by Jack July
“Redneck?”
“Okay, I wasn’t gonna say that. But, yeah.”
Amy smiled and nodded.
“Follow me.”
“Yes Sir.”
Dr. Earle was right; it was a climb. Switchbacks, fire roads and shallow creeks seemed to go on forever. They drove about an hour before they reached a clearing. The two-bedroom cabin was a fantasy that dreams are made of. It had running water and electricity but both were off-grid. The power came from solar panels and a back-up generator. Off to the right, Amy saw a well-cleared gravel circle with a big white X: a helipad. She looked a little closer at the tactical set up. “Does Liz see you?”
Dr. Earle cracked a little grin. “That’s classified.” He thought for a moment and said, “You call the President Liz?”
“No, not directly. When Adele and I are talking about her that’s how we refer to her.”
They climbed the three steps to the porch. Dr. Earle reached for the front door handle, stopped and said, “‘Adele?’ You call the Director of the CIA Adele?”
“Yeah, she’s kinda like a big sister, or a mom.”
“You have powerful connections.”
“She’s my boss.”
“And yet you treat her like a friend.”
“I try to treat everyone the same.”
“And that’s why you have powerful connections.” He opened the door and stepped aside. “Welcome to my home.”
She walked in, looking lovingly at a large fieldstone fireplace. “That’s beautiful.”
“Yes, I like it too. If I don’t get it started, we’ll freeze to death.” He checked his watch and stopped. “There is something I want to show you.”
They cut through the kitchen of the open concept first floor and out onto the back deck. Amy took in a quick breath. “Oh wow.”
“Yeah, I never get tired of it.”
In the distance, the sunset was a blaze of colors. The back porch hung over a cliff on the side of the mountain. Off in the distance, the Ohio River was the sparkling jewel in an incredible view. “I’m going to start the fire.” Amy nodded and sat down on a wooden glider, never taking her eyes off the view until the sun disappeared. When she walked back into the house, the fire was roaring. Dr. Earle was already sitting on the couch with a pen and legal pad. Across from him there was a big, overstuffed leather chair with a pen, legal pad and a bottle of water on an end table next to it.
“Take a seat, let’s get started. We only have a week.”
She let out a heavy sigh. “Okay, what do you want to know?”
“Have you been through this before?”
“I’ve talked through problems with my family and friends.”
“This is a bit different than that. This is not an event. This is a process.
I would like you to pick up that pad and paper and draw a picture of yourself.”
“I’m not much of an artist.”
“That’s okay. I’m not a critic.”
She picked up the pad and did as instructed. He grabbed a detective novel off the end table and started to read. Glancing up, she could only see the name of the author, D.B. Corey. Fifteen minutes later, she handed the tablet across to him. His studied it for about two minutes, made some note on it, tore the note from the pad and handed it back to her. “Tell me what you see.”
“A bad drawing.”
“In the picture, you’re frowning. Why?”
“I don’t know, maybe my state of mind?”
“Why are you here?”
She thought for a moment. “Because I can’t control my anger and I… I mean, she, got violent with someone I love.”
“She?”
“Yes, Fenian.”
“Has she done that before?”
“No, not really. Not like this. She got mad at my husband once. But he knew how to handle it.”
“This started after your last mission to Romania?”
“Yeah.”
“What do you remember about that?”
“I remember some of it, and some of it’s gone. I can’t remember parts of it.”
“Does Fenian remember?”
“Doesn’t work like that. I’m there with her. You see, I always tell her when she needs to go to work.”
“Like in Buddy’s?”
“No. You see, that’s the problem. I can handle things like that. But lately she tells me when she needs to go to work.”
“Like in Buddy’s?”
“Yeah.”
“You can’t stop her?”
“No.”
“That’s a problem.”
“Ya’ think?”
“So, she would have killed those men in the bar.”
“Oh, yeah, she would’ve enjoyed that.”
“Well then, we need to find out what happened in Romania.”
“I have a feeling you already know.”
“I know some, but you are the one that needs to recall it. We are done for this evening. Now you have some homework.”
He stood and walked to a floor-to-ceiling bookcase. After a brief search he climbed a short ladder and selected a book. He fanned through it looking for previous notes, found none and handed it to her. “Start on chapter eight.”
She looked at the cover and read aloud, “Rebuilding Shattered Lives, Treating Complex PTSD and Disassociative Disorders, James A. Chu, MD.”
He handed her another book. “Here’s a medical dictionary.”
“I’m well read.”
“Okay then.” He smiled with a little nod. “Would you like a mug of hot chocolate?”
“That would be great, thank you.”
“Cookies?”
She looked down and rubbed her belly, “What do ya’ think, Katherine, cookies?” She looked back at Dr. Earle. “She says yes.”
Amy had been reading for about five minutes when he brought her a mug and set it on the end table. “Hey um, Dr. Earle?”
“Yes?”
She looked embarrassed. “Can I have that dictionary back?”
He smiled. “Sure.”
Chapter 12
At 6:00 a.m. Carla Jo pulled the Mercedes-Benz SLR McLaren 722, a half million-dollar birthday gift from Amy, in front of the Braxton Trucking offices, parked, got out and looked around. It was the first time she had been there since the second and third warehouses were added. The place was already a hive of activity. The smell of diesel hung thick in the air as a line of trucks rumbled and clacked their way to the gate. At the far warehouse, drivers were hooking two trailers at the dock doors while others climbed under and over their trucks with flashlights, doing pre- trip inspections.
She walked into the office and was bombarded by even more activity. Parker, the dispatcher, was handing out bills of lading and relaying truck and trailer numbers to Josh, the yard manager, who yelled into the drivers’ lounge, getting everyone up and on their way. It seemed chaotic but, after a few moments of watching, it was indeed a well-oiled machine. Carla Jo never went to the terminal during normal working hours, only in the evenings at the end of the fiscal quarter when she went over finances with Joseph. Parker was one of only a few who knew who she was.
A couple of the drivers noticed Carla Jo standing in the lobby, looking around. Even in her late fifties, she maintained a stylish elegance. Couple that with a few tricks of modern medicine and she looked nowhere near her age. A burly driver with a fine selection of prison tattoos approached her. “Hey, baby, can I do anything for you? I do mean anything.”
Carla Jo looked up at him and smiled. “What can you do for me? Really? Well honey, let me tell ya. You can get your big handsome self in one of those trucks and make us some money.” After strutting past him, she playfully slapped him on the rear and said, “Get on it.” She turned and looked toward the dispatch desk and called out, “Parker!”
Parker looked up, surprised to see her standing there. “Mrs. Brown?”
“I’ll be in Joe’s office. Come see me when you get a chance.”
; “Yes ma’am.”
The driver walked over to Parker. “Who is that?”
“Mrs. Brown, the owner of the company.”
“I thought this was Joseph’s company.”
“He owns half. She owns the other half.”
“Oh shit, I’m fired.”
“What did you do?”
“I hit on her.”
Parker chuckled. “Nah, that probably made her laugh. Don’t worry about it. Trailer 115, Shepard Industries, go.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
Thirty minutes later, Parker walked into Joe’s office and sat down. “Yes, ma’am?”
“Things seem to be going okay?”
“Yes ma’am. Joe rarely handles anything outside the office. The drivers have their routes, and Josh and I handle everything else.”
“Anything I should know?”
“No ma’am, things are goin’ smooth.”
“Okay, I’m going to stick around in case you need anything. Otherwise, just do your thing.”
“Yes ma’am.” He got up and started to leave. “Ma’am?”
“Yes?”
“Is Joe alright?”
“He’ll be fine.”
“What happened? The rumor is his sister beat him up.”
“There’s a bit more to it than that. It’s a family thing. He’ll be fine.”
The phone rang on the desk and Carla Jo answered. After listening intently she replied, “It will be handled right away.” Carla Jo looked up at Parker, “We need a truck at Tri-Mark ASAP.”
“Yeah, well, Mr. Chambers handles that.”
“Where is he?”
“He’ll be here around nine.”
Carla Jo checked her watch: 7:30 a.m. “Have you ever heard the term, ‘customer service?’”
Parker shook his head. “Everything is an emergency to those people. Mr. Chambers will handle it. ’Sides, a woman he likes works there.”
Carla Jo glared at him over the top of her reading glasses. “Parker, do you know how Doc Henderson and I took a little two-person operation and turned it into the largest medical provider in central Alabama?”
“I would guess, customer service?”
“Exactly. Now, would you please get a truck moving in that direction.”
“We don’t have a truck. Penske will be dropping off one that had to be serviced in a couple of hours.”
Joe’s office had a picture window that looked out across the yard. Carla Jo scanned looking for something, then pointed her finger at a Peterbilt parked under an awning. It was beautiful, painted in Miami Hurricane colors, orange with a green stripe and the university logo on the door. It was finished off with a chrome bumper, fender skirts, frame covers, polished wheels with lug nut covers and twin bologna cut eight inch stacks with a chrome train horn. It was powered by a C-16 Caterpillar making 625 HP. It was every trucker’s wet dream. “Then, what is that?”
“Oh... ah, no ma’am, that’s Mr. Chambers’ truck.”
Carla Jo looked skeptical. “He owns his own truck?”
“No ma’am. Joe leased, well, built it for him, but it’s his. Nobody is allowed to drive it.”
“That’s ridiculous. Put a body in that truck and get em’ on the road.”
“No ma’am.”
“Scuse me?”
“You might want to call Joe.”
“I’ll take care of it myself.” Carla Jo marched into the drivers’ lounge where two men were watching Sports Center arguing basketball. She pointed at the skinny black kid. “What’s your name?”
“Simon.”
“Simon, I need you to make a run to Tri-Mark.”
“Yes ma’am. My truck back?”
“No, I want you to drive the orange one.”
He began to stutter. “W-w-well, um, that be Mr. Chambers’ truck.”
Carla Jo was getting frustrated. “No, young man, that’s Braxton Trucking’s truck. You can get in that truck or you can go home.”
Simon nodded, reached down, picked up his playmate cooler and said, “See ya tomorrow, Parker.”
Parker stopped him at the door and whispered, “Go to the warehouse and sit in Josh’s office. I’ll call you.”
“I’ll do it,” said the other man. He appeared to be in his forties and had an accent Carla Jo couldn’t place.
Carla Jo sighed. “Finally. Thank you. What is your name?”
“Paul, Paul Sitzberger.”
“Parker, give him the keys.”
“No ma’am. I really recommend you call Joseph.”
“Dammit, never mind.” Carla Jo walked around the counter by Parker’s desk to the key cabinet, opened it and saw that set number one had a tag on which was written, B. Chambers. She gave Paul the keys and went back to Joe’s office.
Parker whispered to Paul as he walked out the front door, “Look, you’re new here; you’re not making any friends.”
Paul smiled back. “I’m not here to make friends. I’m here to make money.”
Carla Jo called out, “Parker!”
Parker walked into her office. “When Joe gets back, the three of us are going to sit and have a little conversation.”
Parker shook his head. “Oh yeah, trust me, there will be one hell of a conversation.”
Amy woke to the smell of bacon and coffee. She had slept well in the cool and quiet of the mountains. There were no phones, other than Doc Earle’s. No T.V. or radio. All outside influences were nullified.
“Smells good.”
Dr. Earle gave her a knowing smile. “I figured you would be hungry. My wife ate like a horse when she was pregnant. So, what did you get out of your homework?”
“Nothing I didn’t already know. I’ve been damaged. I’ve healed. I’ve been damaged more. I healed again. I fight for normal, whatever that is. I wish I didn’t have to fight so hard. It’s just the way it is.”
“It’s been that way since you were assaulted as a child, right?”
She slowly nodded her head.
“Would you like to lose those feelings?”
“I don’t know if I would or not. It makes me who I am.”
“Do you like who you are?”
“Most of the time.”
“When don’t you like who you are?”
“When I get angry, I get violent. I can’t stop it.”
Doctor Earle pulled a carton of eggs out of the refrigerator, “How do you like your eggs?”
“Over easy. I like to dip my toast in the yolk.”
“I didn’t make toast. I made biscuits.”
Amy seemed surprised. “You know how to make biscuits?”
“Canned biscuits.”
“Oh.”
“I forgot who my guest was; real Southern girls don’t eat canned biscuits, do they?”
“Just the lazy ones.”
“Oh. Okay then.”
“Thank you, Doctor Earle. I’m grateful for what I get.”
“Maybe you can teach me how to make real biscuits.”
“Sure. Flour, shortening and buttermilk.”
“I’ll put those on the list.”
They sat and ate, not saying much. Amy picked up the plates and began to run dishwater. Dr. Earle stopped her. “I’ll take care of that.”
“Sorry, it’s a habit. That was good, thanks. Do you think we could go for a hike or something? I like to exercise.”
“Absolutely, we can take a walk up the mountain. But, you’re pregnant, so…”
“I still work out.”
“Okay then.”
A half hour later they were walking up a steep hiking trail. The Doc was huffing and puffing while Amy breezed up the mountain. At a turn on the trail, Amy was quite a few yards ahead. He briefly lost sight of her and when he turned the corner, she was gone. He looked all around and didn’t see her. He was startled when she tapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, where did you come from?”
She pointed up. “I pulled myself up on that branch. When you wal
ked by, I dropped behind you.”
“That’s amazing. You’re five months pregnant.”
“Yeah, that surprised me too. I thought being pregnant would make me an invalid. It’s been just the opposite.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve been an athlete since I was fourteen. Then, well, you know the training I’ve been through. My knee gives me fits, my shoulder clicks, my bicep from where I was shot occasionally stings and aches, my neck, my foot... just, you know, nagging things. Since I’ve been pregnant, I feel like I’ve been healed. I feel stronger and I feel, you know, like a warrior. I feel unstoppable.”
Doc nodded. “Yeah, I’ve heard of those things before. But I didn’t hear you. You didn’t make any noise. How do you do that?”
“I sit in my deer stand at home and study the owls, hawks and bobcats. Predators know how to move. They know camouflage and angles of attack. That’s what makes a good predator. You don’t know they’re there until you feel them. Then it’s too late. By the way, I think we’re being stalked.”
“By what?”
“I’m thinking a big cat. You have panthers out here?”
“So I’m told; I’ve never seen one.”
Amy nodded, drew her .40 cal that was tucked at the small of her back and fired three shots to her left. Thirty yards away a big cat jumped up the side of some rocks and raced around the corner of a bluff.
“Jesus Christ!” exclaimed the doctor.
Amy laughed. “He’s been watching you for awhile.”
“Oh my God,” Dr. Earle said under his breath. “Did you hit him?”
“No, I just let him know we knew he was there. He doesn’t really want to bother us. He wants to know why we’re in his house. I wouldn’t kill him; predators are good for the environment. They cull the weak and the sick. They keep nature healthy. He was pretty fat. I don’t think he was hungry.”
“Is that what you do? Cull the herd?”
She thought for a moment. “No, I cull the evil. There is no evil in nature, only in man.”
They continued up the trail, then Amy stopped again. “You know what you need? A dog, a hundred pound German Shepard. Let her eat with you and sleep with you. Take her everywhere with you. Big cats don’t like dogs.”
“Her?”
“Yeah, girls are a little more interested in you than they are in themselves.”