It’s been a while since my last installment. Life, distractions, the Universe and stuff. You know. But Jamie and The Crew and I are back. And naked as usual. Most of the time. This chapter builds on the previous ones, so you’ll probably want to review them. Naked yourself, if logistically possible.
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I knew my mother had already been and gone when I woke up. There was a sheet and blanket pulled up and over me, just like when I was six. My stereo had been turned off along with my reading and writing lamp. The clothes I had tossed aside when I walked through the door the night before had been folded neatly and laid on the ottoman, along with my Mud Hens shirt which I clearly remembered hanging on one of the moose’s antlers over the fireplace…just to jerk her chain. The notebook I’d left lying open on purpose for her to read was closed and back on the stand beside my recliner. The empty Rolling Rock bottle was missing, as was the left over twenty dollars from Clam Shak. It was her money after all. She knew I wouldn’t keep it, especially after my dad roped her into that sucker bet over Hannah.
She had even made coffee. Her empty cup was in the sink. The rest was waiting for me when I got up. I estimated the time to be ten in the morning or thereabouts. Sunlight was streaming through the east side windows. I didn’t bother showering. Yet. I just relieved myself, grabbed some coffee and went outside. My morning wood showed no signs of subsiding, but I was still too fuzzy to care. Mom and Sharon were laying out a late breakfast or a snack of some sort at the picnic table under the willow tree. Nibbling and chatting. Naked as me. Big surprise.
Whenever I see them together, especially nude, I’m amazed at how much they look alike. Facial features. Quirks in their expressions. The wave of their hair. The big full breasts. The way their hips flare gently out from a narrower waist. Even the shape and display of the folds that usually stand out like the outer edges of floral petals from the crevice of their mons. The dark brown edges which match the variegated dark brown of their nipples. My mom is shorter and thicker in build, but both are gorgeous…to me…and neither has sags of any kind anywhere. Not even the little tummy paunch that some women begin to develop approaching age forty or so. The degree to which Scooter resembles them is amazing. Taller than my mom, shorter than hers, with adorable breasts that are by far the smallest of the three, but still stamped from the same mold.
They waved and motioned me over. I checked my cock and stayed where I was for a while. Content to watch them. I wasn’t quite awake enough yet for human interaction anyway. I leaned against the door jamb, sipping and savoring my first caffeine of the morning and waiting for it to kick in. Enjoying the feel of the sun on my skin and the background sounds of the birds and the farm animals.
I stepped back inside long enough to refill my cup before finally joining them under the willow. They knew I’d surface eventually. There was a coffee carafe on the table along with a plate for me. Sharon had made up an oatmeal cake with coconut caramel glaze and prepped a big bowl of fresh chopped fruit from the garden orchard. Two of my major weaknesses. Each of them soundly kissed me good morning and wrapped me up in happy boob crushing hugs. Each smiled, pretending to ignore their casual contact with my still swollen member. Our family is like that. I thought back to the short busty Vicki in Rochester. She would fit right in.
We sat at the picnic table and ate. They were discussing the canning progress and wondering if Dad would be up for sweet corn and BBQ ribs for supper. He was still sleeping. The ride from New York, even when treatments went well, took a lot out of him. He wouldn’t get much of his stamina back for week or more.
For the most part, I simply drank coffee and ate and woke up, half listening, picking up details on doctor’s reports I hadn’t yet heard. When their conversation turned to Sharon’s descriptions of Oscar and “that adorable little Kelly”, I refilled my cup from their carafe, grabbed another piece of cake, and stood, thanking Sharon for breakfast and Mom for picking up. I had no intention of letting myself get sucked into where that one was probably going.
As I turned to walk away, Sharon called, “So Jamie, when are we going to get to meet the Grape Girl?” Too late. Her eyes were on my cock. It jumped. My mother stifled a snicker.
“I’m going back to the barn now,” I stated firmly. “I’ve got some calls to make before I wash all the highway bugs off the Buick.”
“Be sure to call Laurel and let her know you’re conscious,” Sharon laughed. “She phoned the house twice this morning already and I told her to let you sleep in.”
“I thought she’d call my phone,” I said. “I didn’t hear it ring.”
“Oh, I was reading your story and you were sleeping so soundly I turned the ringer off so it wouldn’t disturb you,” Mom admitted. “And as for picking up, it takes forty-five seconds. You almost never wear clothes. Why you drop them and leave them lay where they fall is simply beyond me. Just because you live in a barn…” I was walking away so her voice trailed off, but even after I got back inside my barn house, I heard a few random phrases, spoken more loudly for emphasis. Something about “that poor moose” and “Hueys spraying chemical”, and “Colin bet me twenty dollars that…” and “a cluster of grapes for goodness sakes…” I needed more caffeine!
Scooter picked up on the first ring. “Jamie, thank God. I’ve got so much to tell you. What are you doing today? Can you talk if I come over? Or can you come over here? I don’t want to talk on the phone. I missed you so much. You won’t believe what’s going on. Can Marcie and Petey and I come out to the farm. Bobbi’s missing. Is Uncle Colin OK? We won’t bother him. I promise. Is my mom still there? Why weren’t you answering your phone? We didn’t want to bother you in Rochester. We’ve been looking all over and need your brain.”
“Whoa. Hold on,” I interupted her. “What do you mean Bobbi’s missing?”
“She’s missing. Nobody’s seen her or heard from her. Jamie I’m freaking out. Can we come over?”
“Sure. Of course,” I said. “I’ve got nothing…”
“We’ll be right there…”
She hung up before I could answer any of her other questions or ask any more of my own. I wasn’t even sure who made up the “we” that was coming right over. A few minutes later, back at the willow, I asked Sharon if she knew what was going on. She didn’t.
“I knew Laurel was getting frustrated,” she told me. “She hasn’t seen or heard from Bobbi, but she never said anything about her going missing. We haven’t talked about much since she left here yesterday morning with Pete and Marcie and Izzy. All she said then was they had some things they needed to do at the river house and around the area there.”
“Well, somebody’s headed back here with her right now, so I hope we’ll find out more,” I said. “Pretty much all she said on the phone was ‘Good, you’re awake. Bobbi’s missing. We’ll be right over.’ Then she hung up.”
I knew I had an hour and change to kill before they arrived. I checked on my dad, even though Sharon and Mom said he was fine. Then I actually did scrub the bugs off the Buick and take a quick shower. I was buffing scruffy teenager fingerprints off the chrome bulldog when Petey’s van pulled up to the barn around noon. Scooter blew out of the side door before he had time to put it in park. She hit me in a flying tackle.
“I’m so glad you’re back,” she said, squeezing her arms around me so hard it was difficult to breath. Marcie wasn’t far behind her, coming out the same door and hitting me seconds later. Pete and Izzy, driver and shot gun doors, weren’t running but looked no less glad to see me. I gave up on buffing the dog. He looked pretty good as he was.
Scooter and Marcie were talking at the same time. Pete and Izzy were trying to help calm them down enough to get a basic outline to me of what was had been happening. Sharon and Mom saw the commotion. They came over to help and find out for themselves what was up. As it turned out, Mom and Sharon took Scooter and Marcie back to the willow. Scooter was frantic. Izzy and Pete and I went into the barn.
The afternoon from there was a blur of fragments. Parts of a whole, for sure, but emerging thread by thread. Patchwork piece by piece. Over the course of the next three hours, a kind of musical chairs sort of thing developed. I ended up back outside for a while, under the willow with Izzy and Marcie. Then I was in the barn with Petey and Scoot. Mom and Sharon moved to the kitchen with Scooter and Pete, then back to the willow with Izzy and and me.
Scooter started to relax and make sense along the way, and details got clearer as various versions of stories got sorted out. My pipe made it out and around the room in the barn with various folks on a couple occasions. And, I saw one of my mom’s on the kitchen table as well at one point. I know that I wasn’t the only one of the group that spent time with my dad in the living room and walking with him out by the garden. He needed to smoke up and he wanted company, and for the company not to treat him like he was sick. He didn’t want to be out of the loop.
I remember Scooter and Dad sharing a bowl in the barn underneath the moose, and Marcie and Izzy…sharing the ottoman…leafing through my notebook. I’m not certain at what point Petey or Marcie or Scooter or Izzy got naked, or when Robb got there, but by four o’clock we were all headed out to the quarry and no one was wearing clothes.
We swam for a good while, then dried in the sun and talked. Much more calmly. Then got hot and swam some more. Gradually, something like a bigger picture began to emerge. Back at the house…later…Sharon and Mom and the girls threw together the kitchen part of supper while Petey and Izzy and Robb got the fire up and threw on the ribs and the corn. My dad was dividing his time between supervising the fire outside and resting and watching TV in the livingroom. The six o’clock movie was playing a Flash Gordon serial. There was a lot of coming and going in every direction. As for me, I went out to the barn, sat down, and started furiously scribbling notes. These notes…
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As best as I could piece together, no one had heard a word from Bobbi while I’d been gone. She didn’t show up for work at the diner that Monday before my parents and I left for Rochester. But that wasn’t the first time Bobbi had blown off a shift or two without calling in when things went sideways at home. Miss Betty liked her a lot and put up with it over and over. She knew more than a bit about just how volatile things could sometimes be out at Bobbi’s home, which was really a run down trailer and lean-to addition with knee high weeds and grass and way too many people in too little space. Letting her work at the diner was Miss Betty’s way of trying to help and be a friend. Marcie and Carol were always good about picking up those occasional shifts on short notice, making a little extra money themselves. Everyone went on with business as usual except for Scooter trying to call her.
On Tuesday, the day we had left for New York, Scoot came out to the farm with Sharon as planned. They were working on keeping our roadside farmstand supplied from the garden and orchard, restocking mainly peaches and corn and tomatoes and green beans and emptying money from the honor-pay box a couple times each day. Most of their time, though, was spent on canning and freezing stuff from Wednesday morning through late Thursday afternoon. Scoot still couldn’t get anyone to pick up the phone at Bobbi’s, but didn’t fuss too much. Wednesdays and Thursdays were normally Bobbi’s days off. More often than not, she’d do a couple loads at the laundromat in Vicksville, stop by the grocery store to refill the fridge for her sibs, then take off to Cleveland to get away from the trailer and chaos and hang with a cousin who lived there. Maybe she’d left a day or two early.
Thursday afternoon, Pete finished his jobsite deliveries way ahead of time and called to check in with Izzy and Frank. Frank was covering things at the campground and starting to sort through what he wanted to take when he moved out to Boston, so Izzy came by the river house for a little D&D. Marcie had just shown up and was getting into her randomly meddling nude sexy elvish wizard queen routine when Scooter called to invite them all out to the farm…specifically the quarry…for swimming and supper that night. She’d invited Oscar and Kelly too, and they were on their way out from Toledo.
Apparently Kelly and Petey hit it off big time. Oscar and Scoot, not so much. He drove because Kelly’s car was in the shop, and anyway he really did want to get to know our friends and family better. But other than skinny dipping and hanging out nude and playing naked chicken with Scooter or Marcie up on his shoulders, he wasn’t really interested in more. According to Pete, that didn’t stop either girl…or Sharon…from still breathlessly checking him out and teasing him all afternoon and evening. As became clear though, he had a thing for this tiny cute Asian girl with big rectangular glasses whose team had won first place the weekend before at the impromptu clothing optional Magic tournament. He said she reminded him of some popular anime character. She saw him naked and started flirting that night, calling him Fezzik after the gentle giant in Princess Bride.
They must have had a good time. From what I could gather, they raided the no-inhibitions stash in the pantry and broke out the D&D. It got late and the group of them crashed that night at my house in the barn. Oscar passed out in my recliner. Petey and Kelly called dibs on the futon. Marcie and Scooter took over my bed, with Izzy happily sandwiched between them. The following morning, which was the day we drove back from New York, Oscar and Kelly went back to Toledo and Scooter hitched a ride home to the river house with Marcie and Izzy and Pete.
They stopped at the diner for an early lunch and found out that Bobbi had blown off another shift which made three in a row, or five if you counted her two normal days off. Miss Betty was looking a little desperate so Marcie jumped in and started bussing tables and taking orders dressed as she was, in nothing but very very short cut-offs and what was left after ripping the sleeves and the bottom half off a tattered Ramones t-shirt. She doesn’t need a bra to hold up her tits so she seldom bothers with one. Yesterday morning was no exception. None of the customers complained and she knew she’d be picking up some major tips that afternoon and evening. The twins and Izzy left her there. Miss Betty would drop her home after closing.
The three of them stopped at Robb’s office to see if the field crews needed any last minute supplies delivered. There were only two and Robb had already covered both, so they went out to the river house. Tried to call Bobbi again and again. No one picked up. Scooter was getting nervous.
Scoot insisted on taking a drive to check on the situation at Bobbi’s place in person. Pete and Izzy both knew the family out there and wouldn’t let her go alone. Plus, Izzy had heard the brakes on her car grinding metal on metal as she tried to back up and turn around. In spite of her protests, he took the keys and had Pete and her follow him in the van as he drove the car slow to the campground. His mom would look at it later and have it road worthy in no time. In spite of being Jack’s hippie girlfriend then wife of twenty-two years, Suzie was the hardcore mechanic of the family. Grew up with six brothers. All of them motorheads. Frank and Izzy lived in half of her chicken coop turned pole barn and garage.
When the three of them got to Bobbi’s, no one was at the trailer except for a pony-tailed fat scruffy guy in greasy jeans and a wife-beater that may have once been white. He had a Harley torn apart on a tarp in a matted down part of what passed for a yard. Scooter said he appeared to have sworn off shaving or bathing. Definitely not Bobbi’s dad. He frowned suspiciously, watching the three of them exit the van and go up to bang on the door. “Nobody’s home in there,” he barked. When asked, he claimed he knew nothing about where Bobbi was and hadn’t seen her in days. When they asked who he was, he just mumbled “a friend of the family”. He said he was busy and if he saw her he’d tell her to call them. Then he threw down the wrench he was holding, wiped his hands on his shirt, and roughly shoved past Izzy and Pete. They both noticed the pistol stuck in his belt in back and the tatt on the underside of his left forearm. A big numeral “1” with a skull and crossbones over it. The “family friend” ran up the steps and into the trailer. He slammed the door and they heard the lock click. Still, they took a quick look around back. Bobbi’s car was gone.
They stopped at a handful of other trailers nearby. None of the closest neighbors had seen her and nobody seemed to know anything. At least not anything they were willing to admit. One woman down a “private” gravel side road tried to give Scooter some “You didn’t hear it from me but…” information. She said that there had been a big fight at the house the day after Bobbi had called us. (That would have been Sunday.) Lots of yelling and screaming. Three sheriff’s cars showed up. Four people were taken away. That’s all she knew. Then an angry looking dude jerked her into their house by her arm, shouting, “Shut up, you stupid bitch! Quit runnin’ your mouth. You don’t know nothin’!” He glared at Scooter and snarled, “You kids need to mind your own fuckin’ business.” With that, he slammed the door in her face. They went back to the river house. Tried to calm down and figure out what to do next.
Their call to the sheriff’s office was no help at all. Nobody there would confirm or deny any details. Just said that they couldn’t discuss any active investigations. They were aware she appeared to be missing but she was a legal adult with a car of her own and could go where she pleased. It was also suggested that they quit poking around and annoying folks who prefer to be left alone.
Miss Betty brought Marcie home around eight. She also brought supper for Maurice and stayed. Marcie came over as soon as she showered. The four of them talked. They were out of things they could do until morning. Izzy called Frank and filled him in. Frank told him to spend the night and not to worry. He had things covered at the campground.
Lacking a better idea, and wanting to get Scooter’s mind off the telephone which she kept dialing, they settled on Nugent’s. Took the van instead of the boat. They still hit a little of Izzy’s swamp weed and rode naked. Got dressed in the parking lot. The van only has one little circular port hole window on the the driver’s side in back. Otherwise, it’s a tricked out panel truck with a second row of seats.
Early this morning, they were up and back out on Bobbi’s road for another pass. Stopping and trying to talk with whoever they saw that they hadn’t talked with before. That lasted less than an hour. Nobody wanted to talk and everyone watched them suspiciously.
As soon as they got back to the river house, Scoot started franticly trying to call me. Couldn’t get through. Called the farmhouse phone instead. Talked to Sharon who talked to me. I called. The rest you know.
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After the ribs and corn and the clean-up, Robb and Sharon went into the house and hung out with my folks. I smelled euchre and kept my distance. Izzy, Petey, Marcie, Scoot and I went out to the barn. They looked through the rest of my notes but we didn’t talk about Bobbi. I think we were all Bobbi’d out for the night. I stacked up a mix of Clapton and this obscure Canadian guy named Bruce Cockburn. His “Stealing Fire” import that had the cut titled “If I Had a Rocket Launcher”. I was in that kind of mood. We opened some beers from Dad’s fridge in the barn and played ring toss with the moose for a while. Then took a half-hearted swing at another round of D&D. Later, we went back out to the quarry for a midnight dip. Walked instead of taking the Studebaker. Surprised the crap out of Herbie and Janet and three of their visiting cousins up for a family reunion. Two girls and one guy, all a little older than Janet. All of them naked. We told them to them stay and promised not to say anything. They were supposed to be at a midnight movie. They were still there when we headed back to the barn an hour later.
Sharon and Robb slept over. So did everyone else. I collapsed on my bed. Pete collapsed in my chair. I found it a little interesting that Izzy and Scoot claimed the futon. Izzy looked briefly conflicted until I caught his eye and nodded. Scoot looked at me and smiled a bit sheepishly. Then she shrugged and cuddled into him. Pressed into him. Her hand resting on his balls. Her ass and the lips of her womanhood pointed in my direction. She grinned more broadly when she caught me watching.
Marcie, I think, spent part of the night in the chair with Pete, part on the futon and part with me. She was draped over me when I woke in the morning. The sheet had been kicked off. We were partially turned on our sides, facing each other. Her breasts were pressed to my ribcage, nipples hard. Her head was cradled on my shoulder. One arm and one leg were wrapped around me, her warm moist cootch snuggled against my rigid shaft. She joined me in the shower.
Neither one of us uttered a word as we washed one another. Exploring each other with hands and mouths and slippery skin to skin hugs and gyrations. It didn’t take long before I was fully hard and sliding between Marcie’s uppermost thighs from behind, the top of my rigid manhood wrapped in her slick folds. One of my hands slowly played with her breasts. Her nipples. My other hand toyed with her clit, teasing and stroking in a rhythm that matched my thrusting. I pulled her to me and held her tightly when she gasped and her knees buckled. Held her like that until her breathing returned to normal. She turned in my arms and kissed me deeply, sliding a hand between us to wrap her fingers around my cock. She pumped me slowly, teasingly, as my own urgency built. Sensing how close I was, she wordlessly dropped to her knees and engulfed me with her mouth, plunging forward and taking me deep. Five. Maybe six times before I shot. She pulled back and swallowed, then suckled just the head as three or so lesser spasms overtook me.
When we emerged, Pete had apparently made coffee and taken his first cup outside. Scoot was awake and smiled at us as she teased Izzy’s balls and morning wood. His eyes were closed but he wasn’t asleep. He had one of his hands between her legs, toying with the petals of her pussy while he suckled on her nearest nipple. Marcie and I got coffee and and briefly watched before joining Pete outside.
Later, at breakfast, we talked with the parents and weighed out some options. Decided the five of us would drive back to the river house, then go back out to Bobbi’s road and nose around some more. Being Sunday, we might find some other people out and about and more willing to talk. It was worth a try. For a couple of days. We weren’t giving up.
By the end of the day on Monday, everybody we knew was worried and calling around or out looking. Miss Betty discretely checked with all the regulars at the diner. Sharon and Robb and Maurice had asked all along the river. Scooter was beating herself up about not doing more after Bobbi called us that very last time. Sal was ready to come back from The City and hit up some of the shadier streets in Toledo digging for clues. He even named a couple of biker hang-outs in our area. We talked him out of it. Promised to keep him in the loop. My parents told me to take all the time I needed. Herbie and Janet were covering chores at the farm.
After almost nine days with no information, on Tuesday night, we were back at the river house, all comparing notes. We’d spent another fruitless day making calls and knocking on doors. Scooter, Pete, Marcie, Izzy, Frank, me. Miss Betty had brought over supper. It had been such a hectic and frustrating day that the six of us all were still in our street clothes. Around 10:30 that night, Sal called. Scooter picked up. Listened. Burst into tears. Threw more than handed the phone to me and ran out the back door sobbing.
Pete and Marcie followed her out. Frank just sat at the table staring somberly off into nowhere. Izzy was up and pacing the kitchen. Judging from Scooter’s reaction, I think we were all expecting the worst. I looked at the phone, still in my hand, and swallowed hard against the lump in my throat.
After several seconds, I brought the receiver up. “Sal?” was all I could manage.
“She’s here man,” he said. “She’s a mess and she’s scared to death, but she’s safe.”
“She’s safe,” I told Frank and Izzy quickly. Then to Sal, I stammered, “Why…how…what happened?”
“I don’t really know much yet,” he told me. “She showed up this afternoon. Walked into the bar about 4:00 looking like death warmed over. Said she’s been sleeping in her car. Parking lots and rest areas. Town to town. Hiding.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” I said. “Why didn’t she come to us? Or call?”
“I got nothin’, bro. All she gave me was bits and snatches. She wasn’t making much sense. It was all I could do to get that much out of her. She either cries or sits and stares into space or paces around like caged animal. It took me till an hour ago to get her showered and into some clothes of Ziva’s. I finally got her to eat and as soon she crashed on the couch, I called.”
“What can we do?” I asked. “We can be there in four to five hours.”
“No,” he said. “Stay put for right now. She’s safe, whatever’s going on. My guess is she’ll be dead to the world till the morning. I’ll crash on the floor by the couch if I sleep at all. Trust me, we won’t let her out of our sight. I’ll call you tomorrow as soon as I can make some more sense of what’s going on.”
“OK”, I agreed, reluctantly. “But we may need to tie Scoot to her bed. She’s going to want to be there right now.”
“I know,” he said. “But Bobbi already said no. That much, she was clear about. She didn’t even want me to call you at first. Said it could be too dangerous for you. So for now, tell family family she’s safe but sit tight. Say nothing to anyone else. Anyone. Remember she told Scoot that she was afraid of something going really sideways? Well it looks like it did. And with all the poking around we’ve been doing, it’s hard to know what else might have gotten stirred up. So watch your backs.”
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By the time I hung up the phone, Scooter had calmed down some. I filled everyone in on my conversation with Sal, along with his cryptic warning. I called my parents to give them the basics and let them know I’d be staying the night again at the river house. Pete called his folks. Then the six of us talked some more about what Sal had said. Trying to read between the lines. We didn’t come up with much.
Frank and Izzy went home around midnite. Told us they’d call after noon the next day if they hadn’t heard from us. Marcie ran next door to check in with Maurice and give him the update. Miss Betty was still there so she heard too. When I finally crashed, Scoot was passed out in a chair and Pete and Marcie were cuddled on the couch, watching an old Bowery Boys movie.
I didn’t sleep much that night. Scooter came out and joined me in the hammock some time around five in the morning. Snuggled and cried herself back to sleep. Neither of us heard Marcie leave, but it couldn’t have been much more than an hour later. The diner opens at seven.
Pete and Scooter left a note by the coffeepot. They were stopping by Robb’s office to make sure his crews didn’t need a supply run. We had agreed the night before that one of us…me for now…would stay at the house in case Sal called. They promised to bring back some of Miss Betty’s Danish.
I slammed down a quick first dose of caffeine and started to think out my morning. I wanted to go through the random scribbled notes collected from the last couple days and try to combine them into a cogent account. Spend some time writing and drinking naked coffee.
Right after my shower, I went out front to grab a fresh notebook from my Bonneville. As I pulled back the cover I always throw over it there to protect it from tree sap, I thought I heard something rustle in the brush on the side the house. I looked, expecting an animal of some kind. Nothing. Then, as I opened the trunk, I heard an engine revving up loud, out by the road, followed by spraying gravel and screaming tires. I couldn’t see it because of the trees and a bend in the drive. Apparently, Maurice had heard it too because he came out of his front door, naked…at a run…carrying a double barreled shotgun.
“Eveything Ok over there?” he called.
“Fine, as far I can tell,” I answered. “I didn’t see anything, but I’m going to look around now.”
“You stay right there,” he said. “I’m coming over.”
Wearing nothing but a pair of gardening clogs, he clambered through the trees and scrub to where I stood by my car. Shotgun open but loaded. Together we walked up the drive to the mailbox. From the ruts and gravel spray we could tell a car had been in the driveway. Something with wider racing tires by the look of the burnout marks on the road.
“Whover it was, they left in a hurry,” I grumbled.
“Or, they wanted you to know they’d been here,” Maurice stated darkly.
We checked all around the house. There on the heavier wooded side where I’d heard the rustling, a rusty flatbar was hanging still jammed underneath the window sash to Scooter’s room. It was the side of the house with the most screening from view.
“Damn,” Maurice muttered. “Somebody was trying to get in over here. Definitely not stopping by for a friendly chat. I don’t like the looks of this.” I had a strange feeling he wasn’t saying everything he was thinking. He seldom did. Like Jack Pascal, Frank and Izzy’s dad, Maurice had come back from “Nam” real quiet and a little spooky. Jack took to the marshes. Maurice to the river. From what I’d heard, neither man talked much about it except late at night over beers at the VFW.
“Do you think we should call the sheriff?” I asked.
“You can try, but I wouldn’t bother. Sonny won’t get off his fat ass to come out here for this. This is river folks. He’ll blow you off and tell you it was probably just kids. Nobody actually broke in. Nobody was hurt. Nothing was stolen. He’ll tell you to come to the office and Sara will take down an incident report. Unless you’re one the rich folks up by Rock Harbor, or one of his friends, he won’t ‘waste the resources’. He’d rather have his deputies out on the highway writing tickets. That’s where the easy money is.”
I sighed and kicked at the dirt in frustration, before remembering I was barefoot. I knew he was probably right. I’d heard my uncle Robb say similar things about ‘Acting Sheriff’ Sonny Cox. The department had never once come out to look around when Robb called about an overnight theft from a job site. They just gave him a report number and told him to call his insurance.
No one had ever even voted for Sonny Cox. Hobart “Hobie” Meyer had been the Pelee County Sheriff for years. Robb said things were different then. But several months back, Hobie Meyer’s body was found floating face down in Black Creek with a 30 cal soft point slug in his chest. No suspects were ever arrested. Official speculation was that he walked up and surpised a poacher. No one who knew him bought it. Hobie was smarter than that. And more careful. Based on seniority, the county commission appointed Deputy Sonny Cox to serve out the rest of his term. Sonny’s younger brother Walter became his senior deputy.
“Are you here alone?” Maurice asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “We decided last night that one of us would stay by the phone until Sal called. I’m here while Scooter and Pete run some errands.”
“Okay,” he said. “You got any way of getting in touch with your cousins?”
“They were planning to check in with Robb at his office, then stop by the diner and bring me some Danish.”
“Call them,” he said. “Fill them in on what happened here and tell them to call ahead and let you know exactly when they’ll be back. That way you’ll be looking for them. Also, ask ’em to see if Betty still has any giant frosted cinnamon rolls left from this morning.” He grinned. “I don’t think whoever was here would risk coming back in the daylight, but just in case, do you have any guns in the house?”
“None that I know of,” I told him.
“You know how to handle one?” he asked.
“Out on the farm, my dad’s got a few. I grew up shooting with him. Two pistols. A.357 revolver and an old Ruger. A couple.22 rifles for plinking. An M1. A 20 guage pump. And a 12 guage single barrel breach break. Ancient. Belonged to my great grandad. And my Uncle Robb brings his pistols out sometimes. I’ve handled them all. We’ve got an earth berm range set up.”
“Fine,” he nodded. “I’ll be right back.” He made his way through the trees to his house and disappeared inside. Emerged and headed back with another shotgun. A single shot break action 12 guage. It looked just like my great grandad’s gun. He handed it to me, open, along with a small box of shells. “These are bird shot,” he said, but they’ll do the trick in a pinch. You ever fire one like this?”
“Exactly like this,” I said, looking closely at the words “White Powder Wonder” etched in the barrel.
“I figured. Sears and Roebuck sold a lot of these back in the day. I’ve only got my one pistol and it’s on the boat right now. This thing’s not fancy and kicks like a mule but it’s simple and indestructible. Go on back inside and wait for your call, but keep this close by. Don’t load it unless you need to. Remember, there’s no safety. I’ll be down at the dock, doing some work on the boat. Yell if you need me. Or if your cousins show up with those cinnamon rolls.”
I went inside and leaned the shotgun against the wall in the corner by the door. I opened the box of shells and put it down on the table next to my notebook. Grabbed some coffee and called Robb’s office. He said the twins had just left for the diner. I told him about the attempted break-in and once I convinced him I was fine, he said he’d be over as soon as possible. I asked him to call my parents so I could keep the line open for Sal. I called the diner and Marcie picked up. Pete and Scooter were there. I filled them in and they said they had a delivery to drop at a site yet and should be home shortly. With Danish and rolls.
I spent most of the rest of the morning drinking naked coffee and pacing and writing and pacing.
Sal called at 11:27 exactly. I know because I was looking at the clock when the phone rang. As soon as he heard my voice, he started talking, “Dude, before you say anything, let me tell you. I need a beer. Bad. Can you meet me for a beer?”
“What? What are you talking about?” I stuttered. It didn’t make sense. The City was five hours away. “Sal,” I said, “what’s going on? Did you get any further talking wi….”
He cut me off. “Listen bro, take a breath…” Then more slowly, “Take…a…breath. We really need to get a beer. I can’t talk now. Can you meet me at 3:00? Seventh Avenue? By the pinball machines? It’s important. Understand?” In the background, music was playing. Loudly. The Police. The stalker song. “Every Breath You Take.” I thought about it. No matter what you do, you’re being watched?
Sal and I both pay a lot of attention to lyrics. Sometimes we throw them back and forth at each other. It’s a game we play. I knew what he meant. It was code. One only he and I would understand. “Seventh Avenue” was the name of the song I’d been working on for months. No one but Sal had heard it yet. It was about the night we got into the fight with the frat boys who tried to drug Bobbi’s drink at a gig we were playing at that joint way out in the country southeast of Jackson. The fight happened off to the side of the stage. By the pinball machines.
“I’ll be there,” I told him. “Three o’clock. Seventh Avenue.”
“Solid” was all he said before hanging up.
I was getting more coffee and running through plans in my head when I heard the sound of tires on the gravel. Coming up fast. Just in case, I grabbed the shotgun and dropped in a shell. I pulled back the curtain to look and started to breathe again, stepping outside as Pete’s van skidded to a stop by my Bonneville. He and Scooter jumped out but stopped in their tracks, Scooter’s eyes on the 12 guage.
“Jamie. What the fuck?” she cried. “Where did you get a gun?”
“I brought it over to him,” Maurice called as he came through the trees. Naked. Wet. Clutching his double barrel. Also open.
As they came over to us, I was just about to explain when we heard another car hit the gravel. Fast. Maurice pushed Pete toward the cover of the van and I did the same with Scoot. When Robb came around the bend in the drive, he was greeted by two naked men with shotguns at ready. When we recognized his Cordoba we lowered them quickly, breaking them open. Robb pulled to an easy stop and got out. Face serious. Looked us both up and down. Nodded to Maurice. “Hooah, captain,” he said.
Maurice nodded back. “Hooah, sarge.”
Scoot had her arms around my midsection. Pete clamped me in a quick bro hug, then firmly shook Maurice’s hand and thanked him.
“Show me,” Robb said to Maurice and me, a steely look in his eyes. We quickly went through the story again and led the three of them to Scoot’s window. Robb dug a big red bandana handkerchief out of his back pocket. Wrapped it around the flatbar and pulled. Then loosely rolled it up the rest of the way. “In case somebody decides to do his job and check this for prints…” We went around the perimeter of the house again looking for any other clues. Didn’t find any.
Inside, over coffee and Danish…and cinnamon rolls…I told them about the call. The code. I needed to hit the road if I wanted to make the connection with Sal, so we kept it brief and came up with a plan. Scooter and Pete would stay close to their dad. They would lock up the river house. Maurice would keep an eye on the place. He was changing the prop on his boat (which explained why he was wet and dripping on the rug). He planned to leave Dawg, his coon hound, out on the screened porch to set up a ruckus if strangers came around. And, since whoever had tried to break in had likely seen part of my Pontiac, Robb insisted I take his Cordoba. He never let anyone drive it, so nobody local would even suspect it was me. And with the tinted windows and top up, no one could tell who was behind the wheel. Scooter would drive my car to her parents’ house and then one of Robb’s guys would cause it to safely disappear for a while. We’d work out details when I got back.
They had me dressed, out of the house and into the car at 1:17 exactly. I had a thermos of coffee and some Danish for the road. I had all my notes, a fresh composition book and a handful of pens in a leather courier bag on the passenger seat beside me. My go-bag was in the trunk, though I didn’t expect to need it. Robb opened the passenger door and leaned in as I slid the key into the ignition. “Remember,” he said quietly “doors locked and windows up. Call Sharon at home when you’re on your way back. Or whatever. She’ll tell whoever else needs to know. Be careful. And…just in case…I know you know how to use this.” He tapped the glovebox button, popping it open. Inside was his loaded Beretta M9, an extra clip, and a small box of shells. I silently frowned a question at him. In answer, he lifted his shirt tail showing me the holstered Sig on his hip.
The combination of adrenaline, paranoia, sugar and caffeine had me checking my mirrors every fifteen seconds until I got past Toledo. I started to feel more at ease once I got off the interstate and onto the side roads and two lanes. As I drove to my meeting with Sal, I couldn’t help thinking about his call and the code. The things he was saying without really saying them. The lyrics of the unfinished song kept rolling around in my head.
***************
SEVENTH AVENUE
I remember that night at Ricki’s Lounge off Main on Seventh Avenue.