Blood Orange

by Brenda Spalding

  "Well, hello again, Sheriff," Gramps called out as the car came to a halt.

  Gabe, with surprising agility for a six-footer, quickly jumped out of the cruiser and—donning a pair of reflective sunglasses—called out, "Hello, Mr. Hollister, Nora, Father.”

  "Gabe, I'd like you to meet Father Miguel Lopez. He comes to say the mass for the workers on Sundays," Gramps said introducing the two.

  "Pleased to meet you, Father. I'm sure the workers appreciate your traveling to them," Gabe offered—firmly shaking the shorter priest’s outstretched hand.

  The old priest looked at Gabe and Nora—smiling. He had a funny feeling that these two might need his services in the not too distant future. Removing the purple silk ceremonial stole from around his neck, along with the white cotton surplice in which he’d said the Mass, he answered, "Thank you, my son. Sorry I cannot stay to talk. I have other groves to visit before it gets too hot. This black cassock is not designed for the highest sun," he said pulling at the floor-length garment.

  Father Miguel left them and climbed into a derelict, early-sixties Pontiac Catalina sedan. There was no way anyone could tell what color it originally had been. Most of the paint had worn off, bleached by the sun, and someone had used their finger to write “baptize me” in the dust obscuring the back window.

  Gabe returned his attention to Nora and her grandfather. "I thought I'd drop by and give you guys an update on the Tito situation."

  "I hope you threw away the key to his cell," Nora snarled, unable to suppress her anger at what Tito had clearly done to cheat his own crew.

  "Not exactly," Gabe answered her sourly. "We had him in a cell with another guy who was up on drug charges. The two idiots got to talking, and some yahoo bailed them both out just before midnight."

  "Do you know who posted his bail?" Nora demanded. "I can't believe that dirty coyote got out."

  "His bail was not set very high, just three thousand, and with a good bail bondsman, that's only three hundred dollars. I suspect the other man, Richie Cantura, had a bit to do with helping him make bail. I'm having one of my men try to trace it back. The thing is: you don't get any favors from Cantura without having to pay it back, in spades. If not with money, then you work it off. “Richie is in with some pretty bad people. We caught him peddling cocaine, and hoped we could put him away for a long while. Now he's out, I don't expect we'll see him anytime soon."

  "So, if I hear you right, this guy Richie is in with a group of drug dealers. Now they may have Tito working for them, too?" Nora asked.

  “It may be worse than that. Rumor says Richie is a small fish in one of the big drug cartels. I've been getting some information off the streets. I'm not sure how reliable it is, though."

  Gramps had been listening, "A drug cartel? Really—up here in Myakka? I thought they were mostly down in Miami, not up here."

  "Sir, they are spreading all over Florida. The smuggling of drugs into this country is getting worse every year. This cartel is organized from Columbia and is the worst of the lot."

  Gabe was silent for a moment. "Nora, be careful if Tito shows up around here. He should head straight for Ybor City and his family, if he's smart. Unfortunately, I doubt he is."

  Nora offered her hand to Gabe. "Thanks for coming by, Sheriff. We'll call you if he shows up."

  Gabe took her hand and held it longer than usual for a casual moment. Their eyes locked. Nora broke first. "Well, goodbye, Sheriff. Come by anytime." She walked over to his patrol car with him. They stood there facing each other like statues, and just as silent.

  "Nora, Rosita will be waiting for us back at the house," Gramps said, breaking the spell. Nora and Gramps climbed into the old jeep, and roaring away, headed for the house and Rosita's waiting breakfast.

  Gabe got back inside his car, reflexively turned the key and started the engine and drove away distracted.

  Chapter Five

  Doctor Winter's office was in his house—a rambling, older Victorian style with a wraparound porch. The waiting room was also the reception room. It was in the original dining room. Dark wood wainscoting covered the lower half of the walls. Faded wallpaper that was decades out of date took over the top half. Doc's exam room was across the hall in what used to be the sitting room.

  "Frank, about time Nora got you in here," Doctor Winters said, scolding Gramps. "At your age, you can't leave things to chance. Sit up on the table, and we'll give you a once-over." Doc was in his sixties and had been around for most of the births and deaths in the area. He was an old-time general practitioner.

  "Doc, this is a waste of your time and mine," Gramps said—struggling a bit to climb up on the exam table. The only staff was a receptionist who was also his nurse. Nurse Clara Hill was a crusty woman in her fifties. She had retired from the Army Medical Corps and had a drill sergeant attitude toward the patients. But they all knew that underneath her gruff exterior was a heart of gold.

  "Not a waste of my time. I get paid for taking care of you," Doc pulled the stethoscope out of his pocket and put it around his neck.

  "Unbutton a couple of your shirt buttons, and I'll have a listen. Nora tells me that you are forgetting things a bit lately."

  "Nora is a worry wart."

  "Maybe, maybe not," Doc said putting the stethoscope to Gramps’ chest. "Take a deep breath—and again." He moved around the table to reach behind his patient. "Take a breath and hold it." Judging by the look on his face, he was not happy with what he was hearing.

  "Frank, your lungs are not functioning as good as they should, and I heard a bit of a murmur in there. You're not a spring chicken anymore. You need to take it a bit easier. Cut back on the hours at the Grove."

  "Ah, you worry too much, just like Nora," declared the old man.

  "Look, Frank, I'm here if you want to talk. We can go into the kitchen. Clara always has the coffee on. We can just talk like old friends. You do understand I'm your friend, as well as your doctor."

  "Maybe another time. I've got things to do," Gramps said.

  "Level with me. Are you feeling okay? Is something bothering you?"

  "The only thing bothering me is people worrying about me." Gramps took a breath and made a decision. "I give up. You want to hear what's bothering me? I'm worried about what is gonna happen to the grove when I'm gone. If Joe had lived, I'd have it planned out already. God, I miss my son. I love Nora, don't misunderstand me, but I want my son back. I want Joe back. I want what should have been." A tear escaped and ran down the old man's cheek. He swiped at it with a hand that had seen years of hard work. He was embarrassed that Doc had seen him crying.

  "Aw, Frank," Doc placed a hand on his shoulder. "I understand. Remember I lost my brother, Donald, in Viet Nam—right at the end of the war. We were going to set up practice together. I think of him most every day. But what's wrong with Nora?" Doc queried softly. "She has a degree in agriculture and another in business management."

  "Nora is great, but she's a female. She'll get married and have kids. Maybe move away. I'll be left with the farm and no one to give it to."

  "Frank, women work now, just like men. They raise families and still have great jobs. Look at Nurse Hill. She was in the army, for Pete's sake. She was in Viet Nam serving her country and now she's working here. Did you know she has three grown children and seven grandchildren? Talk to Nora about what she wants to do. She just might surprise you."

  Gramps buttoned his shirt and made his way off the exam table. "I guess you're right. But what if she learns the business and then walks away?"

  "If Nora has anything to say about it, she will leave only if you chase her away. Think about it."

  They walked out together to see Nurse Hill. "Clara, I would like you to make an appointment for Frank here. He needs some tests done at Manatee Memorial.

  "Whoa. You never said anything about tests," Gramps protested.

  "Don't work yourself up about it. Just some routine things, a blood test to start. I want to check out your heart and lungs, but
I can't do those things here. It will take a single day out of your busy schedule. Frank, you're over seventy. Time to make sure that everything under the hood is in running condition."

  Nora came in the door to pick up her crotchety ol' gramps. She could tell by the look on his face that he was not happy. "Well, how did it go?" she asked both men.

  "Basically, he's fine, but I'm sending him to Manatee Memorial for some routine tests. Nurse Hill will give you a call once everything is set up," said Doc Winters.

  “I don't see what the big deal is," Gramps said. "I'm getting old and forgetting stuff, so what?" He was still spoiling for a fight, but Nora could tell it was all bluff.

  "Don't worry, Doc. You get him signed up, and I'll get him there.” Even if I have to hog tie him and drag him there, she thought.

  Nurse Hill called the next patient as Nora and Gramps walked out to the car. Gramps stuck his hand out for the car keys. "I'm not senile yet. I remember how to drive, and I can still find the way home."

  Nora turned over the keys, not looking forward to what would probably be a silent ride home. Gramps pulled out of the parking lot and headed away from home towards downtown Arcadia.

  "Ah, you're heading the wrong way," Nora cringed.

  "You promised me an ice cream cone if I went to that old quack. I did, so you owe me."

  Nora chuckled at the old man, "You're right. I almost forgot. Henry's on the corner has the best black raspberry. What are you going to have?"

  "Coffee, dipped in chocolate, and I can't wait."

  The sun was setting when they pulled back into the yard. Poor old Rex walked slowly down the steps to greet them. His tail wagged so hard his whole body shook.

  "Come on, old thing," Gramps said. "Pretty soon they'll be putting both of us out to pasture. I'll get you some dinner, and then I'll tell you all about that darn Doc Winters and what he's doing to me." The last bit he said for Nora's benefit.

  Nora was beat. She didn't need any supper after the double scoop of black raspberry ice cream. Gramps fed his dog, turned on the television, sat back in his recliner and was asleep with Rex by his feet in no time.

  It was still early, not yet eight o'clock. Nora fixed herself a glass of iced tea and went out to sit on the back porch. She loved this time of year. The nights were still cool enough to sit out. A couple of years ago she had convinced her grandfather to screen-in the porch. Without it, the mosquitoes were terrible and could ruin a nice evening like this. She sat back in an ancient rocker, sipping her tea and watching some bats as they swooped by, catching their dinner. She reached for the book she'd been reading, pulled the chain on the lamp beside her and looked forward to a relaxing evening. Her old cat, Hobo, hopped on her lap and after several turns settled down to nap.

  A brand new black Ford E-250 van stopped at the back gate to the old ranch next to the Hollister place. The gate had a big lock and chain holding it shut.

  Richie and Tito were inside the van, with another guy called “Santos.” Neither of the two men knew him, or whether that was his real name. They only knew he was the one running the operation tonight. He was tall and dark, with a slight build, and he was covered with prison tats. The vibe coming off him was scary, and they both knew he was not a person to be fooled with. His English was excellent, but his slight accent placed him as coming from South America. Richie thought Santos might be from Columbia, and told Tito to be very careful around him.

  "Take that bolt cutter, Richie, and cut that lock off," Santos demanded.

  "Why do I have to do it?"

  "Shit, just do it," Santos replied sternly, indicating he didn’t like his orders being questioned, not even a little. Richie grumbled, but did as he was told, slamming the van door on the way out. Both men cringed at the sound.

  "Is he loco?" grumbled Santos.

  "Probably," said Tito. He hoped no one had heard the door slam. Old man Jessup was hard of hearing, but not deaf. Richie did as he was told. The lock pinged as the hasp was cut. He tossed the lock and chain into the tall grass by the fence and walked back to the van, opening the door to get back in, but Santos stopped him.

  “Are we going to drive through closed gates, estúpido?" Santos asked, shaking his head. "And don't slam the door this time." He shook his head again in disbelief.

  Richie made a face behind his back, and closed the door softly. He walked in front of the van again and opened the gates. The van pulled through, and he hopped back in.

  They drove the van around to the side of the house where it faced the big pasture. "Get out and take a look around, and be quiet about it," Santos directed.

  Tito and Richie each went around the house. Santos stayed off to the side of the house watching the door and the pasture.

  Henry Jessup was not sleeping well that night. He'd been fighting a cold that had gotten the better of him and was up late watching television. He sensed something, not sure what exactly, and got his shotgun from the closet by the porch door. He checked to make sure it was loaded, grabbed a flashlight, and walked out onto the porch.

  He stopped, turned up his hearing aid and tried to listen for unusual sounds. His cattle were nervous and moving around in the back field. Something had them stirred up. He figured it might be a bobcat looking for a meal. He had a couple of calves out there that would be an easy target if one came calling.

  The screen door squeaked as he pushed it open. He heard something again, that’s for sure. "Shit," he exclaimed in a whisper. He walked down the wooden steps, and intentionally made some noise. "Okay, cat, you better leave my cattle alone." He swung the light around, heading for the back pasture. He completely froze as he suddenly felt the pressure of a gun to his head.

  "No gato, old man, but I can sure move like one," Santos said, slowly taking the shotgun from the old man's hands, as well as the flashlight.

  "What the hell do you think you're doing? This is my land," Henry said.

  "We don't want to take nothin', old man. We're just borrowing your pasture for a bit."

  "Like hell you are." Henry tried to turn and punch the much younger man. Santos easily knocked him down, and then, bending over, brought the butt of the shotgun down hard on the back of his skull with a crunch. Henry went limp on the ground.

  Running up and seeing Henry Jessup on the ground, Tito recoiled at the sight. "What did you do?! He's just an old man. You said no one would be hurt. You said a quick in-and-out."

  "Unforeseen circumstances," Santos shot back, smiling, a gold incisor shining in the moonlight. "Take the old man inside. I'll tend to him in a minute."

  Richie and Tito grabbed the unconscious Henry under his arms and dragged him up the porch stairs and into his living room. They placed him, not too gently, into his old recliner, which sat in front of an ancient television.

  Tito stood looking at Henry in his chair for a moment, "Sorry, old man. Shit, I hate this." Richie was pulling out drawers, looking for anything worth stealing. Tito slapped Richie on the arm, "Quit poking around. The old man ain't got two cents to put together." The men left the now-semiconscious and groaning man and went back outside.

  Santos was leaning against the van and smoking a cigarette when the men came back. "Now we wait. You two stay here. I'll be right back," he said. He pulled himself away from the van and sauntered into the house. The silence was interrupted by a crash. Tito covered his ears when Henry screamed.

  Santos was wiping his hands on a small kitchen towel as he walked back to the van. "What did you do, man?" Tito asked nervously.

  "What I had to. I just convinced him to keep his mouth shut. You’d better shut up, too,” Santos snarled. There was the distant sound of a plane engine. "Here they come."

  The small plane skimmed the tops of the tall pines by the road—coming in slow and low. The plane didn't land, as Tito expected. Even in the semi-darkness, he could see a man push a large bundle out the small side door. The plane climbed back into the dark sky and headed off to the east.

  The noise of a small plane e
ngine disturbed the quiet night. Nora knew the sound of a Piper Malibu. It was the same small plane that her parents had flown. It was coming in low over the grove. She could hear the engine, which didn’t seem quite right. It sounded like it was gliding, and then accelerating again. And one of the pistons was off a bit. A cold chill raced up her spine as her parent’s crash crossed her mind.

  She stood up, dislodging Hobo, her big silver tabby, who was curled up in her lap. Looking into the distance, she tried to spot the culprit that had interrupted her evening—spying its silhouette as it tipped its wings back and forth. Suddenly it dipped below the tree line, and she waited to hear the crash. The engine didn't stop, however, and there was no crash. She watched it reappear back in the night sky and fly away to the east.

  Off in the distance, headlights from a car or a truck pierced the dark over on the Jessup's land. She followed the headlight beams as they moved, first to where she thought the plane would crash, and then back down the dirt track, to the main road. It was too dark and too far away to tell what kind of vehicle it was.

  "How odd," she said, talking to the cat that was now winding around her legs. "Tomorrow morning, I think I'll take Jasper and ride over to the Jessup's, and check if he's alright," she added—picking up her book and climbing the stairs. She was still uneasy once she got into bed, and had some trouble falling asleep.

  The morning was shrouded in a light fog when Nora came down for breakfast.

  "Ola," Rosita said, greeting her. "Once the fog burns off, the man on the television said it will be a nice clear day. That man that does the weather, he is very handsome. You need to find someone like that—a handsome man with a profession." She filled Nora's coffee cup and put a plate with a Spanish omelet and fresh biscuit in front of her

  "You have been pushing me to get married since I was sixteen, Rosita," Nora laughed. "One of these days, I'll surprise you and do it. Or I could just become a nun, and then you won't have to worry about my love life at all."