Abducted

by David R Lewis

  After their dinner of meatloaf, Crockett and his companions took to lawn chairs on the walkway beside the bait shop. The gentle movement of the floating dock combined with moderate amounts of Black Jack, the quiet encroachment of dusk upon the lake, a few distant lights and muted conversation from the campground up the hill, and the soothing rasp of Zeb’s voice as he told stories, all combined for the most comfortable evening Crockett had enjoyed in a long time. He toddled off to bed around ten. Maggie walked him back to the coach. He scratched her head and looked out over the lake.

  Damn. Things could be a lot worse.

  Ruby LaCost’s alarm went off at seven. She staggered blearily into the bathroom, slightly hung over, and winced from the assault of brightness when she flicked the light switch. In the shower she reflected on Clete’s arrival. Cletus Marshal had shown up at her door in the late afternoon, his usual self, crinkled eyes smiling at her from beneath that shock of light brown hair. She’d slipped into his arms less than easily, dreading and then enjoying her first embrace from a man since she’d run from Crockett and Chicago.

  They’d gone to Bravo in Zona Rosa for dinner. Pasta and wine had relaxed Ruby a bit and Clete kept their conversation light and easy to put as little pressure on her as possible. They both knew exactly what was happening and kept their secret silently, each taking refuge in the carefully choreographed moment.

  Back at the townhouse, Clete offered to stay in Crockett’s side, but Ruby set him up in her second bedroom. Rigidity between them was smoothed by more wine and, when Ruby became a little weepy late in the evening, Clete sent her off to bed with an awkward embrace and a kiss on the cheek. Ruby lay awake, fighting tears, for nearly an hour. Everything she’d tried to repress, ignore, and put away was back, hovering just below the surface. Again.

  Damn. Things couldn’t be much worse.

  Crockett yawned in the gloom of his kitchen, declining the use of overhead lighting. The glare from the fridge nearly blinded him as he reached for the last carton of Half & Half he owned. There was just enough to dose his two 16-once insulated travel mugs. He topped both off with the Blue Kona, left his cane behind, and stepped out of the Pequod into the half-light of early morning. It was damp and warm for late September.

  Down the slope in front of him the lake was invisible, covered in white fog lightly undulating in the nearly still pre-dawn air. Squirrels were already on the move, scuttling in the trees around and above him, their claws rattling, the occasional belligerent bark cutting the stillness. A wild turkey gobbled in the distance as he started his quarter-mile walk down the road, a mug in each hand.

  When he neared the edge of the water, his shoes, crunching on the gravel, startled a heron that materialized, gray on gray, upward through the fog, drooping wingtips dragging a double trail of mist on its glide down the shoreline. As he walked across the ramp to the floating dock, sporadic pops came from under the fog as white bass smacked the surface of the lake, greedy for insects blundering into the water. Crockett smiled at a childhood memory of dawns spent fishing with his grandfather.

  Outside the bait shop he resurrected two of the lawn chairs, sat in one, propped his feet up on an abandoned 40-quart cooler, and waited for the dawn. The drone of a distant outboard motor rolled across the lake as the screen door opened behind him and Mazy’s quiet voice floated his way.

  “Morning, Crockett. Coffee?”

  “Got some. Cup for you too. Set a spell and contemplate the infinite with me, if it suits ya.”

  Mazy chuckled. “Fer a spell,” she said, taking the chair beside him. She sat, knees together, as if wearing a skirt instead of jeans. Crockett smiled.

  “Drink up,” he said, handing her a mug.

  She took a sip. “Damn! This is good. You are the first man I’ve ever known that could make a decent cup of coffee.”

  “All part of my charm,” Crockett said.

  “But only part, huh?”

  Crockett let that one drift and glanced at Mazy from the corner of his eye now and then as they gave themselves over to the lake, the mist, and the dawn for a few moments, sipping silently and letting the morning happen. At length she spoke again, her voice carefully balanced against the vanishing mist and rising sun.

  “Got a woman, Crockett?”

  “You applying for the job?”

  “Ha. Not me. Too set in my ways.”

  “Self-awareness is an admirable trait.”

  “So is answering questions. Got a woman?”

  Crockett looked at her for a moment. She watched the water. “Don’t know,” he said. “Used to have, but its kinda up for grabs right now. She took off.”

  “So that’s what you’re carrying around.”

  “It’s that obvious?”

  “Only if you’re not blind and deaf.”

  Crockett laughed and stalled as he lit his first Sherman of the day.

  “Well…shit happens.”

  “To a lot of us, Crockett.”

  “I know. Zeb told me you lost your husband a few years ago. I can’t imagine how rough that must be.”

  “Sure you can. You lost your lady.”

  “Yeah, but she’s not dead.”

  “No, and sometimes that can make the whole thing worse. It took me a year to figure out that it was okay to get mad at my husband for abandoning me by dying. It’s okay for you to get mad at her too, you know. With Mike it was an accident. Your gal did it on purpose.”

  “She probably had her reasons.”

  Mazy sipped her coffee and shook her head. “That’s what you say after you spend a month or two wishing she had her own bunk on Devil’s Island. Jesus! You haven’t even gotten pissed at her yet, have you?”

  “Ah…”

  “How long has she been gone?”

  “Six or seven weeks.”

  “And you haven’t let one damn thing go, have you?”

  Crockett sighed. “Probably not,” he said. “But please, don’t hate me because I’m weak. Concentrate on the fact that I make good coffee.”

  They were silent for a moment before Mazy shifted in her seat and looked at him instead of the lake.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I’m such a jerk. We don’t even know each other and I have no right to come down on you about any of this. I have a tendency to meddle. I apologize.”

  Crockett smiled and saluted her with his cup. “Apology accepted but totally unnecessary,” he said. “I was just thinking how nice it was to have an attractive woman concerned about my welfare. It makes being a miserable wretch almost worthwhile. Thank you.”

  “Oh boy,” Mazy said, returning her gaze to the water. “That was smooth. You’re good, Crockett.”

  “Thanks again.”

  “The damn thing is, you really mean it, doncha?”

  “Yeah. It’s nice.”

  Mazy sighed, got to her feet, and dusted her hands as if something were stuck to them. “I don’t need this in my life,” she said. “You’re gonna be trouble, huh?”

  Crockett shrugged. “Anything’s possible,” he said.

  “Okay. Fine. A few early risers will come straggling in for breakfast shortly and the kitchen is up and running. B and G, home fries, and two scrambled all right with you?”

  “Perfect.”

  “Zeb’ll be up from the south slips in a minute. I’ll send your breakfasts into the bait shop.”

  “Thanks, Mazy,” Crockett said as he stood up. “I appreciate everything. Really I do.”

  “Oh, shit,” Mazy said, and turned away toward the floating restaurant.

  Maggie ambled up the walkway and lay down by his chair with a gentle grunt. Her tail thumped quietly on the wooden deck.

  After her shower, Ruby ran a brush through her hair and applied a little makeup as rapidly as she could, before slipping into a blue satin coverall and ballet slippers and bolting downstairs to fix breakfast before Clete got up. She entered the kitchen to the scent of coffee and the sight of a smiling Cletus Marshal whipping eggs in a bowl.


  “Miz Ruby!” he said, putting down the bowl and moving around the end of the counter. “Good mornin’ all over ya, darlin’. Come give yer uncle Clete a hug.”

  Ruby chuckled and moved into his embrace, a hug that lasted for several seconds and ended with tears in Ruby’s eyes. Clete ignored them.

  “Cinnamon French toast, poached eggs, and corned beef hash all comin’ up. Coffee’s in the pot, cream’s in the pitcher, I’m in the kitchen, and all is right with the world. Set, sweetheart, and catch me up on what’s going on in your life.”

  Ruby got a cup of coffee, carefully keeping her back to Clete until her eyes dried out, then sat at the snack bar across from the stove.

  “How are Ivy and Goody?” she asked.

  “In love,” Clete said. “It’s so cute. If they were sixty years younger they’d run off. They set an’ jaw at least five or six hours a day. I swear, Ivy’s losing years. This is the best thing that could have happened to either of them.”

  “That’s wonderful.”

  “Oh, yeah. It’s a hoot. I give ‘em a little static about it now and then, just to get ‘em to fuss at me.”

  “Inez and her kids?”

  “Doin’ fine I guess. I’ve kinda pulled outa Inez’ life.”

  “Why?”

  “She needs to find out who she is and not stay in the habit of standin’ in some man’s shadow. She don’t need much of me right now as much as she needs herself.”

  “That’s very perceptive of you.”

  “Just a ol’ country boy, M’am,” Clete said, shoveling some hash into a small skillet and slipping on the lid before he turned to putting cinnamon bread into his egg mixture to soak. “And you, Ruby LaCost,” Clete went on, his Texas accent virtually gone. “How about you?”

  “Aw, Clete,” Ruby said, a lopsided smile on her face. “I’m so fucked.”

  “Sure. That’s what Ivy figured and that’s why I’m here. Now, what are we gonna do about it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “We’re gonna have breakfast. Then we’re gonna go shopping for you somethin’ nice and pretty to wear when we go out tonight. Then we’re gonna get a good night’s sleep an’ have breakfast again tomorrow. Then we’ll decide what we’re gonna do that day. Sooner or later somethin’ terrible that turns out to be good will happen. Or somethin’ good that turns out to be terrible will happen. Either way, things will change. Ivy thinks things need to change. I agree with her.”

  “So do I,” Ruby whispered, staring at the counter top.

  “Well good. Now git over here an’ take care of the eggs. I need to focus all my attention on the French toast. By the way, in the fridge is a small pitcher of Mother Marshal’s Magic Elixir. It ain’t Sunday, but it’s damn sure time.”

  The breakfasts and Zebulon arrived in the bait shop at the same time. He and Crockett took stools across from each other at the end of the counter. Zeb began mashing his eggs and home fries into a common jumble.

  “See’d ya settin’ out there drinkin’ coffee with Mazy earlier,” he said. “That’s good for her. She don’t got no company around this place but me. Nice she’s got somebody to jaw with. She’s missed my boy some since he got kilt.”

  “She’s got a way about her,” Crockett said. “Already started to straighten me out.”

  Zeb laughed. “I speck so. Mazy sees somthin’ she thinks needs fixin’, doan take her long to get to work. What’s yer intentions?”

  “What?”

  “I didn’t stutter.”

  “My intentions? Gee, I don’t know, sir. I like to take her to the homecoming dance, but I’ll have her home by eleven. Honest!”

  Zeb pointed his fork at Crockett. “Half-past ten,” he said.

  “Zebulon, I am not after a thing.”

  “I know ya ain’t, boy. It’d be easier if ya was. Mazy’d smell that an’ send ya packin’. She’s been without a man for a long time. Here you show up outa the blue. Yer big, yer comfortable, yer kinda slow an’ easy, yer older than she is, an’ yer woman has run off. That means ya got a broke wing, Crockett, an’ broke wings is hard for a woman, ‘specially a woman like Mazy, to walk away from. Even if they know they cain’t fix nothin’, they still wanna try.”

  Crockett laid his fork down. “I can be out of here by noon,” he said.

  “What the hell’s the matter with you? I ain’t tryin’ to run you off. Hell, I liked you the first time I seen ya shiverin’ ‘cause of them goddam carp! I’m just tryin’ to make sure they ain’t no misunderstandin’s croppin’ up around here. You an’ Mazy is both full-growed. Whatever the hell you do is yer own bidness. I just doan want nobody hurt. That includes you, boy.”

  “Oh. Ah, I don’t know what to say.”

  “Doan gotta say nothin’. I ain’t tryin’ to tell ya that Mazy’s gonna sneak up on ya in the dark. I’m just tryin’ to git ya to understand that whatever happens, happens here. It ain’t gonna go no place else. If ya git it in yer head that it might, yer wrong.”

  “A smart lady told me once that to have expectations was a sure way to find disappointment, but to have acceptance was a sure way to find peace. These days I just try to accept. Make no mistake, there’s something about Mazy that I find very attractive, but I’m not looking for anything.”

  “Deer,” Zeb said. “Usta hunt ‘em all the time. Biggest I ever got was a eight point buck. Ever year I’d bust my ass. Eight point or less. One day I’m drivin’ home from Clinton, not one thought of deer in my head, and hit a fourteen pointer. Fourteen points! Biggest goddam buck I ever saw. Come outa nowhere and bam! Got my big-assed buck. I also got a busted radiator, a ruined hood, a broke windshield, an’ a grill full a deer shit. Fourteen points warn’t worth it, Crockett. Plumb too expensive.”

  “I got your drift, Zeb.”

  “I know ya do.”

  Crockett smiled. “You still hunt?”

  “Now an’ then, boy. Hard to stop.”

  The conversation was interrupted by the entry of a dad and two sons, the boys bent on decimating the bluegill population around the dock as soon as possible. Zeb went to help them while Crockett stacked the plates and cleared the counter. The boys’ enthusiasm was infectious and Crockett enjoyed watching them whang around the shop while Dad suffered in relative silence.

  A bass boat idled up to the gas slip outside and two fishermen clambered onto the dock. The sun was two widths above the horizon, reflecting dazzling shards of light off the rippling water and promising a warm bright day. As the men came inside, Crockett looked past them and noticed a woman walking down the ramp toward the dock. She caught his attention and held it. She was as out of place at the marina as a thoroughbred racehorse on a hog farm.

  At least six feet tall, she wore a yellow scarf over hair the color of polished pewter. Black Capri pants graced impossibly long legs, a white silk blouse clung to a torso sporting amazing breasts that could not have come from any known gene pool, immense dark glasses swathed the upper half of what had to be a nearly perfect face, a delicate shawl in pale yellow draped her from shoulder to the base of an elegantly graceful neck, and all of that was propelled along in confident strides on towering heels that would have daunted even Ruby LaCost. Crockett easily visualized her in a sequined G-string and feathered headdress, center stage at Caesar’s Palace.

  Casually, she strolled the length of the walkway to the dock, then down the dock toward the bait shop. Crockett was mesmerized. After her walk she stopped beside the corner of the carp pool and looked out over the lake. Suddenly Crocket was completely alert. Something wasn’t right. His attention was focused totally on the woman when it happened. The heel on her left shoe snapped.

  As if in slow motion he watched her stagger back a half step, losing her stability and leaning rearward past the point of balance. The railing of the carp pool met her legs just above the backs of her knees and she teetered there for an instant, her arms flailing to postpone the inevitable, then over she went, her sunglasses flying from her face as her head st
ruck the railing on her immediate right. Without a sound she was gone, into the water among the clamoring carp.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Crockett’s initial reaction to the incident was almost without thought. He shouted to get Zeb’s attention as he bolted out the door and down the dock. He glanced down into the carp pool only long enough to realize that the woman was gone and the fish, so completely conditioned in their bizarre behavior, had already resumed their customary positions, totally filling the square of water, mouths gaping upward in anticipation. Disgusted by what had to be done, Crockett went over the low railing, arms crossed in front of his head and face for protection. He hit the fish like slamming into floating hams and then was through them, down into the green and shadowed water below the dock, the cold nearly making him gasp for air.

  Crockett hadn’t been in water deeper than a hot tub in over thirty years. Panic licked at the back of his neck and he pushed it away, his heart hammering in his ears. Below him and to his right he saw a blurry flash of pale above the black depth. He kicked toward it frantically and managed to catch the corner of her shawl. If the woman had not had it tied about her neck he would have lost her then, forced back to the surface alone, propelled by fear and the need to breathe, but it was tied, and Crockett pulled her to him, wrapped an arm diagonally across her torso from the rear just as he’d been trained to do a lifetime ago, and began to pull madly toward the light above.

  When they broke the surface by the bass boat in the gas slip, Crockett was almost done. Between gasps, he made enough noise that Zeb and one of the fishermen, all still looking down into the carp pool, heard him and came to the rescue. He pushed the woman upward and himself downward and she was lifted from his grasp. Free of his burden, Crockett struggled back to the surface, grabbed the edge of the dock, and hung there, wheezing, his entire body quivering from stress and the need for oxygen. Adrenalin pushed him twenty feet down the dock to a ladder and he dragged himself out of the water and over to where the two fishermen and Zeb hovered around the woman’s body.