” Jazz requested in a whisper as they both peeped around the door frame.
That was when it happened. Rocky was framed in the doorway, wiping her wet hands on her Grandma’s quaint old fashioned blue flowered apron.
Callaghan was waiting at the bottom of the steps, petting Lovie. He looked up and saw her back lighted from the living room. Then he knew that what he was feeling with regard to Rocky Clancy was much, much more than a need to get her into bed.
“Hello, Callaghan,” Rocky said coming out into the porch light canceling the moment.
“Hi, Got Rocks, when I was here last time I saw you have the gold concentrator connected. I was wondering if I might use it a bit to see if I like it before I buy one,” Callaghan was trying on his charm.
“Yeah, sure, let me get this last bit of sand cleaned out,” Rocky said taking the pan that revolved off the machine and dumping from it the dregs of her black sand into a bucket.
“Is Jazz going to come back out here?” Callaghan asked peering around Rocky into the cabin.
“No, she is making garlic bread and I think she is calling home. Look if you came over here to hit on Jazz, just be upfront, go into the kitchen and hit on her,” Rocky said slightly exasperated at men falling apart around Jazz. Especially exasperated when Jazz didn’t like this man and Rocky wanted to eat dinner.
“I’m not here to hit on her, that is the last thing I want to do. God, the very last thing,” Callaghan was looking appalled in the dim porch light.
“Then why are you here? You only show up when Jazz is here,” Rocky asked the logical question.
“I came to use the concentrator; I didn’t even know that she was here until I came around the porch,” Callaghan was pleading stupidity, when he knew very well that Jazz was in Whiskey Gap.
“Yeah, right. There it is clean, ready to use. Do you know how it works?” Rocky asked.
“Yes, I saw it at the sports show in New York, and your Dad showed me this one when he bought it,” Callaghan stated as Rocky nodded her head and escaped into the kitchen.
Rocky was thinking about the puzzle of her Dad and Callaghan knowing each other when she came through the door.
Jazz hurriedly disconnected her phone when she heard Rocky come into the kitchen.
“Is he gone?”
“Not yet, but I’m not inviting him to dinner, even if we eat at midnight,” Rocky said.
“Good, he ruins my appetite anyway.”
Jazz was gripping the edge of the sink with so much force that her knuckles were white.
“He should be out of here in fifteen minutes if we don’t go outside
and interrupt what he is doing,” Rocky speculated.
“What is he doing?”
Jazz was trying to see around the door frame.
“Look if you want to hit on him, why don’t you go out there and hit on him?” Rocky said trying to make the situation lighten up.
Jazz turned around from the door and gave her such a steely look, Rocky withered and slipped by her back to the porch.
She watched the man spooning the sand into the machine and mulled over Jazz’ reactions in the past twenty four hours. Was this volatile Jazz the real Jazz she was seeing?
Rocky thought, “I’m going to talk to Justin tonight, if I have to get in the truck and hunt him down on patrol.”
Callaghan held up a little vial full of gold. Smiling he said, “Not bad, not bad at all.”
Rocky commented, “That is what we did, too. It was a good day.”
“I like the gadget, I’m buying one, and maybe we could go to the gold show in Sacramento and pick one up,” Callaghan said around a grin. “Thanks for letting me try it out.”
He picked up his bucket and jumped down from the porch and moved around the cabin toward his place. She noticed that both dogs were cruising happily along with him.
“What is it with him, he’s even charming the darn dogs,” Rocky waited a moment for the dogs to return, then went inside to set up the delayed dinner.
Rocky felt the atmosphere was thicker than pudding, but Jazz did not seem to be disturbed now that Callaghan had left.
Everything was fine with Jasmine, like the most pressing thing in the venue was taking the garlic bread out of the oven at the precise moment of edge crispness.
Over the kitchen table, as they enjoyed the stew, Jazz told her.
“I talked to Dad, and I have to go home.”
“What, you just got here, we haven’t even started dredging hardly.”
“Dad said the new Moscow deal is unraveling right and left and center. He wants me on a plane tonight. He already has it on the way,” Jazz explained.
“Jazz, we have been on the go all day, aren’t you too tired to drive all the way to San Francisco tonight?” Rocky was starting to realize what was happening.
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