by Lyle Howard
Gabe tried to smile, but every muscle, including his lips, hurt. “Well, hell was full,” he groaned, “so I decided to come back.”
“You’re burning up! I’m gonna get you a cold washcloth.”
Gabe grabbed him by the arm. “You can’t tell anyone we’re here.”
Chase found just enough space on the edge of the couch to settle his rather rotund posterior, albeit uncomfortably. “Anything you say, son. I know there’s got to be a logical explanation for the shape you two are in. Now, let me get you that damp washcloth.”
In the few minutes it took for Bennett to return with the wet rag, Gabe had already drifted off to sleep. Ever so delicately, Chase folded the washcloth into quarters and began to mop Gabe’s brow. “That feels great,” Gabe moaned.
“I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“I wasn’t sleeping; I was resting my eyes.”
Chase smirked. “Sure you were, kid. Now, why don’t you … rest your eyes some more, and we can talk in the morning.”
Again Gabe grabbed him by the sleeve of his bathrobe. “I tried calling you.”
“Sorry about that. I don’t sleep very well these days, so I’ve been turning my phone off at night.”
“Please, you can’t tell anyone we’re here.”
Chase gave the back of Gabe’s hand a reassuring pat. “You already told me that, son, and I promised you, I wouldn’t.”
“It’s very important, Bennett.”
“Don’t worry. You have my word.”
“You can’t let him out of your sight either.”
Chase looked toward the hallway leading to the guest bedroom. “Believe me: if he’s in half the shape you’re in, he’s not going anywhere.”
“You can’t let him try to contact anyone either.”
Chase wiped the washcloth around Gabe’s throat. “I’m sure the need for all of this secrecy will become clear in the light of morning, son. Till then, I promise not to let him talk to anyone. I’ll even remove the phone in his room, how’s that?”
Looking up at the old man, Chase’s head was backlit by a small table lamp, making it look like he was sporting a halo. Gabe reached out his charred and muddied hand to touch the angelic mirage. “I’ll never be able to repay you for this.”
“Hey, the fact that you trusted me enough to come here is all the thanks I need. All this secrecy and excitement is putting a spark back into this old jet jockey’s engine. Whatever kind of trouble you’ve gotten yourself into, we can figure it out together.”
Gabe sighed. “I don’t know…”
Chase continued to pat down Gabe’s forehead. “What can they do to us? Put us in jail for the rest of our lives? Neither one of us is supposed to make it past New Year’s Eve anyway. Those would be the shortest life sentences ever handed down, right?”
Gabe tried valiantly to hold his eyes open but they felt as heavy as garage doors. “I’m just so … tired.”
Chase cupped Gabe’s smudged face in his hand. “You get some sleep now, son. I’m going to take the phone out of the other room.”
Tiptoeing to a hall closet, Chase found an old brown and beige afghan and returned with it to the couch. Like he was wrapping a breakable Christmas ornament, the old man tucked the blanket all around Gabe’s peaceful form. “Sleep tight, my boy,” he whispered.
Chase clicked off the table lamp and headed for the guest room. A small nightlight plugged into one of the wall sockets cast the hallway in a pale sapphire glow. Holding the door so that the squeaking hinge wouldn’t wake Gabe’s buddy, Chase found him just as he had left him: curled up in the fetal position. There was an awful smell coming from both men, but the close quarters of this windowless bedroom seemed to magnify the putrid odor. Chase couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Smoke was a primary ingredient judging from all their singed clothing, possibly stale sea water too, but the rest of the smelly compound was a mystery. This stench would never do. He would have to undress this one now and then find them both some fresh clothes in the morning.
There was a small lamp on the desk in the corner where Chase had the personal computer he used to surf the Internet and pay his bills. Holding down the lamp’s “on” button, the weak yellow bulb hummed to life. The old man hiked up the bulky sleeves of his bathrobe and with grimace of repulsion, and he gingerly turned his second unexpected houseguest onto his back. In the dim light, Chase got his first good look at the unidentified guest’s face.
“Dear Lord, forget about New Year’s…” he gasped, as his hand automatically covered his mouth, “…we might not even make it to Easter!”
36
The smoky aroma of freshly cooked bacon teased Gabe out of his dreamless slumber. As he struggled to open his eyes, an achy groan was all he could muster out of a mouth so dry, his tongue had stuck to his lips. He stifled a yawn and tried to get his eyes to focus, but, in these unfamiliar surroundings, that was easier said than done.
A ceiling fan modeled after the nose cone of a vintage RAF Spitfire airplane stirred the air, complete with a growling red mouth and shark-like white teeth. The four wooden blades painted silver to resemble the WWII fighter’s propellers held Gabe spellbound. It took a few seconds for his clouded mind to register that he wasn’t being strafed by an outdated warplane. To his relief, he quickly took note of the wooden ceiling beams and the afghan he clutched in his trembling hands.
“You finally awake?” a voice called out from some not too distant place.
Gabe shifted on the couch and grunted.
“I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’ You must have smelled my home cooking.”
Coughing to clear his throat, Gabe clawed his way out of the knitted blanket that had him covered.
“I hope you haven’t gone vegetarian on me,” the familiar voice announced. “I’m eating everything they say I can’t, until my arteries clog like a bathtub drain. I don’t give a rat’s ass whether it’s good for me or not. Screw those doctors!”
Gabe threw his feet off the couch and sat up, cupping his head in his hands. He could feel the rough stubble of his beard against his palms and it made him feel dirtier. Another more pungent aroma quickly expunged the mouth-watering smell of the cooking bacon. It was coming from him, and it was nauseating. Now, if he only had the strength to strip and take a shower.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” Chase said, carrying a skillet into the living room. “Nice to see you finally up and at ‘em.”
More bizarre than the sight of a jet fighter dive bombing you from above would have to be seeing this roly-poly of a man carrying a frying pan and wearing an apron stretched to the limitation of its fabric, which read “I’m the cook, and what I say goes.” “So, how do you like your eggs?”
Gabe cracked one eye to glance up at the jocular chef standing before him. “Nice apron,” he moaned.
“Never, ever antagonize the cook,” Chase snickered, “especially when he has ample opportunity to spit in your food.”
“Maybe just something to drink,” Gabe muttered, as he rolled his neck from side to side.
“Uh-uh,” Chase shook his head. “You’re going to take a nice hot shower, and then you’ll get some food into your system, even if I have to shove it down your throat. When was the last time you ate anyway?”
Gabe scratched his head. “Uh, what day is it?”
Chase flipped the pot holder onto his dining room table, and then set the hot frying pan on top of it. “Yeah, I thought as much. We’ve got to get some nourishment into you, son. Come on … let me give you a hand.”
Chase lifted Gabe by his elbow and assisted him through the house that resembled more of a shrine to aviation than a place to call home. There were photos of old warplanes adorning every inch of wall space, and scale models of jet fighters everywhere Gabe looked.
“Just toss your clothes out into the hallway,” Chase instructed as they reached the bathroom, “and I’ll get rid of them like I did the mayor’s.”
Gabe put his hand to his forehead. “Oh God … the
mayor. Where is he?”
“Don’t worry about a thing,” Chase said, prodding Gabe to keep moving. “He’s sleeping like a baby, and he’s not going anywhere in his birthday suit. I stuffed his clothes into a garbage bag, and that’s the same place yours belong, as soon as you strip out of them.” Chase reached around Gabe and switched on the bathroom light. “Just throw those smelly old rags out to me, and I’ll go up to the Wal-Mart after breakfast and get you both some fresh jeans and a couple of shirts. There’s an extra bathrobe hanging behind the door for you to wear in the meantime. It probably won’t fit, but I wasn’t exactly expecting company, you know?”
Gabe leaned against the sink and began to unbutton his shirt. Suddenly, his hands became so inept. “I’m sorry to put you through all this trouble, Bennett.”
The old man stepped in front of Gabe and, swatting his hand away, began unbuttoning his shirt for him. “Nonsense. You’re obviously in over your head, and I want to help you. Christ’s sake, boy! This is the most excitement I’ve had in years! My blood’s pumping and my heart’s doing the rumba! This is great!”
“Not great,” said Gabe between raspy coughs.
Chase kicked the pile of offensive garments into the hall. He would later use a broom to scoot them into a garbage bag. “You going be able to shower by yourself?”
“I can do it.”
“I’ll be in earshot if you need me.”
Gabe turned and stared at himself in the mirror. The haggard mug that frowned back at him was barely recognizable. It looked as though his face had been shoved through a meat grinder. His eyes were dark and hollow. Soot formed a dirty “V” around his neck where his collar had been open. His hair hung down in drooping ringlets like a Rastafarian’s dreadlocks. Not a bad look, if he had ever considered himself fashionable enough to try it. Maybe a shower would help. Yeah, he said to himself, as he tenderly touched one of his swollen cheeks, and if a frog had wings, it wouldn’t bump its ass every time it hopped. “What about the mayor? Is he doing alright?”
Gabe gazed into the mirror at the old man’s reflection leaning against the door jamb behind him. Gabe didn’t realize he’d repeated the question. Chase smiled back at him patiently. “He seems okay to me … still sleeping. I keep checking on him every half hour or so.”
“Yes, you need to do that for me.”
“Of course I will. I did notice, though, that he had some dried blood around his ears … probably from the blast.”
Gabe looked up, suddenly feeling more naked than he actually was. “How did…”
“All over the morning news, my boy! You can’t switch on the television without hearing about the explosion.”
Gabe reached for Chase’s shoulder. “I want to explain…”
“Relax,” the old man comforted him. “No one’s more interested in finding out how you’re involved in this mess than I am, but you can tell me your story all in good time. Right now, though, the first order of business is getting you back on your feet.”
“But…”
Chase stepped past Gabe and twisted the knobs inside the shower stall. “But nothing. Get in there and wash the worries off your back. You’ll be surprised how much better you’ll feel once you get yourself cleaned up.”
Gabe hobbled into the shower and closed the glass door behind him. “Then, will you stay and talk to me?”
“Well, this is a situation I don’t find myself in too often, but I don’t think this day can get much more bizarre,” Chase said, setting his prodigious girth atop the closed toilet seat. “Yeah, I’ll stay if you want.”
Gabe twisted off the hot water tap, and let the icy chill overrun his bare skin. Staring down at the drain, he watched a swirl of dark water stain the tiled floor. “So tell me what they’re saying.”
The old man slapped his hands down on his knees, clearly uncomfortable talking to another man while in a position in which he was more accustomed to doing light reading and contemplating universal truths. “The details are still sketchy, but all they’re saying is the boat had some kind of engine malfunction and blew up. Nothing’s positive, but they’re supposed to be sending divers into the area this morning to search for clues.”
Gabe rubbed a bar of soap onto a fresh washrag. “They won’t find anything.”
“Yeah, it didn’t look like it.”
“I still don’t know how I’m standing here talking to you,” Gabe admitted as he scrubbed at his chest. “But for the grace of God…”
“They interviewed one guy who worked on the docks…”
Gabe flashed back to the delivery man he had switched clothes with.
“The guy said someone identifying himself as a policeman had assaulted him just before the boat got underway.”
“Yeah, that was yours truly. I’m not proud of it, but I had to get onboard. Is the guy okay?”
“He’ll live. I don’t think you have to worry about it too much though. They’re not putting much credence in his story. They said he’s got a reputation for distorting the truth to cover the fact that he drinks on the job.”
“Like The Boy Who Cried Wolf.”
Chase arched his back and stretched his stubby arms toward the ceiling. “I guess so.”
“There was another guy on the boat with Waxman…” Gabe said as he began to shampoo his hair.
“That would be Tyler Kennedy, the friend of Waxman who was supposed to be at the controls.”
Gabe cleared his throat. “I threw him overboard.”
“Excuse me?”
“I knew what was coming; we struggled, and I tossed him over the side,” Gabe said, letting the water pressure rinse the minty-smelling lather out of his hair. “I didn’t want him to get hurt. Did they find him?”
Chase slid around on the toilet seat until he was facing the shower. “You have no idea what happened out there on the river last night, do you?”
The knobs squeaked as Gabe shut off the water and reached for a towel. “Can I borrow a razor?”
Chase stood up and retrieved a disposable razor and can of shaving cream from the medicine cabinet over the sink. “Here.”
Gabe smiled graciously and began to carefully apply the foam to his face. “You’re right, that shower really helped.”
“Gabe?”
“What?”
“We were just in the middle of a conversation.”
Gabe dragged the razor down the side of his face. “What were we talking about again?”
Chase’s eyes narrowed. “Are you sure you’re alright?”
“Of course, I’m fine. Why do you keep asking me that?” Gabe asked as he cleaned out the razor under the running tap.
“You seem a bit discombobulated, that’s all.”
“Nah, I’m fine, Bennett. My ears are still ringing a little, but I’m sure that’ll go away in time.”
Chase handed Gabe a washcloth to wipe the remaining streaks of foam off his face. “I’m gonna go check on Waxman again, and then finish making you some breakfast. Why don’t you dry off and meet me in the kitchen? We can talk some more while you eat.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Gabe agreed.
37
Four pieces of toast, three eggs sunny side up, and six rashers of bacon. Gabe was scarfing down the hot food like a condemned man. “This is very good,” he complimented Chase.
The old man scrubbed down the frying pan in the sink. “I’ve learned to cook pretty well over the years. It was either that, or live on fast food.” He patted his enormous stomach. “Maybe too much of both come to think of it.”
Gabe leaned back in his chair and blew out a satiated puff of air. “I’m stuffed.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
“Waxman still asleep?”
Chase flipped a dishtowel over his shoulder. “He’s hardly shifted position since I laid him down last night. He’s so out of it, I had to check his chest for signs of life. I’m wondering if that much rest is good for him. Maybe we should wake him?”
“Let him sle
ep,” Gabe said, shaking his head. “It’s nature’s way of repairing his body.”
Gabe picked up his plate, utensils and juice glass from the table and walked them over to the sink.
“Gimme, I’ll take care of them,” Chase said.
“I can do it.”
“Come on, I’m elbow deep in soap suds already. Hand them over.”
Gabe passed Chase the dirty dishes and took his seat once again at the kitchen table. “You really miss flying, don’t you?”
The old man’s shoulders noticeably sagged. “Like an amputee misses a limb.”
“This place is quite a museum,” Gabe said, looking out into the living room.
“God gave us memories, so that we might have roses in December.”
Gabe sat silently for a long moment, suddenly feeling very melancholy for his friend. “You should be very proud of this wonderful collection you’ve put together.”
The plates clattered in the sink. “It keeps my mind off the serious stuff.”
Gabe drummed his fingers on the table self-consciously. “I’ll never forget what you told me in the hospital about your passion for flying and wanting nothing more than to die in the air. I’m envious.”
Chase set a plate onto the drying rack. “Of what?”
“Of that kind of passion.”
“Can we change the subject?” the old man asked brusquely as he hung up the dishtowel and took a seat across the table from Gabe. “There’s more important things we’ve got to deal with than my propensity for collecting memorabilia.”
Gabe brushed the damp hair away from his eyes. “Okay, let’s talk.”
Chase turned serious, and his seemingly indelible grin was nowhere to be found. “I don’t know what this is all about, but it’s obvious you’re neck-deep in something big … and I want to help.”
“I appreciate that; you already have.”
The old man held up his hand. “Just listen now. It’s my turn to talk.”
Gabe wasn’t used to being hushed. It caught him by surprise and it showed.