Back To The World - James Shaffer Page 2

  Death is no stranger to anyone, especially to a soldier in the middle of a war in a jungle far from home, but I figured if it could reach out and touch my mama on the windswept plains in a remote corner of the West Texas Panhandle, I wasn’t safe anywhere. “Watch and pray” took on a whole new meaning. Instead of going home like I could’ve when my mama died, I faced it and signed on for another six months. Her passing left a hole in my life I figured I’d just fill with more killin’. It might keep death so busy, he wouldn’t bother me.

  At the end of eighteen months in–country, I signed my discharge papers. Thirty–six hours later, I walked back into the world. I landed in Dallas and caught a connecting flight to Amarillo. My taxi driver, a veteran of the Korean War like my daddy, gave me a free ride home from the airport. The uniform helped.

  I’d lived through it, but I somehow knew that was incidental. A lot of my buddies hadn’t. They’d come back to the world, not walking, but prone, still and lifeless in body bags. All the casualties of war eventually come back to the world, one way or another.

  ***

  I stomped up on to the porch of the house that had been my home since I was a kid. Easing open the door, I stepped into an empty hallway where my mama should have been, arms open wide. Her favorite hall mirror hung in the same spot on the wall above a small table. I stopped in front of it. The mirror reflected the face of a soldier in uniform, home from the war. The pictures I’d sent home of me and my buddies looking cool and casual in the jungle heat circled the mirror’s frame.

  Junk mail and flyers announcing the latest offers crammed the top of the small table. The package I was looking for, the one I’d sent home while I was on R&R between tours, lay at the bottom of the pile. It hadn’t been opened. I stuffed it inside my backpack.

  From deeper in the house, a voice from the TV pitched a tired, hard–sell act. I put down my bag. “Anyone home?” I called out. No one answered.

  I walked into the living room. My daddy, Tom Piper, usually holding up the end of a bar somewhere, was in a drunk sleep on his recliner. Tonight the bar was holding him. A half–full glass of Wild Turkey tipped sideways in his lap. His fingertips still touched the glass. The empty bottle rested on the side table next to him.

  I walked over and snapped off the TV. The sudden silence awakened him. His eyes shot open.

  “Hey! I was watchin’ that!” He was surprised, disoriented.

  “With your eyes closed?” I asked. It took him a moment to focus. I waited.

  “You’re home.” He said it like it was no big deal. He tipped the recliner forward and spilled his drink.

  “Damn! Now look what you made me do!” The drink soaked the front of his pants. He stared at the dark stain. It looked like he’d pissed himself. He knew what it looked like. He’d been there enough times.

  “Right. I made you drink,” I said flatly, “I suppose I made you gamble too.” He looked up at me squarely for the first time. I knew he wanted to tell me something. He had that peevish look.

  “Glad you brought that up. You’re home just in time. Ed Wills is stopping by tomorrow morning.”

  Ed was the local loan shark. It didn’t take me long to do the calculation. “How much you into him for? Ed don’t usually make house calls.”

  He gazed up at the ceiling and rubbed his chin like he was trying to make a serious calculation. He forgot for a moment that I knew him. He had no clue. To prove it, he gave up and looked at me with his practiced hang–dog expression. “Enough to make a house call, I guess,” he answered, staring hard at my face, trying to see my thoughts.

  Chapter Five

  When the Texas loan shark, Ed Wills, came to see my daddy the next morning to collect on the overdue vig, he brought his muscle with him. Most of the time people went to see Ed to pay their due. Ed took their willingness to pay as a good sign. It kept the books balanced and his debtors in his good graces. A bad sign was when Ed came calling and brought some help along.

  When they pounded on the door, I told my daddy to open it. I grabbed the Louisville Slugger we kept by the front door and eased out of sight into a side room. As the door opened, Eddie’s muscle man kicked it in and slapped a blackjack across my daddy’s nose, then followed him to the floor to deliver another blow.

  Eddie stepped in behind him. I bounced the bat off the back of the muscle’s head. He slumped to the side. Eddie was trying to pull his gun when I delivered a back swing to his jaw. He bounced off the wall and broke my mama’s best hall mirror; then he slid down and sat on the floor. I hit him again just for breaking the mirror. When the muscle moaned, I hit him a second blow. He stopped moaning.

  For eighteen months in the jungle, I had taken no prisoners. Back in the world, West Texas was just another jungle. I pulled the gun out of Ed’s pocket and checked the muscle for a weapon. He was a confident bastard. The blackjack was all he had on him.

  Daddy was trying to stand. I helped him into the kitchen, sat him in a chair and broke a tray of ice cubes into a dish towel. He held the cold towel on the bridge of his nose. I took a beer from the fridge, popped the cap and leaned a hip on the edge of the sink. As I took a long swallow from the bottle, I watched him snort blood into the towel.

  “You’re gonna have to go up to Kansas now. See Aunt Peg. You can’t be here when these boys wake up. I see a lot of Dust Bowl farming in your future, Daddy.”

  He peered at me over the edge of the towel then shifted his eyes past me out the kitchen window, staring into the distant past. “Hell, it’s all I ever knew. Should have stuck with it. Huh?” Given the pros and cons, I couldn’t agree or disagree.

  “Do I have to say it? No more bookies, Daddy. Low profile all the way. These guys will keep looking. Don’t give them a target.”

  He looked back at me and nodded. For some, a bloodied nose has a way of putting things into perspective. I wasn’t convinced he’d listen, but I’d had my say.

  I finished the beer then grabbed the bat from the kitchen counter where I’d left it and stepped into the hallway. The two tough guys were still out cold. Hickory wood is hard. I turned back to my daddy.

  “Can you walk?” He nodded. “Then go pack a bag.” I went to my room, grabbed my backpack and threw in a few changes of clothes. I folded my new western shirt and laid it on top of the rest. I hoped I had at least one more dance card to fill.

  When I came out of my room, the muscle was coming around. He raised his head off the floor and tried to focus on me. He lifted it just enough so I could give it another good wack with the bat. He was going to have a hell of a headache when he woke up. I knew they’d come after us. Ed had a reputation to protect and an organization to answer to.

  I went into the kitchen, opened the utility drawer and pulled out a roll of duct tape. I laid it on the counter then went over to the knife block and used the slits in the block to snap off the blades on each knife right where they met the handle. I took the paring knives out the silverware drawer and did the same. Ed would have to chew off the duct tape or use a butter knife. Of course, he could use the knife blades, but with his hands and arms tied behind his back, it would be a chore. That thought made me smile. Ed should work for his money for a change, I thought.

  Old Ed wasn’t one of my favourite people. I liked his muscle even less. I knew I could kill them, but I wasn’t ready to take that step. Getting your head wrapped around killing changed your whole perspective on things. I knew that perspective well. But it also changed your status in the eyes of the law. I wanted to stay off their radar. This way it was just between Ed and us. Ed would settle his own score the way I’d settled ours with him: with no help from the law. That suited me. I was sure when Ed woke up and his head cleared, it would suit him too.

  Daddy came down the stairs, bag in hand, just as I was finishing trussing up the away team. They hadn’t done too well today. I figured the tape would at least slow them down some and increase our margin for escape. Daddy stared at both of them stretched out on the floor.

 
; “You take no prisoners, do ya? You gonna just leave them?” He was asking the obvious.

  “Well I ain’t bringing them with us, if that’s what you mean,” I answered smartly and hefted the backpack on my shoulder. “Let’s go.”

  We stepped out on the porch. I pulled a hatchet from a stump of wood on one side of the porch where Daddy chopped kindling.

  “Take this around the side of the house and cut the phone line. We ain’t coming back. Give me your bag.” We exchanged a bag for a hatchet and stepped down off the porch together.

  Daddy headed around the side of the house while I started for Ed’s car. I checked. The keys were in the ignition. In a minute Daddy reappeared beside me. I looked at him. “You still leave the keys in the pick–up?”

  “Yeah. Old habit,” he said sheepishly.

  I wasn’t in the mood to be critical. “Go get ’em. And while you’re at it, take off the distributor cap, lift out the rotor and put it in your pocket along with the keys.”

  If Ed didn’t have the keys, he might try to hot–wire the pick–up. That would be a waste of time with the rotor gone. I wanted to slow Ed down as much as possible, tied up with no phone and no transport. The closest house with a phone was about four miles away. I was just buying time. It’s all we had.

  I popped open the trunk and dropped my backpack and Daddy’s bag inside. A briefcase sat off to one side. I opened it. The bottom of the case was stacked with bundled cash. On top of the cash were Ed’s accounts book.

  I opened the book and scanned the columns. At first glance it appeared Ed was just an accountant trying to balance his books at the end of the day — an accountant with a gun, some muscle and a bundle of cash.

  I closed the briefcase and yanked it from the trunk when Daddy returned from the truck. I slammed closed the trunk lid and went around the driver’s side.

  “Get in,” I said. We both got into Ed’s shiny, new Cadillac. I handed Daddy the briefcase. “Count the cash.” I turned the car around and headed west out on to the county road. I planned to drop Daddy off at the bus station in Amarillo then ditch the car. They’d be watching for the car. Ed was connected. The organization had eyes and ears everywhere.

  ***

  “There’s thirty–some thousand here!” Daddy said after a few minutes. His eyes were big and round. When I heard the sum, I wanted to push it, but I stayed at the speed limit.

  “Count out twenty. You take the rest. Buy three bus tickets at Greyhound: one for Las Vegas, one for Miami and one for Chicago. Take the Chicago bus but get off in Kansas as planned. Go to Aunt Peg’s. Keep your head down. Help her work the farm. Stay frosty, you hear?”

  “I hear ya.” He’d already started to count out the cash.

  Thirty minutes later we pulled into the bus terminal. I hopped out of the car and opened the trunk. I lifted out our bags, opened the back door and placed them on the seat. Then I got back in the car. I grabbed my backpack from the back, took the cash he had counted out for me and buried it in the bottom along with the gun and Ed’s book.

  “You might want to keep the briefcase with you. You look like a salesman whose last deal didn’t go so well. Your eyes will be black tomorrow. Besides, it’s not wise to stow the cash in the luggage hold. It’s your nest egg.”

  He looked over at me. “How’d you get so smart?” Given our circumstances, it wasn’t a stupid question. I gave him the most honest answer I knew. “There’s a wealth of information in books. Mama taught me that. I’ve wanted to escape for a long time Daddy. Now’s the time. Carpe diem.” He looked at me like I was speaking a foreign language. I was. “It’s Latin for ‘seize the day’.”

  “You’ve covered all the bases, haven’t you?” he asked matter–of–factly.

  When my mama died, I had a hard time seeing my daddy from the other side of the world for anything more than what he was, a drunk and a gambler. I blamed him. Her cancer wasn’t his fault, but at a distance, a simple logic reasoned that someone had to take the blame. He was the closest target. But over the years, though he was rarely around, I’d grown to love my daddy.

  He had his weaknesses like everyone — like borrowing from Ed. But he loved my mama. I saw that. He was hurting, too. He’d watched it all close up while I’d been in a jungle far away. In the middle of our troubles now, sharing that loss and that pain made a difference. I turned toward him.

  “Except the part where we don’t get killed.” We embraced. Then he got out of the car with the briefcase and took his bag from the back seat. “Remember. Buy those tickets. And keep your head down. I’ll be in touch.”

  He took about ten steps away from the car, then turned and made a small, farewell nod with his head. I watched him as he disappeared inside the station. Maybe it would be the last time I saw him. I wasn’t sure. I pulled out of the bus station in Ed’s new Caddie and headed west, first on I–40, then on Route 66.

  Part way to the state border I found a dirt road that led across the desert and curved behind a butte. I parked the car under a rock overhang that shielded it from any eyes in the sky. Hopefully, it would be weeks before someone discovered it. I hoped I’d be long gone by that time. I wiped down the car, grabbed my backpack, and headed west for the highway. It was a good day to leave Texas.

  I thought back to what happened. I’d only been home two days, and already I’d knocked two guys senseless, stole their car and money and was on the run. Maybe it was a question of the weak versus the strong or like in Nam, the quick and the dead. I couldn’t let an old loan shark and his muscle hurt my daddy, though he probably deserved the crack across his nose, which he got. But beyond that, there was to me a clear balance to what happened. I think my mama would have seen that just like her hero, John the Baptist, my namesake. It was my shout in the wilderness, my making the path straight again, not smooth, just straight and clear, preparing the way I chose.

  That night I slept under the stars. I found a place off the highway, an overhang of flat rocks that offered some shelter if I needed it. It was a cool night, like desert nights can be, but I figured if I could survive the jungle heat, I could take a little cold.

  Chapter Six

  Near sundown, just before Johnnie Piper settled down for the night, Ed woke up. He didn’t know where he was at first. The world was turned on its side, and his head hurt like hell. He tried to sit up. It was an effort. He couldn’t move his arms or feel his hands.

  When he did manage to put the world on a level plane again, he saw he was sitting in a patch of scattered glass, each piece reflecting and mocking his sorry state. The recent events that’d brought him to this patch returned like a lazy, slowly–lifting fog. He leaned his head back against the wall behind him and closed his eyes. I’m getting too old for this, he thought. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes. It was time to get a move on.

  He saw Bryan stretched out in front of him, still out cold. Ed’s legs were taped together, but he gave the muscle a good shove with his feet. Bryan moaned. That was a start.

  “Hey! Wake up!” Ed wasn’t the most patient man. Bryan lifted his head then let it fall to the floor with a thud. Ed gave him another shove. “Get up! Come on! We have to get after those guys!”

  Bryan rolled over on his back. “Sorry boss. That guy came out of nowhere.”

  “Yeah. He got the drop on us this time. Won’t make that mistake again.” Bryan inched his way upright. A pronounced lump, the size of half a golf ball, stretched the skin on his forehead. “Think you can get into the kitchen and find something to get us loose?”

  Bryan pulled his feet under him and stood on his knees. He hopped toward the kitchen. He and Ed were tied up good. Tape wound tightly around their wrists and elbows as well as their ankles and knees. It was a professional job. He had to release his elbows before he could do anything.

  The only sharp surface he could find at floor level was the corner of the kitchen counter. He backed up to the corner and began a slow dance up and down on his knees, sawing away at the tape while
pulling with his arms. Bryan was strong. He was the muscle. The tape gave, and he freed his elbows. He went through a similar motion with his wrists. Since his elbows were free, the wrists were easier.

  Once free, he sat and tore the tape from his knees and ankles. Free at last, he stood and snatched a glass from the counter, filled it with water and drank the full glass down in one go. He refilled the glass. His head pounded. I’ll have to find some aspirin before we head out, he thought.

  Ed heard the water running. “Hey! What are you doing in there? Fixing dinner?”

  Bryan walked to the kitchen doorway. “Just getting a drink, boss.” He still had the glass in his hand. He took a sip.

  “Well how about tearing me loose, if you’re not too thirsty, that is.”

  Smart ass, thought Bryan. He leaned over and tore the tape on Ed’s ankles and knees first. Then he pulled Ed to his feet, turned him around and loosed his elbows and hands.

  Ed rolled his aching shoulders and rubbed his chafed wrists, working some feeling back into his hands. They’d turned a pale shade of blue.

  “You got bits of glass all over you.” Bryan started brushing at Ed’s back. In his effort to be thorough, he touched Ed’s ass.

  Ed spun around and knocked Bryan’s hand away. “Hey! That territory is Charlene–only. Back off.”

  “Sorry, boss.” Ed reached back and grabbed the back of his own pants and shook free the remaining glass bits. “You broke the mirror.” Bryan stated the obvious.

  “That’s not the only thing I’m going to break.” He patted his pockets. His gun was gone.

  Watching Ed, Bryan checked his pockets. “My blackjack’s gone too.”

  “Those bastards. Check the house phone.” Bryan found the phone in the kitchen, but he heard no dial tone.

  “Dead.”

  “Smart bastards, aren’t they? It’s that son of his, Johnnie, back from the war. I remember him. Always was a smart bastard. Tom couldn’t think his way out of a paper bag.” Ed headed for the door. “Let’s go.”