by Ron Gannon
Chapter 13. The Avenger
Tom stood outside the entrance to the State Penitentiary, scrutinizing Cookie and Dave advancing toward him. Cookie gave her father a big hug while he glared at Dave. When she finished, Dave extended his hand out.
Tom ignored it while asking Cookie, “Why’s he here?”
“Dave is going to let you have one of his cottages in Oakland Beach.”
“He must have a guilty conscience.”
Very little was said during the trip to Tom’s new home. Even inside the little ranch he didn’t seem too thrilled as he examined the four furnished rooms. He didn’t say a word. All that was on his mind was Dave being so near and unprotected. Too bad his daughter was there. Otherwise he would have enjoyed carrying out retribution. As he stared icily at Dave, sitting at the small round wooden table, he imaged his hands around Dave’s neck, holding him in the air.
“Dad, we’re getting married Saturday.”
Cookie’s dreadful words woke him from his trance. Tom glared at Dave. “Florence talks to me. She told me what happened.”
Dave and Cookie, confused, looked at each other.
“How you murdered her,” yelled Tom, ripping an armrest off a chair. Whirling the oak support high in the air, he charged at Dave.
Startled, Dave lifted an arm to block a blow.
“Noooo!” howled Cookie. “Don’t do it, Dad. Please! Mom’s watching you.”
Tom froze. “Sandra’s watching too? Sandra?” Tom thought to himself. He looked down at Dave. His eye twitched. Bamm! He slammed the piece of wood hard against the table. “Later,” grumbled Tom, tossing the armrest onto the floor. He stormed into the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him.
“I’m exasperated. Crushed. I anticipated a thank you, not a head bashing,” whimpered Dave, a hand over his heart. “Mom’s watching you?”
“Yeah, worth a try,” Cookie muttered, wiping tears off her cheeks. “My mom wouldn’t approve. Florence might. Let’s go.”
Dave looked at the closed door and waved. “Enjoy the Sentra. Ah, that’s okay. You don't have to thank us. It’s just a token of our affection, pleasant driving.”
On West Shore Road a police car with its lights flashing followed a red Sentra. The Sentra pulled over. Two policemen got out of their car. One marched over to the driver’s side. “Step out of the car, fuck face.”
The door opened. Tom stepped out.
The cop grabbed Tom, spun him around and slammed him hard against the car. “Spread ‘em.” He frisked Tom and stepped back. “Turn around.”
Tom turned.
“You ought to consider leaving Conimicut. Life could be difficult or short if you stick around,” the cop warned.
“I don’t live in Conimicut.”
“I know where you live: two miles down the road. Find a place in Providence or Pawtucket. The farther away the better.”
“No, I like it here. My future son-in-law is a congressman. You want trouble?”
The cop pushed Tom back against the car. “His father doesn’t want you here. I don’t want you here. You’ll be shot while resisting arrest. Get it?”
Tom turned red. He clinched his fists as his eye twitched.
The cop grinned. “Go ahead, fuck face. Take a shot. Get it over with.”
“Are you through with me?”
“For now. Get out of my sight. I can’t stand looking at you.” The policemen watched as Tom got in his car and drove off.
Tom glanced at their reflection his rearview mirror. “I can handle them, Florence.”
Lumpy leaned against the refrigerator, examining Rose pour water into a glass. She plopped a couple of pills into her mouth and gulped them down with the water.
Lumpy shook his head. “You’ve been taking too many pills.”
Rose slurred her words. “They make waitin’ to die a lot easier.”
“They’re dangerous.”
“Oh, you know more than my doctor.” Rose shouted, “Get off my back.” She flung the glass into the sink. It shattered.
Lumpy, head down, shuffled out of the kitchen.
Rose, sensing someone looking at her, turned toward the window. She saw Tom's deformed face peeping in from outside the trailer. Rose screamed.
Lumpy ran into the kitchen. Rose hurried over to him and pointed. “A hideous looking man was looking in.”
Lumpy dashed for the door and ran outside. He sped around the trailer. As he turned the corner, a fist hit his forehead, knocking him to the ground. Blurry eyed he saw Tom standing over him.
“Another time, another place.” Tom strutted away.
Shaken and concerned about his family, Lumpy telephoned Dave. “We have to meet.”
Lumpy met with Dave in his plush study surrounded by books and knotty pine. Dave had his hands in front of him on a table. “I’ll hire a couple men to follow him around.”
“I’m worried. I didn’t call the police as a favor to you. I appreciate all you done for us.”
“Look, we pick our friends, not our relatives. Tom’s soon to be part of my family. I’m hoping he’ll change, for Cookie’s sake. May I fix you a drink?”
“Sure, C C and ginger. When’s Jimmy flying in?”
“Friday. He’ll meet us at the stag party.”