Abducted

by David R Lewis

  “Sure you do, Texican. You, of all people, understand.”

  “But…”

  “Tell Ruby I love her,” Crockett said, and accelerated away.

  It was a pretty day. Clear and crisp. He could take his time, enjoy the drive, and still make it back to the marina by late afternoon.

  Crockett really liked the lake.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Sound came before light, the ambience of a space not dedicated to creature comfort, a room with hard walls, the constant “beep” of a heart monitor reporting pulse rate, and the hiss of oxygen through a nasal line. Even before she was fully conscious, even before it was in her power to open an eye, Doctor Ruby LaCost knew exactly where she was. Still in the midst of a long recuperation, after a heavy bout with pneumonia and five surgeries, she was more of a stranger to herself than to hospital lighting, unusual scents, and recovery rooms.

  Following her rescue as she lay dying in the dankness of that cave on the Spring River in Northern Arkansas, Ruby’s life had undergone dramatic changes. After a lifetime of being the most striking woman in the room, of overwhelming others with her appearance and then her intellect, of relying on her physical presence to open doors and smooth entries, Ruby had become a shadow of her former self. Her luxurious hair, that thick mane of nearly black tresses that cascaded across her upper back and shoulders framing a strong Italian face punctuated by Sophia Loren’s eyes, was gone. Whatever trauma among all the abuse she’d suffered at the hands and will of Boog Jeter that had caused her hair to fall out, had also prevented its return. Rather than attempt cultivation of the few ragged spots that remained, Ruby opted to keep her head shaved and wear wigs when the occasion called for them.

  The infection that had grown in her mouth, sinuses, and eye, combined with the heavy blows that had caused those infections in the first place, had taken a heavy toll. Ruby now had man-made teeth anchored on steel pins in her upper jaw, more permanent than what nature had provided. Her lower jaw was a different matter. It was where the infection had done its worst. In the bottom of her mouth, she wore a dental plate. Even though she had battled that appliance for nearly three months, it still vexed her, making certain foods awkward to eat and certain words awkward to say.

  The infection had taken her left eye. The damage to the socket and surrounding tissue had been equally disastrous as that which Crockett had sustained some years before, and had been repaired in much the same way, but rescue had come too late for the eye and it had been removed. Ruby, in her independent fashion and stating that she would rather be a pirate than a stand-in for Colombo, refused the insertion of an appliance and began wearing an eye-patch.

  Ruby opened her right eye to view the blurry form of a nurse peering down at her.

  “Blink twice if you can hear me,” a distant voice said.

  Ruby complied.

  “Good. The doctor tells me that everything went very well. You did fine with the procedure. Get some rest. While you sleep we’ll move you to your room. Another day or two and you’ll be back convalescing among your friends.”

  Ruby again blinked twice, and gave herself over to the warm darkness rising to envelope her.

  Crockett yawned as he took the beans he’s ground the previous night down from the cabinet to make early morning coffee. He’d taken to grinding the night before so the noise wouldn’t be a factor in case Mazy wanted to sleep in. Even though it was quite early, it wouldn’t be long before the sun was up. The days were getting longer. As the coffee dripped, Crockett removed a large can of dog food from the cabinet, opened it, combined it with a cup of dry food in a large blue bowl, and limped through the hallway and out the back door.

  Down by the walkway to the bait shop a gray-blond form materialized in the mist by the water’s edge and began a gamboling lope up the slope toward him, all feet and tongue, grinning and wagging a tail that could clear a coffee table in a heartbeat. Crockett had found the half Malamute, half Labrador retriever pup a couple of months before and presented it to Mazy and Zebulon as a late Christmas gift. It was not a replacement for Maggie. That would not have been possible. At around sixty pounds and only a little older than four months, on feet the size of hamburger buns, as wooly as a grizzly and happy as a lark, the pup was earning his own way into everybody’s heart. Even Nudge tolerated him. The dog stopped in front of Crockett, wagging so hard his rear feet nearly left the ground.

  “Hey, Munch,” Crockett said. “You all right this morning?”

  The pup sat down and waved his left front paw in the air. The tail, with a mind of its own, swept a smooth spot in the gravel behind his butt. When Crockett put the food down, the dog stretched out and began to wolf his breakfast from a lying position with the bowl between his front legs. Crockett grinned as the pup slurped, and went back inside. Zebulon sat at the kitchen counter watching the coffee drip.

  “Thet damn dog is gonner weigh a hunnert and thiry pounds when he gits his growth,” Zeb complained. “Mebbe more!”

  “Good pup,” Crockett said.

  “Worthless as tits on a boar hog.”

  “Smart.”

  “Hell, a giraffe’d take up less space!”

  “Good natured.”

  “Eats like a fuckin’ elephant.”

  “Loyal.”

  “Shits like a gawdammed dairy cow!”

  “Friendly.”

  “Always in the durn way.”

  Crockett grinned as he got out three cups. “If you hate him so much, how come you let him follow you around all day?”

  Zeb paused while Crockett poured a cup of coffee and passed it over. “Aw, hell,” the old man said, “bad comp’ny is better’n no comp’ny.”

  “That why you keep me around?”

  Zeb scowled at him. “Yer good ‘til thet dog grows up. Then I figger he’ll take yer place. Ever bidness needs ta upgrade now an’ then.”

  Crockett chuckled as he poured his coffee. “Morning, Zebulon,” he said.

  Zeb smiled. “Mornin’, boy. Thet buffalo leave us anythin’ ta eat?”

  After Zeb finished two over easy with sausage and hash browns, he wandered out to the bait shop, Munch galumphing along at his heels. Crockett poured his third cup and lighted his first Sherman of the day as Mazy wobbled out of the bedroom wearing a heavy cotton nightshirt that came to her knees and hair that would have frightened Medusa. She grunted at Crockett, took a sip of his coffee, put her forehead into the hollow of his throat, and leaned in. Crockett rubbed the top of her head with his chin.

  “You awake?”

  “No,” she said. “I got to reading that ol’ Robert B. Parker book, and it kept me up half the night.”

  “You were reading it when I went to sleep. Finish it?”

  “Almost. I’ll do that after I fix breakfast. Where’s Zeb?”

  “Down at the bait shop with that dog he can’t stand. I fixed him some sausage and eggs a little while ago.”

  Mazy backed up enough to take another drink of Crockett’s coffee, then bored back in. “That reminds me,” she went on, “I gotta fix Munch some food.”

  “Already done. I’ll bring in his bowl as soon as I get this weight off my chest.”

  “You fixed breakfast for Zeb and Munch?”

  “Yeah. They ate together out of the same bowl. You shoulda been here.”

  “Jeet?”

  “Not yet,” Crockett said. “Waiting for you. How ‘bout orange pancakes and pepper bacon?”

  “How ‘bout more coffee and some toast. I gotta cut back. I’ve gained ten pounds over the past few months.”

  “Looks good on ya.”

  Mazy peered up at him. “I know what looks good on me, buster, and ten more pounds ain’t it.”

  “How ‘bout two hundred and twelve pounds?”

  Mazy ignored him. “I ain’t gettin’ enough exercise,” she said.

  “Coulda fooled me.”

  She slipped her arms around his waist. “That’s not exercise.”

  “Seems p
retty athletic.”

  Mazy backed away with Crockett’s coffee and sank onto a stool. “I’m going to have toast and coffee,” she said. “You can have whatever you want.”

  “While you’re eating?”

  Mazy giggled. “Maybe the toast, but not the coffee.”

  “No spirit of adventure,” Crockett said, turning to get a loaf of bread.

  “Relax, Davey. Let me finish waking up and I’ll fix it. You’ve done enough this morning. You want anything?”

  Crockett bumped his eyebrows.

  “Besides that,” Mazy said, fighting her smile.

  “Nothing else compares.”

  As Crockett watched Mazy lurch toward the bathroom his cell phone went off. He hustled into the bedroom and lifted the instrument from his nightstand. It was Cletus. Shit.

  “Hey, Clete.”

  “Hey yourself, little feller. How ya doin’?”

  “Able to be up and take nourishment. Good to hear your Texonian tones. What’s up?”

  “I thought you’d like to know. Ruby had what everbody hopes will be her last surgery yesterday. The reconstruction has gone well an’ she came through it fine. According to her plastic surgeon, things are lookin’ good.”

  Crockett felt his heart stutter. He took a moment to swallow the lump that had suddenly appeared in his throat. “Great, Clete. I’m happy for her. That’s really good news.”

  “We all thought so. She’ll be back at Ivy’s tomorrow to rest up and heal. Don’t know when the bandages’ll come off. Pretty soon, I reckon. Then she should be done with all the doctor stuff.”

  “I’m glad to know she’s doing well,” Crockett said, walking in a small circle.

  “Yeah. She’s gaining back even more of all that weight she dropped. She lost her bidness, ya know. All this time bein’ laid up, her clients have gone someplace else. She talkin’ about switching gears and maybe workin’ with kids or battered women when she gits back to Kaycee, or wherever she decides to go.”

  “Well, after all she’s been through…”

  “She asks about you now an’ then, son.”

  Crockett’s knees went. He sank to the edge of the bed and couldn’t think of one thing to say. After a moment, Clete continued.

  “She doesn’t think she needs her office anymore. Says she’ll prob’ly just work out of a clinic or someplace like that. Git herself a small apartment or somethin’.”

  Crockett blinked back tears and cleared his throat as he fought to keep his voice under control. “Whatever she wants to do is fine with me. She’s been through a helluva lot. I’ll get in touch with some movers and get all my stuff out of the old place and put in storage. I’m not going back there, Clete. I can’t. How ‘bout I send you a power of attorney? That way, if she wants to sell the building, she can.”

  “Her name’s Ruby, Crockett.”

  “I know what her name is.”

  “How come ya don’t use it?”

  “You gonna analyze me, Clete?”

  “Somebody oughta!”

  Again, Crockett couldn’t think of anything to say. Clete went on.

  “So where are ya, son? Down at that lake?”

  Crockett couldn’t repress a smile. “You know damn good and well where I am, Texican. If I know you, you’ve got my cell phone pinpointed to within three feet of where I’m standing.”

  Clete chuckled. “Can’t git nothin’ by you, can I?”

  “Sure you can. You always could. We’re running in circles here, Clete. What do you want?”

  “I wantcha to wake up, pard. That’s all.”

  “She’s old business, Marshal.”

  “She’s unfinished bidness, goddammit! Just ‘cause Ruby run off from you a time or two, doan mean you gotta be as stupid as she was. This some kinda revenge?”

  “Revenge? This is a long way from revenge. This is survival, Clete.”

  “That what you wanna do, Crockett? Just survive?”

  “Survival is a damn site better than what I’m used to.”

  They both listened to the other breathe for a moment before Clete continued.

  “Okay,” he said, “maybe I’m wrong. Prove it to me an’ I’ll shut the hell up.”

  “Prove it to you?”

  “Yeah. You drinkin’ coffee right now?”

  “Why?”

  Pour me a cup and walk outside. I’ll be there in a minute.”

  Trembling slightly, Crockett slipped on a jacket, poured two coffees, and added a little cream. He stepped out the back door and walked toward the parking lot just as a sliver of sun topped the bluffs across the lake. Purple climbed skyward through a few wispy clouds and a light breeze ruffled the water’s surface, distorting the reflecting pool of what was Truman Lake. Even in his condition of near dread, Crockett couldn’t help admiring the symphony of color and texture that played out before him. His reverie was broken as a black Lexus purred into a parking space ten feet away and Cletus Marshal, a shock of dirty blond hair touching his left eyebrow, grinned his way out of the driver’s door.

  Look at that,” Clete said. “A one-legged miracle. “Yer lookin’ good. Put on a little weight?”

  “Slow winter, Texican. Good to see you, too.”

  Their hug, because of the coffee, was even more awkward than usual. When they separated, Clete scanned the surroundings for a moment.

  “Damn, son!” he said. This here place is as purty as a blue tick hound layin’ on a yaller throw rug. Ya’ll git many sun-ups like this’n?”

  Crockett smiled at the depth of the accent. “Most of ‘em,” he said.

  “It’d take a spell just to look at his place once. Ol’ Stitch said he liked it a lot. I can see why.”

  “Well, welcome to Watkins Station. But watch your step. I’m the official city constable, you know.”

  Clete grinned. “Where’s your badge?”

  “With my gun. I can’t find it either.”

  Their conversation was interrupted by the easy growl of an outboard motor as a small pontoon boat, with Zeb at the helm, backed out of a slip at the far end of the dock and motored toward the gas pumps beside the bait shop. He eased the boat alongside, reversed engine, and stopped exactly beside the first pump. The old man stepped off, tied a line to the forward cleat, and began walking in their direction. When he got close enough, Crockett spoke up.

  “Zebulon Watkins, my friend, Cletus Marshal.”

  Clete extended a hand. “Mister Watkins.”

  Zeb accepted the handshake. “Call me Zeb, boy. You et yet?”

  “Nossir.”

  “That won’t do,” Zeb replied. “Come on up to the place. Might as well feed ya.” He turned away and headed up the slope.

  Mazy was waiting for them behind the counter when they arrived in the kitchen. In the short time since Crockett had seen her, she’d ponytailed her hair, added light makeup, and was wearing a pale blue Cabela’s sweatshirt with the sleeves pushed up to her elbows, old jeans nearly worn through across her bottom, and dark brown deck shoes.

  “Good morning, Cletus,” she said. “We meet again.”

  “Even better lookin’ than the last time I saw ya, m’am,” Clete drawled. “You all right this mornin’?

  “I’ve been better,” Mazy said.

  Clete smiled. “Well,” he said, “I doan git by this way ever day.”

  “Bacon and eggs okay with you?”

  “Right partial to ‘em myself, m’am. Almos’ ennythin’ be fine fer a ol’ boy like me.”

  Mazy looked at Crockett and raised an eyebrow.

  Crockett chuckled. “Ol’ Cletus here doan usual git so close to his roots an’ all, Miz Mazy,” he said, “less’n he’s terrible excited, he wants somfa ur nother, or he’s under a mess a stress.”

  Mazy scowled. “Betcha a fat hog to a dead dog that it’s at least two outa them three thangs this mornin’,” she said. “How’s yer mom an’ them, Cletus? Everthang all right back at the ol’ home place?”

  Clete’s grin faded. “P
oint taken,” he said. “Sorry.”

  “You want toast with your eggs and bacon, Clete?”

  “Toast is fine.”

  “You want all that right now, or you wanna wait ‘till after you’ve taken Crockett off for a chat?”

  “Maybe I better stick with my coffee for now,” Clete said, turning to Crockett. “Ill just wait outside.”

  Crockett watched Clete duck out, and refilled his cup. “I’ll be back in a little while.”

  “That’d be nice,” Mazy said.

  Crockett led Clete out to the dock and the pontoon boat. Ten minutes later they were a quarter-mile down the lake and anchored in Crockett’s favorite little cove. White bass broke the surface now and then as he lit a Sherman and settled into one of the forward couches. He looked at Clete.

  “Well?” Crockett said.

  “No small talk, son?”

  “Nope. What do you want?”

  Clete paused for a moment, then took a deep breath. “I want you back in your life,” he said.

  “I am in my life,” Crockett said. “I’m doin’ fine.”

  “You ain’t doin’ fine if Ruby ain’t a part a your life, an’ you damn well know it.”

  “I’m happy, Clete. I help with the business, I deal with customers, work on the boats, hang around the…”

  “Not one damn thing that can’t be done just as well by some minimum wage high school junior!”

  “And, I have Mazy.”

  Clete bristled. “As long you’re here, ya do,” he said.

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means, you one-legged dumbass, that you don’t have Mazy in your life. She has you in her life. That is one hell of a woman, Crockett. A feller can see that from a mile away. But she ain’t your woman! She belongs to this place. She’s part a some beautiful lakeside fantasy that nailed your ass when you were on the rebound after Ruby shit on your head. You can’t have the princess unless you wanna be a prisoner in the castle, goddammit. If I doan miss my guess, she’s even told ya that in one way or another herself. Rentin’ out bass boats an’ sellin’ worms to little kids ain’t you, Crockett. It may have been a great winter, but that ain’t enough, an’ you damn well know it ain’t enough. Jesus Christ!”