My Name Is River Blue

by Noah James Adams

  "It's like this, River. SC wanted another running back, but it wasn't a critical need. Same for a receiver. They wanted you more than they did anyone else, and they couldn't get you without Ant. They didn't have a spot for me if both of you accepted, so the only way they would give me an offer is for one of you not to go. When you told me you guys were accepting, I had no choice."

  "You told me you had other offers, Max. Why didn't you take one of them?"

  Max was surprised that I didn't understand. His voice grew louder as he explained. "And be the first man in my family who wasn't good enough for SC to make him an offer? My old man already hated me because I couldn't play QB1. He was always proud of me until you came along in junior Hawks and took QB1 from me. That's the day he started slapping me around when he drank. You ruined everything."

  Big Bill threw off his shock and stood towering in a threatening posture over Max. "So you thought it was worth killing two innocent boys so you could play football for SC? Just so the father that abused you would have something to brag about at the club when he got drunk?"

  "Please sit down, Mr. Summers," I ordered. I gave Big Bill a look that I hoped told him to let me handle things. He sat down and held his head in his hands. "Tell me about the truck, Max."

  Max nodded his head, and then he smiled as if he had just solved a difficult puzzle. "So that's how you knew it was me. Manny snooped around the trucking company, and Skinner caved, didn't he? Or either Manny bribed him. He had no idea why I borrowed a truck so I'm sure he fell apart if Manny hinted that there was a connection with a fatal accident."

  Big Bill interrupted again. "You mean the assistant manager of my trucking company? How was he involved?" I gave Bill a nasty look that he understood meant to shut his mouth.

  Max spoke to me and avoided looking at his uncle. "Skinner was the assistant manager when my father owned it too. He was the only one who knew I borrowed a truck, but he never knew why. Before I ever needed a truck, I caught him embezzling a little money by shaving it off truck rental fees. I told him that it would be our secret but that he owed me. When I needed a truck, he was in no position to ask questions or object. I guess Manny scared him worse than I did."

  The barn party came back to me. I remembered that Max left much earlier than Ant and I did. It was right after I told him of my decision to go to SC. He had plenty of time to drive thirty minutes to get the truck from the yard and to be waiting for us to drive by the Thomas farm. It wasn't easy, but I kept my emotions under control and encouraged him to speak freely.

  "Okay, Max. How about Carlee? Tell me everything that happened."

  "I had a couple of days off from the team, so I came up here for a party in my Uncle Bill's neighborhood. I was sleeping off a hangover at his house, and when I woke up, I looked out the window and noticed him in the garden. I went downstairs to find some aspirin at the same time Carlee walked into the house. She was upset.'

  "Carlee said her father knew that a truck ran Ant's car off the road before you ever told anyone, and you knew the truck was from Lucky Trucking. I'm the one that called Uncle Bill and I never knew I slipped up by saying that a truck hit you. I couldn't let Carlee talk to her father until I had time to think of a good story. If I'd had more time to think, I would have just told them that I drove by the accident scene and saw a dented truck there that I thought was involved in the accident.'

  "Instead, I panicked and blurted out the truth to Carlee. That I drove the truck. I asked her to let me explain, but she just screamed at me and screamed at me. I held her and told her to calm down so we could talk. I knew I could make her understand why I had to do it, if she would just listen to me. Then we could have both talked to her father, and all three of us could have been on the same page and covered for me. It wasn't my fault that she jerked away from me and hit her head on the fireplace.'

  "When her cell buzzed with your text that you were looking for her, I saw a way to get out of the mess. So I sent you a message back and watched for you, and when you came in, I walked out to Uncle Bill in the gardens and acted like I just woke up. He was ready to come in and have some coffee, so we walked back together. I stopped off to use the bathroom, and he went ahead of me and found you with Carlee."

  Everyone else in the dining room was quiet. Big Bill was still sitting with his head in his hands and his eyes down. He was muttering so low that I had to listen carefully to understand him.

  "How could you? How could you kill my baby after all I did for you? I tried. Your father was worthless, but I tried to help you, and you killed my baby. How could you act like you did nothing?"

  Max stared at the floor as he spoke to his uncle. "I'm sorry, Uncle Bill. I knew if I could get her to calm down, she would forgive me. If River had wanted to cause trouble for us with what Carlee said, she could have denied telling him anything about a truck. You could have backed her up. River and Carlee would have broken up like you wanted, and no one would have ever known I caused the wreck. Everything would have been fine if she had just talked to me instead of yelling and fighting me."

  Bill Summers shook his head. "You blame Carlee? And you honestly expect me to believe that you thought Carlee and I would just forgive and forget what you did to those boys? What were you going to do if River's attorney attacked me in court and asked me under oath when and how I first heard that there was a truck involved in the boys' accident? I would have told the truth. Were you going to back me up? Or were you going to say you never called me and made it look as if I drove the truck or paid someone to drive it?"

  Max said nothing, and I think his silence answered Big Bill. From the look on Summers' face, I think he was wondering, as I was, how he missed seeing so much of the real Max. I believe we were both curious to know how many of Max's statements were honest answers of a delusional mind, and how many were intended to play us for fools while he set up his next move.

  I remembered an evening years ago when I was a freshman in high school. It was the night that the cops arrested Casey, Josh, and Joe on drug charges. After all that time, I knew why they were stopped, and I confirmed it with Max. "Our first year on the varsity, you called the cops on Joe and the guys, didn't you? So you would be sure to start at tailback?"

  Max admitted the truth and acted almost proud. "Yeah, I called before we ever went outside and before they offered us a ride. I heard them talking in the locker room. I knew they were holding and planning to smoke before they went home. They deserved to be busted because they had their minds on smoking dope instead of what was best for the team. The game meant nothing to them and everything to me."

  "Tell me about Papa." I directed Max. "Why run him off the road? Did you have a good reason for that, too?"

  "Uncle Bill said that if we bought the Harper Park land that the project would be complete by the time I finished college, and that he would put me in charge and give me part ownership of the whole center. I was never going to have the size to play pro ball, but with the new center, I would have a great job making good money. I could prove to my father that I wasn't a loser. The only problem was that Papa refused to sell the land to us, and if we gave the city the money to buy it, he had the swing vote on the council to stop them selling it to us. He just couldn't see reason. What was so great about that rundown park anyway? Don't you see how crazy he was?"

  I'm not sure how I did it, but I kept my emotions steady when I really wanted to beat Max until his own mother wouldn't recognize him. "Okay, Max. I understand." I looked at Big Bill. "Mr. Summers, I'm sorry, but I thought you were behind it all, and I owe you an apology."

  Big Bill nodded his head. I had never seen him look so defeated. I can't imagine how hard it was for him to know that Max was responsible for Carlee's death, and for trashing his family name with his crimes.

  "Mr. Summers, do you remember Gabe?" I asked. "The Mexican guy that your wife liked before you were married?"

  "Yeah, I do," he mumbled.

  "He was my father."

  Big Bill understoo
d immediately what I was asking. "I'm sorry about your father, but as far as I know, it was an accident. I wanted Beth, but I would have never hurt that boy to get her. Screwing over your competition is a long way from physically harming someone. I've never crossed that line."

  I knew as much of the truth as I was ever going to know. I believed that my father's death was both an accident and a mystery that would never be solved.

  I thought that beyond high school and college football, Max's father failed at most things, including growing his businesses and loving his son. Big Bill was successful in football and business, and in his own misguided way, he attempted to be a good father to his children. He was an asshole, but he was not a killer. Max was both. Max, my friend. Ant's friend and Carlee's cousin. A boy Papa cheered and encouraged. A friend we all supported while his father abused him emotionally and physically. A friend who chose to earn his father's approval even when it meant betraying the people who really cared for him.

  It was incredible to me that anyone would take another person's life for the petty reasons that Max did. Exactly how crazy was his world where murder was an acceptable tool to continue a family sports tradition that existed only to stroke small-town egos? What kind of person rationalizes that no one's life is as precious as his own need to seek power and stature that are beyond the imaginations of ordinary people? Why did he act surprised that anyone would suggest that there were other choices available to him besides destroying the lives of people who loved him?

  Max was my best argument in favor of capital punishment because I thought it should be reserved for sociopathic scum to whom other peoples' lives meant nothing. I knew a true sociopath would never grow a conscience and would be forever dangerous to society because he didn't work on the same value system as the majority of people did. Max could never feel sorry for his actions. The best he could do, was feel sorry that he was caught, and no matter what he promised, he would resort to the same solutions to get what he wanted. The only difference was that he would be more careful in the future.

  I was surprised when Max stood and slowly walked towards me. He dropped to his knees in front of me and begged me to forgive him. I knew that I shouldn't, but I briefly felt sorry for him as he cried against my leg and repeatedly mumbled his apologies. In all the time I had known him, I had never seen him as such a pathetic excuse for a human being. My anger lessened, and I felt incredibly sad.

  For a few moments, my mind drifted away to memories of what Max took from me.

  Ant and I were in our room at Tolley House where he made up one of his songs that was so bad I begged him to stop. He showed me that grin that could light up a black night, and I heard him say, "RB, one day, I'm gonna get you to smile and sing with me." Then I saw Carlee in our tent at Deer Lake. She leaned over me and planted small kisses on my nose, my cheeks, and my lips. "River, I love you so much, and I will forever." I smiled back, and then she was gone. Suddenly, I was in Harper Park and saw Papa's big hands grasping the football. "If you just use the right grip, you're halfway to throwing a good pass." He grinned and his Santa Claus eyes twinkled as they often did.

  Those people I loved were never coming back because Max selfishly decided to rip them away from the lives of all the people who loved them. It was the same Max, who was kneeling at my feet and quietly begging me to forgive him.

  "Please, River. My dad messed up my head. You know how he was. Let me walk out of here, and I'll leave town and never come back."

  I could hardly believe what Max was suggesting or that it was logical to him. "Do you really think you can kill three people and just walk away? Like their lives didn't matter?"

  Max stood to face me. He abruptly stopped sobbing, leaned his head in closer, and whispered, so only I could hear him. He was a different Max, and the callous tone of his voice was chilling. I tightened my grip on the Luger and moved my arm back slightly to keep the separation I needed.

  "Okay, River. I just wanted to get out and call the cops anyway. At first, I played the pitiful punk for you, but then I saw you don't have it in you to shoot me. I'm going to tell the cops that I confessed because you threatened me with a gun. Fuck Uncle Bill, if he believes what I said. Dad's lawyer will get me off, and you'll go to prison for killing Carlee. You worthless half-breed bastard. People like you don't decide what happens to people like me. The only chance you got is to run away from here while you can."

  Max held his defiant face only inches from mine, and stared at me with the same fierce hatred I had seen in his eyes when I beat him for QB1 of our junior high team. For years, our friendship had been a lie that was always going to end with our confrontation in Big Bill's restaurant where we both played out a script written long ago on a green field in Harper Park. We had come too far and at that moment, attempting to change our destinies would have been as futile as trying to stop a bullet that had already left the barrel of a gun.

  I thought about what Max called me. A worthless half-breed bastard. I remembered where I saw it twice before. I was drained, but my resolve was firm. I looked directly into Max's eyes. "You're right. Your father's money would probably buy you out of trouble, or at least get you a good deal. But you're wrong about what I got inside me, Max. Dead wrong."

  I fired one round from the Luger into Max's heart.

  I caught Max in my arms and watched his blue eyes widen briefly before his light flickered and faded away, leaving only a lifeless stare under heavy lids. I slowly eased Max's body to the floor. He was dead.

  In addition to the sharp echo of the gunshot, I had been aware of other sudden noises in the room when the men scrambled low in their chairs, some of them squatting beneath the table.

  "Mr. Mayor, you got a cell phone?"

  Mayor Addison peeked over the table. "Yes, but I haven't tried to use it."

  "Use it and call the cops. Tell them that I shot someone, and I want to turn myself in."

  People have asked me how I acted so calmly before and after I shot Max Summers. It was like asking me why I showed little emotion when I told Sergeant Cox that Ant was dead. Why my mind took a hike for days after I saw Carlee's dead body. The answer is I don't know except that each case was so surreal that I felt like I was acting in a play.

  It took less than ten minutes for every cop on duty to surround the parking lot of Big Bill's Barbeque and Wings. I think that they were sad that it was not their very first hostage situation because they appeared disappointed when I quietly surrendered as soon as they arrived.

  On a Tuesday night in March of 2007, sirens wailed through the streets and marked the end of an era when Harper Springs was only a sleepy little town where Hawks' football was the biggest news. The county business leaders were less than happy that I became their most famous citizen, not by playing football, but by committing a crime that led the national news media to cover a sensational story that would be forever associated with the community.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Of all the cops who could have searched and cuffed me at the restaurant, I was glad that it was Sergeant Cox. He told me how awkward it was to take me into custody, and he was glad that I was cooperative. I guess he would have had a hard time explaining to little Stevie why he had to shoot me. As it was, it must have been very hard for him to answer his son's questions, and I regretted how my actions affected Stevie and the other kids who once idolized me.

  A couple of weeks later, Sergeant Cox told me that he was glad that I was cleared of causing Carlee's death, and that he never did believe that I was guilty. He also said that while he understood how anyone could have temporarily lost it and shot Max, he wished I could have controlled my emotions and took time to think before acting. I didn't tell him that I did think, and I simply couldn't allow the slimmest possibility that Max could go unpunished for his crimes.

  Since I skipped town the last time, I wasn't surprised that Judge Folk decided to make the Bergeron County Jail my new home until my fate could be decided. A person charged with a crime in our small town us
ually didn't have to wait as long for a trial as someone might in a larger city, but because of budget cuts, there was a backlog of cases. Justice was slow enough that I lived in the county jail for almost a year.

  The solicitor toyed with the idea of charging me with several crimes, but he kept it simple, charging me with first-degree murder. Mr. Lee, my attorney, argued that the shooting was a crime of passion and that the charge should be voluntary manslaughter. He pleaded for the judge to give the jury that additional choice to deliberate and Judge Folk ruled in our favor.

  In our state, a conviction of first-degree murder meant life in prison and in some cases, even the death penalty, while the sentence for voluntary manslaughter could be from two to thirty years in prison. To me, the sentencing guideline of two to thirty years was insane, in that it gave a judge a ridiculously large amount of discretion in his sentencing. Mr. Lee advised me to be very respectful because it was a bad idea to piss off a judge who had so much leeway.

  "No shit, Mr. Lee. Really? I'm not that stupid," I said.

  "Well, River, I have to cover all bases when my client is dumb enough to shoot someone in front of twelve leaders of the community where he will be tried."

  I hate it when I'm out smart-assed.

  Everyone called my case "high profile." In the past, I had received tremendous media attention as the state kid turned star football player who lost his best friend and his future in a tragic accident. There was my arrest and trial for causing my girlfriend's death, and my subsequent flight from the law, followed by the whole movie-of-the-week drama of my return to Harper Springs for justice or vengeance, depending on how someone wanted to view it. It was big news that I was arrested for killing my friend and teammate, who was also a member of a prominent local family. It was much bigger news that I shot him after his startling admissions of three homicides. The story rapidly spread and drew national attention.