June 11, 1979
Hey Sis!
How’s it going in good old Hainey? Exciting as usual, I’m sure. Has the old bitch driven you crazy yet, telling you all the many ways you’re not perfect like me? That’s okay, you and I know better, and I think somewhere deep down she does too. Right now her perfect daughter is going through all the motions, pretending to listen to her loving husband and beautiful daughter, cooking meals and cleaning house, when all she can think about is getting high. Don’t worry, I’m still hanging in there, but it’s so hard, Vi. It’s so very hard. I wish I had your strength, or at least had you here to knock some sense into me. You’re the one person I can never lie to. There’s no point—you always see through me in a second.
How’s your Sarah? Not so small anymore I guess. Hard to believe she must be bigger than Noel. Noel is my little grown-up, my little genius. She’s so smart and so pretty, sometimes I can’t believe she came from me. I wish she and Sarah could grow up together. I worry that she doesn’t have that same sense of family you and I grew up with. Yes, the old bitch drove us crazy, and Ginny was always tattling to her, but we had each other. Us against the world. I think Isaac would agree to come back if I asked him to, if I told him how much I need to, but I can’t face Momma, and I don’t want her getting her claws into Noel.
Sometimes I think they’d be better off without me, Isaac and Noel. They could go live with his family. His mother’s a stuck-up old biddy, but I know she’d welcome them with open arms, and his sister’s okay. (She was at my wedding, the one you were too pissed off to come to. Sorry—my Harrison guilting must be kicking in.) Vi, I’m just afraid I won’t be able to hold it together much longer, and I don’t know what I’ll do. Maybe that’s why little Joshua didn’t make it, because I’m going to screw up bad and he’s better off not being here when I do. I know, this is where you smack me. I miss you so much, honey. I hope I get to see you again.
In the meantime, don’t let the bitch get you down. Remember, deep down she really does love us. She’s just too hateful to show it.
Love you always,
Vanda
She had written on 3-hole lined notebook paper, the kind you get in packs of 200. In some places she’d paused too long on a letter, and the ink from her pen had made little round spots. Holding the slightly yellowed paper in my hand, seeing the words of a dead woman on the page made my breath catch. I got that familiar feeling that comes over me once in a while, that it’s all just so sad. The world is full of so much suffering, so many people who just keep shuffling on through it. I leaned forward to rest my head against the steering wheel, overwhelmed.
I was used to my own car, my own steering wheel with an air bag, not Mike’s steering wheel, which apparently didn’t have one. (Let’s tuck that away for future reference.) Maybe I rested my head a little too hard. As soon as it touched the steering wheel, the car’s horn went off. I jerked so hard I felt a twinge in my back, and a man walking by in a suit gave me a dirty look. I stuck my tongue out at him, and his look of outraged shock made me feel better. At least it had slapped me out of my malaise, mostly. I still had a slightly foggy feeling, an emotional hangover.
I like to think that hangover, not just simple stupidity, was to blame for what I did next. Whichever, the result was the same. As my grandmother would say, I sure did set a helluva shitstorm in motion.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
I checked at the front desk for records because I said I would. I didn’t expect them to have anything, and I wasn’t disappointed. The real reason I’d come was to see Sue Ellen. I had downplayed what she had to offer to get Richard off my back, but I had high hopes. My timing was perfect—lunch time once again, so I headed over to the cafeteria.
Stepping inside the administration building at WFC, a hallway stretched before me. It was lined by bulletin boards and a few closed doors on the right, the glass wall and doors of the cafeteria to the left. Two of the cafeteria’s three interior walls were made of glass, framed but otherwise completely translucent. As you reached the end of the hallway and turned left, the cafeteria’s other glass wall remained to your left, and there was a small seating area with boxy vinyl furniture and dusty plastic plants to the right. All traffic to the ladies room from the building entrance or the cafeteria had to pass that seating area. I picked up a newspaper and settled in to wait.
I was counting on Sue Ellen to be one of those people who doesn’t take a bathroom break near the end of her shift, but instead waits and does it on her own time right before lunch. Either that, or she could be fastidious enough to wash up before eating, all but a lost art in our culture. She’d been so freaked out before, I didn’t want to approach her in the cafeteria if I could help it. From here I could see into the cafeteria as well, but wasn’t all that visible to the people concentrating on their Salisbury steak, so I didn’t think I had to worry about losing her.
I’d read all about the upcoming livestock show and the latest plans to populate the Panhandle beaches to within an inch of their lives when I saw Sue Ellen approaching. Good girl—she headed to the restroom and I followed. I waited in the outer lounge area for her to conclude her business. The sound of running water heralded her imminent appearance, and in a moment the door swung open.
“Hello, Sue Ellen.” The poor thing was so startled I almost felt bad for lying in wait. Almost.
“Oh, hi. Listen, I don’t have time to talk right now. I have to get back out to the—“
“How did you know Isaac’s daughter is named Noel?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She began a frightened stutter, and I felt as though I could hear her heart pounding from where I sat.
“I d-, I d-don’t know anything about Isaac, and I have to go.”
Her fear fed my own adrenaline and cleared the fog from my brain, facilitating a logical leap I should have made earlier. “I think you do know about Isaac. In fact, I think you sent a newspaper clipping to Noel, a clipping about her father.”
That’s when Sue Ellen bolted. I jumped up, a little too quickly, to block her exit. I still had head rushes and lost my vision when standing up and sitting down.
“Did you hear about my little adventure, Sue Ellen?” I lifted my left sleeve and the back of my shirt, and the hem of my long skirt up to one thigh to show her some of more persistent evidence.
“Someone doesn’t want me asking questions about Isaac. I’m being hunted, and the next time these people catch up with me, I might not be so lucky. I need to know what’s going on, and Noel needs to know the truth about her father.”
My little pep talk had the opposite of my intended consequence. Sue Ellen panicked. With the element of surprise and my nagging injuries, she was able to knock me out of the way with her petite frame. She ran out of the room and down the hall, past the cafeteria and toward the exit. My feet still weren’t up for running, but I hobbled quickly in my hippie Ninja shoes. Sue Ellen slipped through a group of people who’d just finished eating outside the cafeteria and I lost her.
I scooted to the entrance, scanning outside and inside, trying to see if she’d re-entered some secure area I couldn’t talk my way into without an appointment. Maybe Charley could help me. Stretching on tip-toes, I finally saw him outside, caught up in the crowd of people entering and exiting the building for lunch. I called to him and waved, and he motioned that he’d be right over.
I stood off to the side of the door, out of the way of traffic, while I waited. Still scanning the crowd and nearby areas for Sue Ellen, I didn’t pay attention to anyone in particular until I heard a nasty raucous belch. All heads turned toward the culprit. It was Charley’s nemesis from the Handi-Way and the cafeteria. The man next to him made a disgusted face.
“Goddamn, Deacon. That’s just gross. It’s not like you don’t stink enough already. You ain’t never heard of deodorant?”
And it was that simple. By that time, Charley had made his way to me and was saying something, but I couldn’t hear him. I
walked over to the man they’d called Deacon, gauged his size, and sniffed him.
“What are you, in rut or something?” He turned to the man who’d just insulted him and said with a nervous laugh, “This bitch is crazy.”
I’d smelled enough. “Deacon—is that what they call you? I’ll bet you hunt a lot, but do you ever watch the Discovery Channel? National Geographic? That kind of thing?”
“What the hell are you talking about?” His buddy was starting to wonder too.
“Nah, you probably don’t. In fact, I’ll bet you couldn’t tell a leopard from a zebra if your life depended on it.”
He looked confused at first, then his tiny little pea brain finally made the leap. His face flushed red, and I thought he was going to have a coronary episode. I should be so lucky. The flush highlighted what I’d originally taken for a bit of acne at the side of his nose. I pointed to the corresponding area on my own nose.
“Glad to see the scratches healed. I’d hate for an infection to make your nasty face even uglier.”
“Fuck you, bitch.”
Deacon’s right hand moved, and I thought I heard a snapping, shuffling sound. I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not one of those movie investigators who identify guns with ease, by sight of the gun or cartridge, by the sound or the hole it’s made in flesh. Nope, not me. Rifle or pistol. That’s about where my expertise ends. Let me just say that I found myself with what technically looked to me like a big-ass gun, pointing right at my chest.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
My life didn’t flash before my eyes. All I could see was the gun. No past, no future. It was hard to look away from the dull metal, even for a moment. I had this irrational fear (if any gun fear can be irrational) that it would strike of its own accord, like a snake, if I took my eyes from it. Still, my gaze was drawn to Deacon from time to time. I have on occasion inspired true loathing in a person or two or a few, so I’ve learned to recognize it. I got a good enough look at Deacon’s face to see how much he loathed me, that he really wanted to kill me, and he was going to. Even surrounded by all those nice, credible law enforcement-type witnesses, Deacon was going to kill me. Consequences be damned. And he was going to enjoy every moment.
My peripheral vision was gone. The world shrank down to me, Deacon and The Gun. No one else existed, and somehow I knew that was true for Deacon as well. The look in his eyes reminded me of the clearing, when he’d forgotten the presence of everyone else, intent on doing things to me I didn’t want to thank about. He was envisioning dark things again, and this time he was about to realize them.
The one thing Deacon and I hadn’t counted on was Charley. Good old Charley. I love that kid. While Deacon was busy staring me down and wondering what my guts would look like splattered all over the sidewalk, and I was busy being the object of his stare and wondering what my guts would look like spattered all over the sidewalk, Charley had pulled his own weapon.
“Deacon, drop the gun,” Charley said.
Fortunately his shouted order didn’t startle Deacon as much as it did me or I’d be dead now, victim of a spastic trigger finger. I was so proud of Charley. His voice didn’t crack, and he was in a very professional-looking stance, at least to someone who doesn’t know how to use a gun. I wondered if it was the first time he’d ever drawn his weapon, and Deacon probably wondered the same thing as he stood, gun still pointed at my chest, assessing the situation. I doubted many of the guards were carrying, and no one else had pulled a weapon yet, or at least no one else was pointing one that I could see. Still, drawn weapons or not, it didn’t seem like very good odds for a guy intent on inflicting mayhem, or so I thought at the time.
Deacon must have reached the same conclusion. A buffer of empty space had appeared around him when he pulled his gun, and it moved with him as he slowly backed away from me toward the parking lot.
“Remember what I said before. I’m not done with you yet, not by a long shot. There won’t be enough left of you to bury.”
Then he was gone, around the corner of the building and out of sight. There was a lot of adrenaline coursing through my veins, but my brain hadn’t had time to interpret it as fear, and now the gun was gone. Instead I felt like Superman. I gave Deacon a three-count and ran after him.
The adrenaline must have affected my sense of time or ability to count, because I really would have needed super powers to catch him. The parking lot was full of pick-ups, any one of which could be his, or could be blocking my view of him. By the time I spotted Deacon, he was climbing aboard a truck parked on the end near the exit. He must have spotted me at the same time. A shot rang out, followed by the sound of a shattering car window to my right. I’d believed him when he said he wasn’t done with me, so I didn’t think he was really trying to hit me, but he could be a lousy shot and accidentally blow my brains out just as fatally as if he’d done it intentionally. Besides, we were in the parking lot of a maximum security prison. Someone could start shooting back.
I crouched down and began moving back up the row of cars toward the administration building. Grassy verges separated the sections of cars. Once the sound of Deacon’s engine faded beyond what I theorized was bullet range, I sat down on the grass. Charley was the first person to find me, but I knew the whole area would be swarming with law enforcement officers from various agencies soon.
Charley’s face paled when he saw me, the inverse of his usual blush. “Are you all right? Have you been shot?”
“No, no I’m fine. I just felt like it was time to sit down. Join me.”
He sat down tentatively. “Are you sure you’re okay? You’ve got a little blood here,” he gestured at his right temple, “and sometimes people go into shock and don’t know they’ve been shot.”
I got to my knees and scooched over to the nearest car to peek in the side mirror. When I tried to adjust the mirror left-handed, it came off in my hand. “Whoops.” I carried it back to the grass with me.
“We’ll say Deacon did it,” I whispered, while examining my temple. Charley grinned. “It’s just a little cut, probably from the flying glass.”
There was barely enough room on the verge for me to lie back, upper body on the grass while my legs extended over the pavement. I could hear voices, but as long as we stayed down we wouldn’t have to deal with them. If I couldn’t see them, they couldn’t see me, I reasoned. Charley lay down beside me with a ragged sigh. His head tilted up and down, surveying my healing injuries.
“So what happened to you?”
“I’m pretty sure Deacon did.” I told him about the attack in 25 words or less.
“Deacon did that? Daggone. I heard about it, but I didn’t make the connection to you.”
“Charley, what were you doing wearing a gun? Not that I’m complaining.”
“I wasn’t working inside today. We had some inmate transfers, and I was an armed escort. Deacon too.”
One more mystery solved. Guards inside the prison don’t wear sidearms, and I’d wondered how Deacon had his so handy. “If you don’t mind me asking, had you ever drawn your gun before?”
“No, ma’am, I hadn’t. Not in a real situation, I mean.”
“Charley, please, call me Sydney. And thank you for allowing me to be your first.” He blushed. “Seriously, thank you. I think he would have pulled the trigger if you hadn’t drawn on him. And God knows none of the other guys were lifting a finger to stop him.”
“Ma’—I mean, Sydney, I may just be pointing out the obvious here, so feel free to stop me. Didn’t you say he had a bunch of guys with him?”
“Probably five, give or take.”
“Well, didn’t you ever wonder who those other guys were?”
Now I felt the fear I hadn’t felt staring at Deacon’s gun. How could I have been so stupid? I’d thought the odds were against Deacon a few moments ago, but now I had to wonder. My eyes involuntarily went to Charley’s bare arms—no scratch marks. Still, I was lucky I hadn’t been “accidentally” shot in the back while Deac
on was fleeing. When I could speak again, I asked Charley the question I knew he couldn’t answer, but I had to ask it anyway.
“Charley, do you know why they did it?”
“No, Sydney. I’m sorry to say I don’t.”
My malignant thoughts were interrupted by the voices of self-important uniformed men. They’d found us. Charley got to his feet, then gently helped me to stand as well. He leaned over to speak softly in my ear so the approaching guards couldn’t hear.
“By the way, you’re the one who did a good thing, not me.” He was taller than I’d realized, as most people are when I stand next to them. He looked down at me, pink-faced and grinning. “Thanks to you, that asshole will never work here again.”
I spent the next two hours being interviewed by a succession of LEOs. After a while I stopped trying to remember their names or who they worked for and encouraged them to skip the introductions. No vigilante, game-playing P.I. persona for me. I told them everything I knew, which was precious little. I didn’t know the man, but he and some buddies had attacked me, and when I figured it out and confronted him (not the wisest move on my part, they all confirmed) he pulled his gun and took off. Why does such a short story take so long to tell?
Charley came over to say goodbye before resuming his duties. I gave him a couple of my business cards, adding Mike’s and Richard’s cell phones to the backs as well, and asked him to give one to Sue Ellen if he saw her. He said he’d get her to speak with me if he could find her. I knew that he would.
Back to Lazarus (Sydney Brennan) Page 24