He lifted the cape from his chest and handed it to Uncle Church. “I was thinking of my family. I have a son now. And my wife wasn’t crazy about the job. My leaving the force gave her one less thing to worry about.”
“But she married a cop. What did she expect?”
“Yeah,” he said and brushed a few stray hairs from his slacks, “but it was different when she saw the work up close. Then she turned vegan and ... you know how that goes. The latest thing is she doesn’t want us to wear shoes in the house.” He raised his hands in feigned surrender. “I’m just trying to keep the peace, man.”
They both laughed. It felt good to speak freely and exhaled some of the stress.
“I hear ya. I just wish you had stayed on. After you left, a lot of other good men quit.”
“Yeah, I know. It’s unfortunate.” He didn’t want to talk about it. The department was turning to a wasteland and he was concerned about the impact it would have on Keeferton at large.
“I heard Dorsett is out, too,” Uncle Church said and shook his head.
“Well, the chief has been planning to retire for a while. He’s been taking off a lot, using up his leave. But, yeah, he’ll be the next one to go.”
Mayor Thompson appeared on the big screen. He was standing with Lieutenant Hayden speaking to the public about imposing a curfew in “certain neighborhoods” of Keeferton.
“This clown.” Uncle Church switched the channel to an amateur boxing match and muted the sound. “If he hadn’t mishandled that Empire Row situation, I wouldn’t be half as worried about my place right now.”
“Well ...” Randall knew where this was going.
“You don’t go in and raid a bunch of houses and then don’t arrest the ring leaders. What kind of plan is that? They just splintered off into more neighborhoods and now we’re dealing with trouble everywhere.”
“People in the community have got to help shut down these gangs along with the police, you know. It takes everybody working together.” Randall shrugged. He really didn’t want to talk about it.
“All I’m saying is,” the barber raised his voice and poked his finger into Randall’s shoulder, “if you had been on the force, it wouldn’t have been handled like that. I know that much. What’s that African proverb? ‘Don’t put down the stick until the snake is dead.’ Something like that. You gotta chop the head off or leave it alone. Am I right about it, or not? Now look at what’s going on.”
Randall listened to the old barber and former combat veteran because he respected the man. And, because he was right about what was happening. KMP had been hemorrhaging experienced officers and the latest police actions made great headlines but ended up making more headaches for the residents overall.
“And another thing,” the barber continued and handed Randall a mirror, “they come here and create a problem just to sell you the solution. You mark my word. I know a thing or two about how they operate, you know.”
“If anybody bothers you Uncle Church, let me know. Alright?”
“Well, I was gonna ask you about some help.” He lowered his voice and glanced toward the door.
“You want a man here?”
“No, more like installing one of those security systems.”
“Gotcha, there are a few options I can show you. I’ll drop some of my brochures off later today.”
“Good, let me take a look at what you got. You know they broke in Tobias’ Dry Cleaners five doors down from me about two weeks ago. He don’t keep no money onsite, so they trashed the place. I don’t want to take no chances of losing my stuff.”
“Yeah, can’t lose those Ragin’ Reds jerseys. They’re probably worth a few million, right?” Randall winked and gestured toward the display case. He paid the man and headed out the door.
“This our year, son. I’m telling you!” Uncle Church pointed the scissors toward him and laughed. He followed Randall outside, sat down in the chair again, and waved to the passersby.
Randall popped the door locks and climbed in the front seat. He wedged his phone back into the dash holder and twisted his neck until he heard the crackle sound. He needed some time at the gym and a deep muscle massage. And, a day off.
“Good God, yes,” he whispered. “I need a day off.” As much pressure he felt meeting with clients all over the county and getting his security firm off the ground, it felt good to drive through the community and connect with the people he had known during his years on the police force.
Mayor Thompson was nothing like Gundry. He was absent from all the local community meetings, left early when the KMP had to brief him on issues and only focused on publicity stunts and press conferences. Chief Dorsett had gone into early retirement mode and was taking extended amounts of time off. That left Lieutenant Hayden in charge and morale had dropped like a rock. Rumor had it that it was Thompson who made the choice of Hayden and was forcing Dorsett out.
In any case, Randall and many others saw the handwriting on the wall. It was time to find another police department to join or branch out into a new career. Randall had selected the latter and the Wells Security Firm was incorporated and within weeks had a half dozen solid clients on the books. Several KMP officers worked part time as guards and his brother stepped up to help with the security system installations.
Brad had refused to move in with them on Spring Street asserting that if they could pay to modify their house to accommodate his physical needs, they could do the same for his cabin at Wyman's. So, that's what happened, and he was happy as a clam living in the woods. “The stubborn jackass,” Randall muttered under his breath and chuckled. In the end, it was a great help for Traci. Brad served at the management office onsite, handled basic maintenance and booking the cabin and boat rentals. Things were going along smoothly until Doretha died.
It wasn't totally unexpected, but it happened at the worst possible time. With Traci in the last trimester of a high-risk pregnancy, it put a lot of pressure on Randall to hold things down. Thankfully, their mother’s death had brought the brother’s closer together. If Brad had not been around, he wasn’t sure how he would have gotten through the last year.
S&K had offered Traci full maternity leave and the option to continue working from home after the baby was released from NICU. It had been tricky helping her to balance everything, and to understand the difference between what she wanted to do and what she needed to do.
Traci found her passion working in the community as an advocate and organizer. The woman stayed full throttle and hyper-caffeinated in addition to being sleep deprived. It was his number one priority to catch her before she imploded from stress and help her dial it back on a daily basis. At long last, they had agreed it was time to look for a buyer for Wyman's. Once R.J. turned one year old, they would discuss whether Traci would stay employed outside the home which is what she wanted. Another stubborn one.
He looked at her first formal business card that he had taped to the dashboard and smiled. When Simon, Kinsey and Co. took over the Friends of Magnolia Grove Foundation and made Traci the Managing Director, she was over the moon. That promotion was nothing to sneeze at. She earned it and he was very proud of her. Plus, it put her on equal footing with Ray Winston at the company and that gave her more freedom to express her ideas.
Randall twisted his neck again and worked his shoulders until he felt the muscles loosen. Yeah, it was great for her career, but the high-profile work for S&K and the management of Wyman’s campgrounds left little time for their family and meant that something had to give. His phone buzzed and the contact picture of Traci and R.J. popped up on his screen for a video chat, again.
“What about this fire pit thing?”
“Yes?” He managed a smile instead of becoming defensive.
“Well, when were you going to tell me about it?”
He took a deep breath. “Listen ...”
“I'm listening. I always listen, Randall. Not like someone else we know.”
“Okay, here's the thing. These small
decisions, I'm just going to handle them. Okay? You've got your hands full with the baby and work and the doula telling you stuff you gotta take care of, and what not.”
“Yeah...” Her voice and countenance softened. Her anger never lasted long, if you caught it fast enough. She lowered her voice and continued, “but ... it's like my opinion doesn't matter around here anymore. I can handle things, too. You know you should still include me.”
“Of course you can. You’re amazing. You can handle anything.”
“You don’t believe that. I don’t even believe it.”
“Who single-handedly petitioned for state funded lead abatement for the residents of Magnolia Grove? Now all the people living in those old houses can feel safe. Who did that?”
“I did ...” she muttered.
“Who got the Youth in Place home buyers program started to help get more young people involved in rehabbing vacant properties and owning their first home?”
“Randall ...”
“Who?”
“Me.” She sniffed and wiped her face. “Sometimes I feel left out, though. That’s all I’m saying.”
“Tracinda, let me deal with it. I was just thinking, the guys could fix up the backyard so we can all enjoy it and relax. The fire pit will be nice to have when the weather cools off again. You love the fireplace in our bedroom, right? It'll be just like that, but outside.”
“Yeah ... that'll be nice.” A little flutter of a smile appeared on her face. “You're right. I'm sorry. I'm just so ...”
“Beautiful.” And just as he expected, she began sobbing, then stopped and wiped her face, inhaled a deep breath, blew him a kiss and ended the call.
A day in the life. He chuckled and started flipping through his box of company flyers and brochures. He found one that matched what he thought would work best for Churchill’s Barbershop and attached his business card, then took out a pen and jotted down his personal cellphone number.
He looked up and noticed some activity at another store front nearby. Mr. Tobias was talking with several men, then he hung an “Out of Business” sign in the window and the men departed. Randall glanced over to Uncle Church who was watching the scene unfold. He locked eyes with Randall, then he stood, picked up the chair, carried it inside his shop, and locked the door behind him.
Randall closed his eyes and whispered, “Don’t get involved.”
Chapter Three
Milo
MILO GLANCED AT BRAD in the passenger seat as he made the turn off the highway toward Wyman’s campground. It was the first time he had driven with someone else in the car and he was more than a little bit nervous about it. Brad kept his eyes on the road and continued to face forward even when Milo accidently scraped the railing at the parking spot when they reached the management office. Milo hopped out of the car and checked for damage. There was a tiny yellow stripe on the fender. He could buff it out later with a little water and miracle shine wax.
He looked up and saw Brad opening the car door and rushed around to meet him. The doctors at the Veteran’s Health and Rehabilitation Hospital had refitted Brad’s prosthetic legs and he was still working with the ortho-therapist on balance and endurance. He had crushing upper body strength and pushed off anyone that tried to help him. Milo held the door open and that was all. Brad emerged and slapped him on the back so hard that he almost tumbled into the concrete.
“Who’s that guy?” Brad mumbled and pointed at the man wearing a gray suit and tie standing near the office.
“I don’t know. Never seen him before. Doesn’t look like a camper to me.” Milo turned and tried to get a better look at the visitor. He closed the car door, glanced at his watch and then followed along as Brad approached the stranger.
The man noticed them approaching and held out his hand to greet them. Brad walked past him and opened the office door. “I called Renfro Parts and Service to help take care of my ATV,” he said and looked at the man through the corner of his eye. “You don’t look like much help.” He entered the office, walked over to the coffee maker and found a clean carafe.
“No, I’m not a mechanic.” The man looked at Milo and then followed Brad into the office. “I’m Inspector Glen Harris.” He held out his hand again.
“Of?” Brad looked the man over, then turned his back and dumped the day-old coffee grounds out of the basket.
“Of?” the man repeated. “Oh, I inspect facilities like these that house more than twenty residents on average through rental leases.” He looked at Milo once again. “Rental leases whether annual, weekly or ...”
“Why are you here?” Brad set the coffee maker in action and faced the man. Milo looked away. He wondered which side of Brad this guy was going to land on. His guess, it wasn’t going to be the good one.
“I’m going to be on the property here for the next few days, looking around and making sure everything is up to code.” The inspector continued, “I’m sure you received the notice that an inspector would be coming around this month.”
“Go help yourself.” Brad turned away and poured a cup of coffee.
The man nodded, backed out of the office and started up the trail toward the group of cabins along Raindrop Lane. Brad watched him from the window with a narrowed gaze.
“Seems strange. You ever seen any of these guys before?” he grumbled and took a sip from his cup.
“No, but maybe they talked with Josh before.” Milo watched from over Brad’s shoulder.
“I don’t like it.”
“Probably nothing, right?” Milo grabbed a paper towel and wiped the trace of brick dust from his face, straightened his shirt and adjusted the cuff in his pants.
“Who you trying to look pretty for?” Brad said with a chuckle.
“Funny guy.” Milo smirked and checked for armpit stains on his shirt, then stepped outside and walked up the main trail leading to the community play area. He approached the long wooden bench, stopped and checked his breath. He searched his pockets and found a piece of wintergreen candy. He popped it into his mouth, then took a deep breath and a step forward.
“Hi,” he said softly and tapped the shoulder of the young lady in the olive green peacoat, jeans and orange and black Stompz sneakers that sold out the preorder within an hour of the launch. She turned and looked up and greeted him with a wide smile and oversized sunglasses. She wore golden hoop earrings with small multi-colored teardrop dangles in the center that fluttered as she turned to acknowledge him, and a small nose ring in her left nostril.
Milo stepped closer and the breeze lifted the scent of her perfume.He inhaled the floral aroma of jasmine but not the sickly-sweet kind like the cheap brands. Definitely, not cheap. Her skin was the color of the perfect crème brulee but smooth as glass. He was stunned. She was nothing like he expected. And suddenly, he felt like a dork.
“You’re late,” she said and turned away, but he could see that she was still smiling.
“Sorry, I was helping someone with a project and lost track of time. I’m glad you made it.”
Juliana “Jules” Latimore had graduated from high school a year early and was the secret behind his A+ final English paper. They had met through the online writing lab and study hall through Arrow Learning Center. The computer had selected random “study buddies” and they were a match. He had asked to meet so that he could thank her getting him through all the graduation requirements. But that wasn’t the real reason.
He would have never matched her in real life to the zombie-eyed owl avatar she used. In person, she was pretty, and smelled nice, and didn’t run away when she saw him. He should say something. But he couldn’t. He just stood there looking at her, with his mouth open as if his mind forgot how to make words.
“Are you going to sit down, or ...?” Jules said with a little nod toward the seat.
“Yeah, sorry.” He sat next to her, not too close, and folded his hands in his lap. He stared at the ground in front of them and watched her out of the corner of his eye. She didn’t come here t
o listen to you breathe. He glanced over and asked, “Do you always wear your hair like that?” That was a dumb thing to say.
He was trying to gage how to address a bigger question and it seemed like a good place to start. Or maybe it wasn’t. This was not going well. He was exhausted already. When he was online, it was so much easier to say things. Texting was even better. He wasn’t prepared to actually talk to her. He should have ... like, made a list or something. God, I’m an idiot.
“Like what?” She turned toward him but not enough to actually look at him.
“Like,” he pointed, making a circular motion toward her hair, “up in those round balls ...”
“Bantu knots?”
“Yeah, I guess ...” He was trapped in that stupid question with no way out. “When you find yourself in a hole, put down the shovel and stop digging,” Brad would always say. Milo wished someone would kick the shovel out of his hand and hit him in the back of the head with it. She thinks I’m a loser.
“I wear them sometimes, when my mother has time to help me. Why? You don't like my hair?”
“No. I mean, I like it a lot. I just wondered how you ... I mean ... I guess you must depend on your mother a lot for things.”
“Not really. You'd be surprised, I think. I can do pretty much anything I want on my own.”
“Oh, okay. So, you can see good enough ... I mean, how much?” C’mon, get it together and just ask her.” He lowered his voice. “Can you see me?”
“Of course, I can see you, just not very clear. But I can see enough to know it’s you from your profile picture. If that's what you mean. Here ...”
She wiped her hand on her sweater and held it up with her palm toward Milo. He leaned forward. Slowly she reached toward his face and traced the contours of his jaw, cheekbones and the bridge of his nose lightly with her fingertips. Then, she slid her hand up to the top of his head and rubbed her palm across the soft nubby waves a few times. “Do you always wear your hair like this?”
Milo's Journey Page 2