Grower's Market

by Michael Baughman

  Sitting close to the fire with his coffee Case remembered the October morning with Heather when low-flying flocks of Canada geese migrating south had passed close and steadily over the cabin roof for half an hour.

  He added madrone to the woodstove and replenished his coffee. When he heard Winter’s jeep winding up the gravel road he was glad. He didn’t like Winter but now the solitude would end for a while. He poured more coffee and added sugar and carried the mug out onto the deck to meet the deputy.

  The deck caught early sunlight through a break in the tall trees and the sun’s warmth worked against the chill of morning.

  Winter stopped the jeep a few feet from the steep flight of steps that led up to the deck. He pulled the handbrake and opened the door and climbed out waving at Case. Then he stood beside his vehicle and yawned and stretched. He was a short fat man with a thick black mustache and a round white face with a nose as red as a cherry.

  “Hey there, Case,” he said.

  Case was an outsider but even he had learned that Winter hated his childhood nickname. “Hello, Hog,” he said.

  Winter looked at him. “So how’s it goin’?” he said.

  “Not so shabby. How’s it going with you? Come on up.”

  “The world’s gone nuts, that’s how.”

  “It’s been nuts a long time,” Case answered. “Before we ever got here.”

  “Well, yeah, hell yes, but it’s gettin’ worse. Jesus, you sure you made these steps steep enough?”

  “I think I did. Come on inside.”

  “Hell, let’s talk out here. It’s nice. I’m stuck inside all day mostly.”

  Winter had winded himself climbing the steps.

  “Coffee?” Case asked him.

  “Hell yes.”

  “Cream? Sugar?”

  “Both.”

  “Be right back.”

  “Thanks, Case.”

  “You’re welcome, Hog.”

  Case left his mug on the deck railing and went into the cabin and soon returned with a mug of coffee for Winter who tasted it and smacked his lips and smiled. “That’s some good shit!” he said.

  “Glad you like it.”

  It always took Winter a long time to get to the point in a conversation. “Hear about ol’ Butler?” he asked. “About that big ol’ buck he drilled?”

  “No,” Case answered. “Where?”

  “Out on Holtzhauer’s spread. He trespassed an’ ol’ Holtzhauer was pissed! He called me out to arrest ol’ Butler. Turns out Holtzhauer had his eye on that same buck. That buck was one big sumbitch!”

  Case drank from his own coffee and looked at Winter who was still breathing hard from his climb. Steam rose from Winter’s mug and he lifted the mug up close to his bulbous red nose to inhale the aroma. “Smells mighty good!” he said. “This here is some good shit!”

  “What’d you do to Butler? Anything?”

  “Ol’ Holtzhauer thinks he’s King Shit when it comes to his land. Hell, it was his great-granddaddy got all that land in the first place way back when property around here was damn near free. Holtzhauer didn’t do jack shit to get that property, but he thinks he’s King Shit on it now.”

  Case watched a Steller’s jay land on the lower limb of a nearby Douglas fir. The jay’s head bobbed up and down as he scolded. Another jay landed on the same limb and joined in. “What’d you do to Butler?” he asked Winter.

  “Ol’ Holtzhauer calls me once a week, sometimes twice a week, sometimes three goddamn times a week to tell me how the potheads grow their shit, their weed, somewhere down there south of his big red barn. Down there by Pass Creek.”

  “Do they grow down there?”

  “I been down there a time or two. Nosed around pretty good. Never saw one damn thing about any growing.”

  “I think the people I saw yesterday might have been growers. Or might have been ripping off the local growers. Or might have been both.”

  “This coffee’s some good shit! What kind is it?”

  “I think it’s called Coastal’s Best. All I do is buy whatever’s on sale.”

  “That’s smart! That Holtzhauer’s got more deer on his property than anybody could count, and elk too in wintertime, once it snows. That land he got is like a deer an’ elk farm. A preserve! So what’s his problem? That’s what I wonder.”

  “What happened about Butler?”

  “I talked to him some. Gave him some friendly advice about where he should shoot his buck next time. I guess he liked what I said ’cause he gave me some venison steaks. What I say is, fuck Holtzhauer. Pardon my French. You like Holtzhauer?”

  “I barely know him,” Case said. “We travel in different circles.”

  “Well you may not know him but you know about ’im. Draft dodger. You know that much. He’s pretty near my age an’ he sure as shit never served his country. Our country. His old man pulled some strings. I heard all about that. That’s why I say fuck ’im. You an’ me went. You an’ me almos’ got our asses shot off.”

  Both men drank some coffee. With the sun higher in the sky the morning was warming quickly. Case noticed that the jays were gone from the tree limb. Directly overhead he saw the long north-to-south line of a jet trail stretching across the blue sky.

  “Butler give me ten, twelve pounds off that buck. You like venison?”

  “I like elk better.”

  “Hell, most everybody likes elk better. You like venison though?”

  “Sure, I like it well enough.”

  “You like salmon?”

  “I like salmon. But I like steelhead better.”

  “I like salmon better. This coffee’s some good shit! I went duck huntin’ day before yesterday. I almost asked you if you liked duck. Reason I didn’t ask is, I figured you’d say you like pheasant better. Tell me, you got many bats out here?”

  “Bats?”

  “Yeah, bats. Mice with wings. I got ’em in my house sometimes. Flyin’ around at night right inside my bedroom. Finally figured out how to deal with ’em. I swat those little fuckers with a tennis racket. They don’t bleed after you swat ’em that way so it works out good. You got many?”

  “Not inside,” Case said. “Sometimes they’re all over the place outside here after sunset.”

  “You’re a lucky man. How often you go into town to shop?”

  “Every couple weeks.”

  “It’s a long drive. Next time I go, I’m buyin’ some a this Coastal’s Best. This is some damn good shit! You hear what happened at the tavern last night?”

  “The Bird of Prey? No, what?”

  “I mean, what the hell, there ain’t any other taverns around here for forty, fifty miles, at least that far, right? They had a brawl is what. Late at night, after Sunbeam started serving her buffalo burgers. You go to the Bird of Prey much? I seen you there once or twice.”

  “I stop in for beers in the daytime. Not often though and I’ve never been there at night. I like Sunbeam though. I like Rainbow a lot. I visit her husband Uncle Sam sometimes in the afternoon. Heather used to help with Uncle Sam. She and Rainbow were friends. It seems like a good tavern. You got anything against it?”

  “Me? Hell no. It’s a damn good place. Fine beer, fine whiskey, fine burgers too. It’s a sad thing about ol’ Uncle Sam. That poor sumbitch. But I guess he did his duty, right? I guess he did it like lots of us did! The government ought to take better care of ’im though. Pardon my French again, but I can’t help it, sometimes what I say is, fuck the government!”

  “We both worked for the government though. You still do.”

  “I got me three more years is all. Thirty-seven months is all. That’s all she wrote! After that, fishin’ an’ huntin’!”

  “More coffee?”

  “I could stand some. It’s some real good shit.”

  “I’ll get us both some.”

  Case took the empty mugs back into the cabin. He didn’t mind the way Winter talked without saying much or getting anywhere because it passed the time. Havi
ng Winter around was slightly better than having nobody. But today Winter seemed somehow ill at ease. He seemed stiff and had a guilty or nervous look in his eyes and seemed to be hiding something, and Case couldn’t imagine what it might be.

  When Case poured the mugs full it nearly emptied the pot. He turned off the heat under the pot and walked back outside where Winter reached for his mug with a wide smile on his fat face. “This coffee, this Coastal’s Best, is some good shit!” he said. “That brawl I tol’ you about? Started off while some guy was goin’ after ten burgers. You know, that challenge Sunbeam has. That’s what she calls it, a challenge. Might try it myself sometime. Ten buffalo burgers in half an hour? I maybe could do that! I could sure as shit try! I do like buffalo! Anyway, some scumbags from someplace else marched into the Bird of Prey late las’ night an’ started punchin’ and kickin’ and cussin’ and makin’ threats. No provocation! No nothin’! The way I figure, it couldn’t’ve been the Big Dude from across the mountain. What I heard is, the Big Dude and Sunbeam got a truce. Well, whoever the hell it was, they damn sure got what they deserved. Those boys, those vets that hang out there with Sunbeam, they know how to punch an’ kick too. Kick ass is what I’m sayin’. That big sumbitch they call Stones? That one-eyed boy kicked some serious ass! After maybe two, three minutes those strangers hustled right back out the front door as fast as they come in to start with. Faster maybe. One or two got carried out. Carried out or dragged. ’Course I wasn’t there, I heard about it is all, but I heard from Sunbeam herself an’ from the vet crowd. You know those vet boys?”

  “No I don’t. Not really. When I go to the Bird of Prey it’s in the afternoon. From what I hear the vets hang out there at night.”

  Winters swallowed more coffee and then placed his mug on the railing. Then he put one hand on the railing and shaded his eyes with the other hand and leaned forward. Case saw that on the thick little finger of the hand on the railing Winter wore a gold ring with a dark blue sapphire setting that glinted in the sunlight.

  “I thought I saw a quail over there by that manzanita,” Winter said. “You got quail that close?”

  “There’s a covey of mountain quail around, a big covey in fact. At least twenty birds.”

  Winter picked up his mug from the railing. “Mountain quail?” he said. “You hunt ’em?”

  “No,” Case said, “I don’t.”

  “So it’s true what I heard, you gave up huntin’?”

  “It’s true.”

  “How come?”

  “I don’t feel good about shooting anything anymore.”

  “How come?”

  “I just don’t.”

  “No offense, Case, but if it was me, an’ I know it ain’t me, I’d ground-sluice those little fuckers ever’ chance I got. They make some damn good eatin’.”

  “What about those strangers? Where’d they come from and where’d they go? Did you lock them up or not?”

  “You told me you like pheasant. Well how the hell do you get any pheasants if you quit huntin’?”

  “I didn’t say I liked pheasants. You said you figured I did. Remember?”

  “You didn’t say you like pheasant?”

  “No.”

  “You still fish?”

  “I still fish.”

  “Well how come you kill fish if you don’t like killin’ birds?”

  “I release what I catch, except for hatchery fish. I kill them.”

  “How come?”

  “They don’t belong in the river. They pollute the native gene pool. I think I’m doing the river a favor by taking them out.”

  “Gene pool?”

  “Gene pool.”

  “I see you got a big satellite dish up there. You watch lots of TV? You see that Panthers game two nights ago?”

  “I never watch till the playoffs start.”

  “You watch bass fishin’ ever?”

  “No,” Case said. “Do you?”

  “Hell no! I got no reason to watch that shit!”

  “How come you asked me if I watched?”

  “I got no reason not to ask. You know the one they call Shadow?”

  “I know about him. Maybe I’ve seen him around once or twice. Those boys hang out at the tavern at night.”

  “Well that brawl didn’t work out exactly right for Shadow. This is all hearsay but I hear he kicked some ass too but then he got coldcocked from behind. Nobody saw what happened exactly but there he was, flat on his face on the floor after his buddies chased those scumbags out the door.”

  “Is he okay?”

  “Hey! Look! There’s that quail again! That’s a valley quail I saw, not mountain.”

  “You certain?”

  “I guess I know me a valley quail from a mountain quail. Hell, it ain’t much harder than knowin’ a pintail duck from a Canada goose. Ever shot a gadwall?”

  “I don’t think I ever saw one. I’m not sure I ever even heard of one.”

  “The only one I ever saw’s the one I shot. Me an’ Rufus was over on Marsh Lake one opening day a long time back. A duck flew over early, hardly light yet, wasn’t light yet in fact, an’ we both blasted away an’ let that duck have it an’ down he came. My dog Shorty retrieved that bird in the dark. We didn’t know what the hell kind it was. Rufus thought he shot it but I knew I did. Rufus looked it up in a book later an’ told me it was a gadwall. Looked kind of like a mallard hen but it was bigger. It was a goddamn gadwall. At least Rufus claimed it was. You remember my dog Shorty?”

  “The yellow lab?”

  “That’s the one! Well, anyway, Case, what I’m thinkin’ is what you saw out in the woods might have somethin’ to do with what happened at the Bird of Prey. It’s only a theory but it makes sense to me. You know it’s damn near harvest time around here now. Hell, everybody knows that. Pot’s growin’ everywhere you look. Who cares? But we can’t have strangers messin’ around with it in these parts. We all got a good, quiet life here. You know what I mean? Yeah, you know. Don’t you know?”

  “Sure, I know what you mean.”

  “Who knows who’s growin’ it? Who cares? I mean, they grow on federal land, an’ you can’t find it all. No matter how much you find there’s a hell of a lot more you don’t find and not one damn plant belongs to anybody. Not legally it don’t. With all this federal land around here, who’d be dumb enough to grow pot on his own land? Not even Holtzhauer that dumb. Fuck Holtzhauer that’s what I say. So why bother with it? I got to fill out a report is all. Got to have the paperwork all filled out and filed away. Got to make everything official. We got to keep the strangers out is all. Know what I mean?”

  Case smiled and nodded at Winter. “I sure do,” he said.

  Winter set his empty mug back on the deck railing and smiled and reached out to shake hands with Case. “Time for me to put some wheels on the whorehouse,” he said.

  “To do what?”

  “Haul ass! Thanks for talkin’.” Winter turned and made his way slowly down the steps with one hand on the staircase railing all the way. After he climbed into the jeep he turned his head to look up at Case and smile again. “What’s that coffee called again?” he asked.

  “Coastal’s Best.”

  “Next time in town I’m gonna purchase me some!”

  Winter started up the jeep and backed slowly up and then leaned out the window and called back at Case: “You rest easy now, Case!”

  “What?”

  “I said rest easy!”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “Take it easy! Relax! Things’ll be fine!”

  Winter’s head disappeared and the jeep lurched forward and rolled away.

  WINTER

  His great-great-great-grandparents Caleb and Myrtle Winter had come to this country as newly married pioneers. As years passed Caleb impregnated Myrtle fourteen times and eight boys and three girls survived. From the start the Winter family farmed more than three hundred acres of prime land and that land had remained in the family until Deputy Winter�
�s father Orville took the advice of a friend and began playing the stock market. In five months all the family’s money and land was gone. The day after the last twenty acres had been sold off, Orville drank a bottle of whiskey and carefully drove to the Bird of Prey where he knew he would find the friend who had touted the stock market sitting at the bar drinking beer and eating salted peanuts. Orville walked into the tavern carrying an old double-barreled twelve-gauge Ithaca shotgun with two triggers. The trigger in front fired the modified-choke barrel and the rear trigger fired the full-choke barrel, and Orville walked straight up to the bar and pulled both triggers at once and blew his friend’s head off. At the murder trial Orville entered a guilty plea and was sentenced to life in prison without the possibility of parole and his son became a law enforcement officer before the year was out.

  BACHUS BOOKS

  CHARITY

  She was born to an unwed teenage mother and adopted by a childless couple who both taught elementary school in a midsized Midwestern town. They raised her with love but when she was nine the adoptive parents died in a plane crash and her paternal aunt was the only family member left alive to take her. The aunt was a heavy drinker and couldn’t hold a job. She and Charity soon began moving from town to town and state to state. In a succession of elementary and middle schools Charity grew up homely and skinny and gawky and at school was either bullied or ignored. Then from age fourteen to sixteen she found herself transformed into a striking young woman who turned heads wherever she went. While this was happening her aunt’s drinking grew worse and after she lost a part-time job as a salesperson in a hardware store she remained unemployed for more than a year. She collected welfare and food stamps and used food banks and stayed home in their dingy little apartment and drank cheap booze sitting at the kitchen table or went out to drink in cheap neighborhood bars. Whenever Charity was home she cared for her aunt and cleaned up after her as best she could. Late one summer afternoon her aunt came home gaunt and disheveled from a nearby bar with a pink-faced fat man wearing a baggy suit and a gaudy tie. The fat man stared at Charity and her aunt took her into the kitchen and told her if she would go into the bedroom with the stranger he would pay them five hundred dollars in cash and then they could afford another month’s rent and some groceries. Charity walked out of the kitchen and through the living room without looking at the fat man sitting on the couch and she kept going out the front door and never came back and she never saw her aunt again and had no idea what became of her and didn’t care.