by R Weir
“Crispin and Bruce, though I still can’t say who is who, you need to walk away from this. Not sure what Flynn owes you, but he is working on getting it back as we speak. So you need to give him more time. Isn’t that right, Flynn?”
He nodded his head, still strangely quiet for him. I wonder how much money he owes them, and if there are any others?
“We aren’t leaving until we get some cash or a piece of his hide,” said blue shirt. “So if he doesn’t cough it up, then I guess we’ll take a piece of yours too.”
Blue shirt stepped forward, put his hand on my shoulder and pushed me. I could have stood firm, for the push was nothing I couldn’t handle, but I rocked back, using the momentum to lunge forward and drive my fist into his stomach. The sound of his breathe forced out, filling the parking lot, the grunt seemingly changing the air pressure around us. He was down to the ground in a heap, in a fetal position. If he’d been sucking his thumb you’d have thought he was a huge baby on the ground.
“What the hell?” said yellow shirt, stunned by what he saw.
“Payback,” I replied. “Would you care to try me?”
He looked down at his brother, trying to decide what to do. They had always worked as a pair, so not having his wingman handy gave him pause. He decided to lunge at me with a sloppy left hand, which I dodged with ease, twisting to the side, shoving him at the shoulder away from me. Still uncertain, he turned again and charged me, but I rolled to the side as he crashed into his car, where I kicked him in the butt when he made contact, and put a couple of shots in his kidneys he’d not soon forget. He was winded now, trying to gather himself, rubbing his rear cheek and back, stalling for time. I soon found out why, as his brother was on his feet about to clobber me from the rear. But I had anticipated this, turned and elbowed him in the side of the head with enough force his head was ringing now and he was down again. I turned back and yellow shirt was moving to attack but stopped, holding his hands up that he’d had enough.
“Okay you win,” said yellow shirt.
I was sweating pretty thoroughly, thanks to the humidity, but I felt good. Flynn still stood in silence, a shocked look on his face at what I’d done. I wasn’t the tubby brother anymore who was easily pushed around. I backed away and motioned for yellow shirt to help his brother. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a hundred dollar bill.
“I don’t know what all Flynn owes you,” I said. “And I don’t know why. He will make good on his debt to you, but you must leave him alone. Bother him again and I’ll kick your ass even harder the next time.”
I took the hundred dollar bill and tossed it to yellow shirt, who, trying to catch it, nearly let his brother fall back down again, since he could hardly stand.
“Drive away boys,” I said. “We’ll be in touch.”
Off they went in their old beat-up Chevy. I had to smile, for I’d exorcised one of my past demons, one of the few moments on the trip so far I could call successful.
Chapter 13
After my scuffle I still couldn’t get Flynn to talk, but did get him to agree to at least move his stuff out of his office and stay with me at the hotel. Once there, he showered and took a nap. While he did this, I went downstairs to make a phone call. I needed to find a police resource locally and the only one I knew was a retired Polk County sheriff. With a little quick internet research I tracked him down, still living in the suburb of Clive. He remembered me and said I could stop by.
Clive was a quiet little town nestled between Windsor Heights, West Des Moines and Urbandale. Small in size, with only about 15,000 people, it was known for its outstanding Greenbelt Park and trail system, and its tough little police force, which he’d been a part of in his early law enforcement career. I found his house off of Franklin and NW 86th. I knocked on the screen door and heard a call to come in. I saw him sitting in his easy chair, the TV on, watching a replay of sports on one of the many ESPN channels. Time had taken its toll on the seventy-plus-year-old man. The hair on his head was mostly gone, signs of sunspots and skin cancer covered his wrinkled face and arms. On the phone, he’d spoken softly and carefully, and I could see hearing aids in both ears, a wireless microphone to amplify sound around his neck. There was a walker next to his chair to help him get around. He was much thinner now than I remembered him, his thick legs, arms and chest now mere toothpicks in comparison. It was much like I remembered my parents during their final days. I walked over to Bryer Campbell and softly shook his hand, the grip barely there anymore. It was hard seeing him like this, the once strong man weakened by life. For he was the man who, at my father’s insistence, had helped shape my late teen life, getting me on a better path.
“Jarvis, it’s been a while,” said Bryer.
“Yes, you were at Mom’s funeral,” I said. “I was glad you came.”
“I was moving better then. Damn stroke last year knocked me down. Nurse comes in a few hours a day to check on me since my wife passed.”
“I’m sorry to hear.”
“I miss her nagging me. Now all I have is news and sports TV to get me through the endless hours. How are you doing these days? Are you still gumshoeing?”
“Yes I am. Still living in Denver and doing fairly well. I had an adventurous year.”
“I believe I heard your name mentioned on the news. What does it feel like to be a famous local boy?”
“Better than what I was before you and dad straightened me out. I still get myself into messes, but at least it’s for the right reason.”
“I’m honored to have made a difference. As I told you years ago, very few make it out of the system successfully. The key is to stay out in the first place.”
He started coughing hard. I saw an empty water bottle on the end table. I offered to get him more to drink and he directed me to the kitchen. Finding one in the fridge, I opened it and handed it to him. He slowly drank it down.
“I’m sure you didn’t come to see an old man wither away. What can I help you with?”
“Well, my brother has gotten himself into a pickle. It involves the FBI and I’m wondering if you still have any local police contacts that I can turn to for assistance. Preferably someone on this side of town, either in West Des Moines, Clive or Urbandale.”
“Well there is someone in the West Des Moines police who is a pain in the ass but could be helpful. His name is Sterling Frakes. He is a detective, working the homicide and violent crimes division last I heard. I’d be happy to call him and see if he is willing to meet. I’m sure if you buy him a drink or dinner he’ll listen. He is a pain, as I mentioned, but it’s what makes him good at his job. What are you hoping he can help with?”
“Not sure. Right now I’m pretty much in the dark, as Flynn hasn’t told me much. Hopefully, I’ll know what to ask when we meet. I’ve found working by the seat of my pants is pretty much my style.”
“I’ll give him a buzz after you leave.”
“I’d appreciate it. If you can give him my number and have him call me, that would be great.”
“No problem. I miss being a sheriff and, at the same time, I don’t. It was better than sitting watching TV all day.”
We talked a while longer before I left of days gone by and how we first met. At the time, it had been a dark, chilling day for me. One I’d thought of often and would never forget.
Dad was determined to straighten me out after a string of events, culminating with the vase incident. There were conversations with mom on what to do and how to do it. They were both at their wits end. They knew I was on a bad path which needed to stop or else I could be lost permanently. It was a couple of weeks before they came to a conclusion. With summer upon us and school over, he took me for a long drive, his silence all the way giving me no clue of what he planned to do. The thought of being left in the woods to fend for myself crossed my mind. After a while we came to the Polk County jail, which sat on the Northeast side of town near Saylorville. The building looked modern, built recently to handle the surge of inmates, spread
across a large acreage of land, the interstate buffering it on the south, a storage lot and rock quarry to the north and railroad tracks to the west. This would be one of many visits I would make to the jail over the next month. This was where I first met Sheriff Bryer Campbell, an old friend of my father. I would see, smell and touch what the life of a criminal was like when incarcerated. In time, it would scare me like nothing else ever had.
When we arrived, he came out to meet us. Though in his late forties, he was strong, tall and handsome, carrying the uniform with a confidence. He shook hands with my father, showing a smile, then turned to me with a chilling look.
“So, this is Jarvis, the troublemaker,” he said sternly. “Son, it’s time to teach you the facts of life about where you are heading. You are going to come with me, but first turn around and put your hands behind your back.”
I looked at my father uncertain what to do. He grabbed me and spun me around, Sheriff Campbell grabbing my hands and cuffing them. My face turned from shock to fear at lightning speed as he marched me towards the prison. My father got into his car and began driving away.
Oh my god, I thought. I’m going to jail!
Chapter 14
I was driving Flynn for his meeting with Helen, the air of tension filling the passenger side of the car. We were meeting at The Tavern, with my job to act as a referee if necessary. If I’d dressed in a black and white striped shirt while carrying a whistle and yellow flag, it would have been perfect. But I stayed with dark jeans and a black polo taken from my limited packings. I, of course, had to break the silence by giving my two cents whether he cared to hear it or not.
“Be patient with what she has to say,” I said. “Listen and don’t lose your temper. She has a right to be upset with you.”
If there was a reaction, he kept it hidden under his stone face.
“The idea is to come up with a plan we can go back to Wilson with. We are trying to keep you, her and Jolene off of the streets.”
I don’t think he heard a word of it, as he remained quiet. Once inside, he saw her sitting at a booth and walked over. I could tell he wanted to embrace her, but she remained seated and he slid onto the cushion across from her. I took a seat at the bar, trying not to stare, and ordered a sandwich and a beer. There was a baseball game on the TV, which I tried to watch, but it was the Chicago Cubs, not one of my favorite teams, even though for once they were pretty good after years of being a cellar-dweller. Since their triple A minor league team was based in Des Moines, they were the team which was normally broadcast locally, much to my chagrin. But I persevered through it, for my pain was miniscule compared to Flynn and Helen’s.
As I sat trying to watch the game and not watch them, I felt someone take a seat next to me. I could smell her first, the hint of perfume providing the right fragrance to arouse the senses. She stood two to three inches shorter than I, on flat shoes, with smooth skin with makeup, short brown hair parted in the middle. She was slender with nice hips and modest chest, her dark blue slacks and blouse covered with a nice jacket. She turned and smiled at me, and I immediately recognized Roni Berry, looking older, as she should since it had been nearly twenty years since I’d seen her, but still appearing much as I remembered her. She gave me a warm embrace which I didn’t shy away from, the pangs of how I felt when I first met her all those years ago, an attraction which was immediate then and now.
“Jarvis, so good to see you again,” she said into my ear before pulling away.
“Roni. It has been a long time,” I replied. “Wow, you look great.”
“Thank you,” Roni said with a slight blush. “So do you. You’ve filled out nicely since high school. Though I don’t recall you having a beard.”
“Trying it out to see how it goes,” I said. “Gives me more of a scholarly appearance.”
“Not sure if I like it or not. It is hiding the face I used to love looking at.”
I smiled. “So, I’m guessing it’s not a coincidence you are here.”
“No, I came with Helen. I’m here to support her and entertain you. She didn’t want you to get lonely sitting while they talked. And I jumped at the chance to see you again.”
While exchanging smiles, the bartender came and took her order of a house salad and a vodka martini. I looked her up and down, seeing that time had been kind to her. Her body was much the same as I remembered, with maybe a little additional weight here and there. She had always been slender and the extra weight gave her more of a figure to admire. I pulled myself from the leering, trying to remember I was in a current relationship, even if it was a rocky one.
“So, tell me about yourself?” I asked. “You still are here in Des Moines. I’ve heard a little from Helen, but none of the gory details of what you’ve been doing since high school.”
“Well, after graduating from Valley High, I went to Iowa State up in Ames and got my degree in graphic design and worked for several companies. I grew a little weary of this and went back and got a degree a few years back in culinary science, and now I’m a chef in my own restaurant. You’ll have to stop in while in town. It is doing quite well.”
“So, the owner will make something special for me?”
“Of course. Though you could come out to my house and I could cook something at home. It would be more intimate than at work. Give us a chance to talk more.”
“Helen mentioned you were married?”
“Yes, but no more. A nice man when I married him, but became lazy and a jerk after our years together. I’ve been divorced for a few years now. Mostly married to my work.”
“I’m sorry to hear this. Any children?”
“Thankfully no.”
“As I remember, you came from a large family and wanted to have several children.”
“It was part of my upbringing. My mother still bothers me about it. I did get pregnant twice with my ex, but miscarried both times. God, I believe, was warning me this was not the man. We stopped trying after that. It was for the best.”
Her drink and salad arrived, as did my sandwich. We dug in and I checked over my shoulder at the booth with Flynn and Helen. So far, all seemed civil. From what I could tell, Helen was doing most of the talking. Not surprising, since she had the leverage and Flynn had little to defend himself with. He could only ask forgiveness, and was likely not going to get it.
“So, your turn,” said Roni between bites. “I hear you are a private detective now and a famous one to boot. Saw them talking about you on the news.”
“Hardly famous, mostly lucky,” I said. “Can’t deny it has helped my business. Though it was not the choice I would have wished for to invigorate my career.”
“It must be exciting work.”
“At times, though it can be quite boring too. Lots of sitting around watching and waiting. In my youth I’d have gone stir crazy, but time has taught me patience.”
“As I recall from our conversations, you were on the other side of the law in your early teens.”
“Still am at times. Being a PI means I don’t have the same rules as the police. So, sometimes I’m still walking a fine line, though I hope I normally fall on the correct side, which didn’t happen in my youth.”
The bartender brought me another beer, and a martini for Roni. My meatball sandwich was quite good and I did a fine job of leaving the sauce on the plate. For some reason, I was worried about impressing the woman next to me and at the same time worried about what would happen in her company.
“So, have you been married?” asked Roni after the last bite of her salad.
“No. Never been even close.”
“You still have the aversion to commitment?”
She was referring to the reason we broke up.
“Yes I would say so, to some degree.”
I wasn’t sure why I said this as I was mostly in a committed relationship now with Melissa.
“Well, so am I, these days,” said Roni. “When there is time to date, I keep it completely casual, and physical if the a
ttraction is there.”
“Wow, this is a change from the woman I knew. With her strong Christian values to wait until marriage.”
“I was glad then I waited, but sad now I did. I believe I missed out on playing the field, so to speak. Really, my ex was hardly a good lover. I’ve discovered more about myself after the divorce, with men who believe in my satisfaction, as well as their own. Unlike my ex who only cared about his needs. I’ve learned I can still have those Christian values and be a sexually active woman. God invented sex to create life but in a way for us to enjoy, which I now do.”
The tingle of desire ran though me with her words. Once or twice after high school I wondered what making love to her would have been like, discovering the passion underneath her calm, faithful exterior. The attraction was still there. Would I resist? Could I endure temptation?
“Are you currently involved with anyone?” asked Roni.
“No,” I answered quickly, the lie coming out before thinking.
“Well, if you want to get together for dinner some time before you leave, we could reminisce, enjoy a little wine, and who knows…”
I wasn’t sure why I didn’t admit to being involved with someone. It was the good and bad in me having its usual internal struggle to see who would win. I was a hypocrite for criticizing Flynn’s indiscretions when I, too, had a history of failing in this area.
“I will need to see what is going on with Flynn and Helen, so we’ll see.”
“The offer is on the table. Say the word and we can get together. I can cook my way into any man’s heart.”
She reached out and put her hand on my knee. I could feel myself caving when I heard a commotion from the booth behind us. I turned and could see Helen upset about something. I excused myself and walked over, trying to calm her.
“Easy now, Helen. What is going on?”