“This has got to be it,” said Phil as they pulled up outside a ranch-style house with clean white siding. There was a small dog on a chain in the front yard, straining at the end of its leash and barking its head off. Streetlights buzzed overhead as a haze of insects swarmed in their warm yellow light.
“Let’s go,” said Crawley, starting to get out.
“Wait a minute,” said Deathslayer, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “We shouldn’t all go marching up their sidewalk. Phil, you and Susan look the least threatening, why don’t you two go talk to them?”
“I’m threatening?” said Crawley at the same time Phil protested his own label.
“Don’t make it a thing, doll. I just think that they’re both Anglo, neither have tattoos…”
“I get it,” said Crawley, getting back in.
Phil sighed and got out into the early twilight. Susan followed him a moment later. Both of them were haggard, as they had not brought supplies for a two-day trip, but Deathslayer had rented a hotel room the previous evening, so they at least were well-rested. They made their way up the sidewalk, the little dog protesting their presence vehemently.
“I don’t think this is the right house,” said Susan, stopping to scoop something out of the recycle bin on the modest porch.
“It has to be. There’s no other Jonathon Winters who works for Jenoine, and this guy moved in at the right time.”
“Yeah, but look at this.”
She showed him the Jet magazine she held in her hands.
“So? We don’t even know if it’s his. He could have gotten it by mistake.”
“There’s thirty more of them in here. I think this Jonathon is bla—”
The front door opened, startling them. An older man stood in the door, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. He had pale brown skin, short curly black hair with a peppering of gray, and was clad only in a pair of boxer shorts and tank top. A dense bush of hair stuck out of his shirt and his legs were hairy as a Sasquatch.
“Can I help you?” he asked in a baritone.
“Uh,” said Phil, still holding the magazine.
“Hello,” said Susan, smiling prettily, “we’re looking for Jonathon Winters.”
“Let’s say you’ve found him. Does he owe you money?”
“No,” said Phil, quickly interjecting himself. “I’m sorry to be so blunt, but do you have a daughter named Autumn?”
The man flinched, eyes seeming to focus on something far away. “What’s this about?”
“Johnny,” came a high-pitched voice from behind him, the speaker unseen, “who is it? Are we expecting company?”
The door abruptly swung open wider, and a short, bald heavyset man entered their view. He had a neatly trimmed mustache and twinkling blue eyes. He smiled warmly at the young people on his doorstep.
“Hello, kids. I’m sorry, but we’re happy with our non-religious life, so—”
“They’re not Jehovah’s Witnesses this time,” said Jonathon grimly.
“Then who are they?” he asked, addressing the query to Jonathon. He then turned his gaze on them. “Who are you?”
“That might take a while to explain,” said Susan, biting her lower lip.
“They seem to know my daughter,” said Jonathon, still eying them suspiciously.
“Really?” said the other man, smacking Jon on the arm. “Then what the hell are they still doing on the porch?”
He opened the door wide, despite the angry glare Jonathon gave him.
“Come on in,” he said, opening the screen door. “Johnny, go put some pants on for goodness’ sake, we have company.”
They entered the dwelling, noting how cozy it seemed. A modestly sized living room boasted a comfortable sofa with tasteful plaid upholstery that matched the drapes over the large bay window. Two recliners done in black leather were arranged next to each other in front of the flat-screen TV, a small table between them. A bowl of popcorn sat on the table, a few kernels on the floor, and the image on screen was of a movie on pause. Susan giggled at the sight of Nicolas Cage with his nose at an unfortunate angle, his forest of black nostril hairs unsettling.
“You two have a seat right there.”
Phil found himself disarmed by the man’s charming manner.
“Johnny? Why do you not have clothes on yet?”
“Brad,” said Jonathon, “can I talk to you, please?”
“We’ll just be a minute,” said Brad with a wink, going with the other down a hallway and out of sight. They heard a door slam and their voices raised in a heated discussion.
“Wow,” said Susan, “who would have bet that Autumn’s father was black?”
“And gay,” said Phil. “Guess that explains why he left Autumn and her mom.”
“It’s still no excuse not to be in the life of your child.”
After an uncomfortable five minutes or so, the door opened and both men came into the living room. Jonathon had put on a pair of slacks and a collared shirt, though he kept it unbuttoned. Brad stopped off in their large kitchen and re-appeared with a tray of deviled eggs and crab cakes.
“Would you like some refreshment?” asked the little man, setting the tray on a glass top coffee table near their feet.
“No thanks,” said Susan.
“Well,” said Phil, his stomach suddenly gurgling, “I think I might partake.”
He picked up one of the crab cakes and bit into it, his eyes widening at the delicious flavor. The tidbit disappeared into his mouth quickly, and he found himself reaching for another.
“How is…” said Jonathon, sitting in one of the recliners and scooting it a bit to face them. “How is Autumn?”
“Sick,” said Susan, “very sick. It’s why we’re here.”
Brad and Jon exchanged alarmed glances.
“Is it the Lupus?” asked Jonathon, licking his lips. “I heard about her mother. I…wanted to be at her funeral, but…”
Phil cleared his throat.
“We’re not here to berate you for your past, Mr. Winters. I’m going to cut to the chase. Your daughter is dying, and you might be the only one who can save her.”
“I don’t have any money. I wish I could help, but I just don’t. Even with Brad picking up hours at the Walmart, I just don’t see how—”
“Money is not the issue,” said Susan, holding up her hand. “Her kidneys are failing, and with her condition and rare blood type—”
“No one will give her one,” said Jon, hiding his face in his hand.
“Honey,” said Brad, putting a hand on Jon’s knee, “you have to help her.”
“I know!” he said harshly, turning to glare at Brad.
“I know…” he said again more softly, staring at the floor. “I just hope she can forgive me.”
Early the next morning, the unusual caravan got off on its journey. Crawley piloted the white van, while Jonathon followed with Brad in their yellow SUV. Jonathon had wanted to leave the previous evening, but Brad had talked him into waiting until morning. The decision had not sat well with Phillip, who was tired of sleeping in a strange bed, but no one else had seemed to mind.
“We have a new problem,” said Susan, glaring at her phone.
“Now what?” Phil asked impatiently.
“Even if we get Jonathon to the hospital in time, they won’t do the operation unless Steve pays them half up front.”
“What?” Deathslayer asked. “I thought he had good insurance.”
“She’s not covered,” said Susan, “and even if they got married this second, it would still be a couple of months before she would be on his insurance.”
“Motherfucker!” said Crawley, startling all of them. “Sorry.”
“I know how you feel,” said Deathslayer, jaw set hard.
“Can’t you cover it, Mr. B—I mean, Bill?” Phil asked.
Deathslayer seemed abashed, staring down at the van floor. “I don’t have much money left, kid.”
“What?” said Crawley. “But you’re wor
ld famous! You sold out the Garden over twenty times!”
“And I blew a lot of cash when I was young and stupid,” said Deathslayer. “Between the kid’s trust funds, our mortgage and the recession, I can barely break even.”
“Daddy,” said Susan, “why didn’t you tell anyone?”
“Why do you think? I never wanted you to worry. Besides, once the revenue from this new tour is accounted for, I should have a little nest egg built up again.”
“But that doesn’t help us now,” said Susan, biting her lip. “Maybe we can go on Kickstarter, try and fund it ourselves.”
“That would take too long,” said Phil, sighing. “It’s like God himself doesn’t want us to help Autumn and Steve!”
Crawley pursed her lips, glanced over at Phil.
“No, God wants to help us. That’s why we found her father, why he wants to help, and it’s why we’re going to succeed.”
“That’s great, sweetie, but it doesn’t solve our problem. Where are we going to get thirty thousand dollars?”
“I could pay for it,” said Crawley.
“Come on,” said Susan from the back seat.
“No,” said Phil, “even if you had the money—”
“But I do have the money,” said Crawley.
“Eleanor,” said Deathslayer. “There’s no way your father has thirty grand just sitting around.”
“It’s not my dad’s money. It’s mine.”
“But where did you come up with it?” Phil asked.
She grinned at him. “You’re an accountant, you figure it out. Let me say this: How many arachnid labs do you think are operating in North America?”
“I don’t know,” said Phil, “a hundred or so?”
“Try twenty. We have a big market share, and our costs are very low since we work out of the home.”
“And you don’t pay rent or buy food,” said Susan helpfully.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Crawley asked. Her eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared.
“Susie, don’t piss her off! Eleanor, that’s, that’s just the most generous thing anyone has ever done.”
“Except for that whole dying for your sins thing. It’s not like I need the money, or like I’d be spending all that I have.”
Phil shot her a worried glance. “Are you sure this is all right? I mean, we can find another way.”
“I said it’s fine, Phil! I want to do this. A lot of people who we go to church with pay lip service to helping out those in need, but when the time comes for them to open their wallets they get pretty darn stingy. I’m not going to be one of those people.”
“Damn, Ellie,” said Susan, “and here I thought you were just a know-it-all stuck-up chick!”
“Susan!” said Deathslayer and Phil in unison.
“But I was wrong,” said Susan with a sheepish shrug. “You’re actually a pretty decent human being. I’m not sure that I would come up with that kind of money for someone I’d known less than a year.”
“As I said—” Crawley giggled “—it’s not like I’ll be spending all the money I have saved up.”
Phil swallowed, realizing that Crawley now held yet another advantage over him. The journey was nearly over, and he truly did not feel any different. He should have known that Rich was full of crap, that this “vision quest’” of his wouldn’t bear any fruit.
Deathslayer noted the serious gleam in Phil’s eyes, as well as the tension in the air between Susan and Crawley. He cleared his throat and got all of their attention. “Hey, anyone know any good fart jokes?”
Phil burst out laughing, while Susan turned to face her father.
“Daddy!” she said in admonishment.
“Slow down,” said Phil, “there’s a cop up ahead.”
He pointed out the patrol car sitting behind a billboard not far up the road. The front end was just barely visible, but it had the right shape and color. Crawley checked her speed and nodded.
“I always use cruise control.”
They passed by the police car, Steve staring hard into the cabin. A middle-aged state trooper was shooting radar across the road. He flashed by too quickly for Phil to notice anything remarkable about him.
They traveled for another minute when Crawley cringed.
“That cop has his lights on!” She pulled over on the gravel shoulder.
“He’s not after us,” said Phil, peering behind him. “Uh oh, he pulled over Autumn’s dad.”
“Why?” Susan asked. “There’s no way they were speeding if we weren’t.”
They sat on the shoulder, watching the proceedings behind them with great interest. After what seemed an interminably long time the officer instructed Jonathon to get out of the car. He handcuffed the older man and took him firmly to his squad car.
“Oh, fucking great,” said Phil.
Several hours later, the van and SUV were parked in the lot of a tiny sheriff’s office. The crew in the van munched on fast food while Brad was inside trying to free his husband.
“Who’d have thunk not paying parking tickets for twenty years would have a negative consequence?” Susan asked snappily.
“Calm down,” said Deathslayer. “I’m sure it’ll work out fine.”
“I think I’ll go check and see what’s taking so long,” said Phil, wiping a bit of ketchup off his mouth.
“I’ll go too,” said Crawley, getting out of the van as well.
They walked up the stained concrete steps to the one-story building. Phil had seen larger roadside cafés, and wondered where they might be keeping their prisoner. The glass doors swung open and the couple scanned the station. A chest-high counter was directly before them, currently unmanned. The rest of the building looked like an office, with several desks bearing computers arranged around the room. Sitting at one of the desks was the old timer who had arrested Jonathon. He was scribbling on a note pad while Brad talked in low tones with Jonathon. The prisoner was sitting on a long wooden bench, one wrist attached to the armrest with a pair of handcuffs.
“Can I help you folks?” asked the trooper, glancing up from his desk.
“We were just checking on our friends,” said Phil, nervously glancing at the two men on the bench.
The trooper’s eye twitched, and he shot a stony glare at Jonathon. “Your friend is going to the county jail.”
“Over parking tickets?” said Crawley.
“It’s clear he won’t be able to settle his account today, and I don’t have a holding cell here.”
“But, officer,” said Crawley, “it’s a matter of life and death!”
“It always is, sweetheart. I don’t need to hear whatever story you have cooked up, no matter how much of a tearjerker it is.”
Phil glanced down at the trooper’s desk, and his eyes went wide.
“That’s not fair!” said Crawley.
“Eleanor,” said Phil, taking her by the arm, “let’s go.”
“But—”
“Shh…We’ll be right back, officer.”
“We’re not going anywhere,” said Jonathon with disdain.
Once they were back outside, Crawley pulled her arm out of his grasp and glared at him.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“There’s nothing that you or I can say to change his mind.”
“Then what are we going to do?”
“Did you notice the action figure on his desk?”
“No, what does that have to do with anything?”
“Everyone has a hero.” He smiled at her enigmatically as they headed to the van.
Phil grinned when the seated officer didn’t glance up at their entrance right away. He politely cleared his throat, as they approached the desk.
“Welcome back,” said the trooper, staring up at last. “I’m not sure what you think you can accomplish, but…”
His voice trailed off, eyes going wide. No words issued out of his slack jaw as the Deathslayer came striding into his office. He did not have his trademark bla
ck leather outfit, but he had the distinctive slow, measured walk and thousand-yard stare of the legendary character. The trooper rose to his feet and approached, a stunned smile on his face.
“Unbelievable. Sir, it is a true pleasure to meet you. My son and I are your biggest fans!”
Crawley gave Phil a soft kiss on his cheek.
“What was that for?” he asked, holding his face.
“For saving the day.”
“I think it’s Steve’s dad who’s saving the day,” he said with a snicker as the trooper posed for a picture with his idol.
“It was your idea. You’re such a good friend, Phillip.”
“Bah, anyone would have done the same.”
“But anyone didn’t do it,” she said, giving him another kiss. “You did.”
Phil was inclined to shrug, but then he noted the light gleaming in Crawley’s dark eyes. They were full of adoration, of her confidence not only in him but in both of them, as a couple. It made him feel ten feet tall.
“It’s getting late,” he said with a smile, hooking his hand in hers. “We probably couldn’t make it back to the city before midnight.”
Crawley’s dark eyes gleamed, and she bit her bottom lip. “We should rent another hotel room.”
“Yeah,” Phil said, lowering his tone. His hand brushed over her smooth cheek, an electric tingle running through his fingers, “but I think that we should get our own room, you know, so our…snoring…doesn’t disturb Bill or Susan.”
“Oh? Yeah, I’ve been known to ‘snore’ pretty loud…”
She sidled up to him and kissed him on the mouth. Normally, the prospect of intimacy filled him with nameless dread, so afraid was he of disappointing her. This time, armed with the knowledge gleaned from her fiction, as well as the confidence gained from dealing with the state trooper, he felt excited. Nervous, but definitely excited. He silently wondered if Rich had been right after all, that he just needed this journey and its trials to feel better about himself.
Crawley’s nimble tongue drew his attention back to the present. The late afternoon sun gave a red nimbus to the outer edges of her black hair, making her appear almost divine. For the first time he did not fear that she would dissipate like so much dew in the sun, and he kissed her back eagerly.
Forever Autumn Page 22