by David Kersey
CHAPTER SIXTY THREE
I watched Bblackie and Thelma Lou romp inside the fences of the old pasture and mark new real estate, claiming it as if they had squatter’s rights on my turf. I joined them for a while but I’m getting to the point of slowing down quite a bit. Father Time had more of a grip on me than the younger set still in their prime. In fact, I am having a little problem with my hips so I can only run like those two want to run for a short stretch before the pain sits me down. Hip dysplasia Dr. Hatfield instructed John with a frown, so there has been as of late a cream colored pill, Cosequin it’s called, in my bowl of food. Doc said I shouldn’t run and exacerbate the subluxation, which word I can only paraphrase as being a bone bidding adieu to its socket. Doc also said that swimming would be a good exercise. I love to swim when the water isn’t as cold as an ice cube so that didn’t bother me. I was never a sprinter anyway. I think I already told you I was half fast, didn’t I? So today Cassie and I spent a good while inside the facility looking around, counting off the laps of the speedsters, and had a quite interesting chat as it turned out. The workmen were done there. It was finished. So we were alone and I began to unload.
“Cassie, I feel like I’m leaving a room, the room of comfort and pleasant colors, arranged just perfectly to suit my every whim, and entering a dark, mysterious room full of strange images and contours that make every step a mystery.”
“Buck, I know where you’re headed by saying such nonsense, so I’ll say this only once. Nothing has changed, dear, you are still King of the Estate. I could stop right there but there’s more that you don’t know about. Look, I smelled you when Bblackie was riling you. I knew you were upset and intimidated as well. So I had myself a little talk with him. Did you know that?”
“What? When? And why?”
“I told him all about you and what an incredible and amazing animal you are and always have been and forever will be. About the circle and the way the others adore you and hang on your every word. How you organized us to fend off the ants and almost paid with your life. And I told him to back down. That you were love with four legs and everyone knows that around here including the humans. That this was your kingdom, not his. Do you know what his response was?”
“Wow, Cassie, you did that? What was his reaction?”
“He told me he wanted to be more like you, Buck, and he meant it, I could tell.”
“Cassie that was a bold move on your part. I’m glad you said what you did and it makes me feel a lot better about the changes going on. Thank you, pumpkin. And Bblackie really said that, wow? You are like an air pump, love, always there to inflate me up when I’m feeling a tad flat.”
“That’s what a female worth her salt does, Hercules. I hold you up while you hold up the world. I got your back, Buck.” We both laughed, remembering similar words from days gone by.
“Let’s go find Mort. I miss him.”
“Lead the way, my dear.”
“Jim, when can I start moving my things inside?”
“Just as soon as the inspector passes it. Let’s keep on his good side because I’m going to ask him for an early occupancy at the guest house. He’ll be here at noon he thought. I’m glad we were able to move the final up a day.”
“Ok, I’m having some things delivered tomorrow so I hope it gets done today.”
“Don’t see why not. Everything is to code. Should be a breeze.”
“John is having the old farmhouse fumigated and then have it professionally cleaned. We should be able to make it habitable by the middle of next week. Why didn’t your kinfolk want the furniture in there? Some of it is really nice, like the roll top desk for instance?”
“Oh, everyone had their own houseful of modern furnishings. It was a matter of what to do with it, so they just left it. It’s old and tired stuff but usable. My cousins took the books, family pictures and wall hangings and the silver set. But, yeah, there’s plenty in there to make it work.”
“I may put my first PTSD vet in there next week so the farmhouse being ready relieves my mind a great deal.”
“Marlene, the whole town is curious about what you’re doing out here. You folks are the talk of the town, and its good talk, especially about the veterans you’ll help. The townsfolk are behind you one hundred percent. John has a fine reputation around here, you know.”
“Good to hear and that’s encouraging. Let’s go look at how the guesthouse is coming.”
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“A growing boy like you? No way am I letting you have White Castles for dinner. You crazy? Let’s blow this joint and I’ll show you haute cuisine. But we’ll need a half gallon of Grey Goose to sweeten the pot, so follow me soldier.”
Fred Ferand paid Ken and watched the round faced man happily pocket the extra ten bucks he had generously left. He followed Wanda Lopez to the United Package Liquor store but asked her to stay in her Suburban, which is more like a freight car with tires instead of rails, while he quickly made the purchase. He wanted no one else to see them together.
Her bungalow was modest but tidy. Sparsely furnished which clearly and shamefully spoke of a teacher’s salary. Such is the inequity of life. Athletes who can barely read or write knocking down in one year what ten teachers amass in a lifetime of thankless service. Women in the military was an even worse misalignment of divine order, Fred thought while sitting at a corner kitchen table, watching this woman of Spanish descent dice an onion like she’d done it before.
“I’m pretty sure I have post-traumatic stress disorder, Wanda, and what they call ‘survivor’s guilt’. I’ve seen seventeen of my buddies fall and I almost bought it too, was left for dead up in the Afghan mountains. I hear the same mortar blast that damn near killed me all the time. In the middle of the night I’m right there again.”
“I know what you’re saying. They say one out of five of us suffer from it. I was told to keep replaying the experiences that haunt me so that in time they have less of a grip. I know a lot of women soldiers who can’t get over it.”
“I don’t think women have a place in the military,” Fred decided to say.
“Not you too, buddy. We carry our weight and do every damn thing a man does. Don’t hand me that line of crap.”
“You heard what John McCain said about it, right?”
“Oh come on, it isn’t that bad. Sure there’s rape. Hell, that’s half the reason women have PTSD. You know the hierarchy and the system. You turn your head and learn to live another day. If you open your mouth to say something you’ll get paid back in spades, or maybe with a spade. The brass turns a blind eye because they’re the ones who take the brunt of punishment if Washington finds out. It’s a bi product of the hush, hush system. You deal with it and go on. It happened to me too soldier.”
“I disagree. It is that bad and it’s spreading like a vicious cancer. One general testified in front of the Armed Services Committee that it had weakened the military so vastly that the whole system needed a major overhaul. McCain doesn’t recommend the military for women and I totally agree. Obama knows it yet keeps on sapping the machine of its energy. He’s to blame.”
“For God’s sake, you are so wrong, and what can you possibly do about it, big boy?”
Ferand rose from his chair and reached behind his back. “This, slut.” In an instant he had slashed her throat and watched her vainly attempt to find a scream through useless, shredded vocal chords. Unlike the others she didn’t instinctively grab for her lacerated neck. Instead she took a wild swing at him with the knife she was using on the onion. The blade barely missed his face. She stumbled to the kitchen floor, her body writhing like an earthworm. He watched the squirming and kicking decelerate, then completely stop. He knelt beside the corpse and mumbled, “Sorry Wanda, but it’s not my fault. We might have had some fun together.”
He decided to add a touch of artwork this time by adding a virulent intent to his righteous vendetta. After cutting her blouse all the way open
and peeling it away, he lifted her bra toward her face and cut off each nipple, then laid the tiny nubs on her open eyes that saw nothing. A fitting payback, that’s what it was, for spreading her legs quietly to avoid ostracism and thereby remain in the running for rank advancement. Ferand raised his fists, looked to the ceiling, and shouted, “Do you see what you’re making me do?” From his knees he took his time with the cross, slowly inserting the tip of the San Mai, watching a fine ribbon of blood emerge from immediately behind the blade. It was an excellent job, his best yet because he wasn’t rushed this time.
He stood and stared at her body while pondering the situation. Someone would find her body Monday night or Tuesday when she didn’t report for class. By Tuesday he would already be in Ohio as George Garrison. For the rest of the night he would stay and watch senorita Wanda’s TV until 1:45 in the morning, in the meantime thoroughly wipe the place clean of his presence, leave when her neighbors were lost in peaceful sleep, then complete what had to be done.
Buck vs. the Bulldog Ants
PART FOUR – An unfortunate death