Authors: Steven Gossington
Chapter 22
Forrester Brighton gazed at his new girlfriend, Eve, across the table for two. They’d left the rodeo after the altercation for this upscale steakhouse restaurant with dark brown and black tones on the walls and in the furniture. Forrester wore pungent cologne, suggestive of leather and horses.
He hadn’t noticed much detail around him except for the bright golden curls of Eve’s hair and her flashy blue eyes.
She’s sure looking good
,
Forrester thought.
Maybe I should stay with her.
“What are you smiling at?” she said.
“You.” He raised his beer glass for a toast.
“Do you like your new job, sweetie?” Eve said.
“Sure, I like construction work. It’s good for my muscles.”
“I’ll massage those big muscles later.”
Forrester flexed his biceps and smiled.
A server stopped at the table. “Can I take your order?”
“I’ll have a T-bone, rare, with mashed potatoes,” Forrester said. Eve ordered a filet of steak, medium.
After salads, Eve smiled at Forrester. “When are we getting married?”
Forrester was quiet.
She shook her head. “I don’t know how long I can wait.”
Forrester looked down at his plate.
“Talk to me,” Eve said.
“Well, that other guy keeps bothering you, don’t he?”
“He calls sometimes.”
“He followed us to the rodeo.”
“Don’t worry about him. He’ll cool down and go away.”
“Tell him to get lost.”
After their entrees were served, Eve leaned toward him. “When are we going to have sex?”
Forrester coughed on a mouthful of steak and potatoes.
“Is something wrong?” Eve said.
“I’ve got a lot of things on my mind.”
Eve threw her napkin down on the table. “You’re not going back to her, are you? You said you’d left her for good.”
Forrester managed a weak smile and rubbed her hand. “Take it easy. I’ll work everything out.” He looked away.
I guess it’s time for me to move on.
Eve sighed. “Sometimes, I just can’t figure you out.”
After dinner, Forrester opened the restaurant door for Eve. She stopped outside and put her hands on her hips. “You’re acting different. You didn’t finish your steak. Are you not feeling well? Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”
“I wasn’t hungry.”
She fanned her face as she followed him across the parking lot toward his car. “It’s hot out here. Get me into some air conditioning.”
Forrester opened the front passenger door for Eve. As he shut the door, he heard two pops and felt a sharp, burning pain in his back. He groaned and collapsed to the pavement.
Eve jumped out of the car and screamed. Forrester was sprawled on his stomach, and dark splotches appeared on the back of his shirt. Eve fumbled in her purse and pulled out a phone to call 911. Her fingers trembled, and it wasn’t until the third attempt that she punched the correct numbers.
Forrester made out some of her words. It sounded to him as if she were speaking from far away. “Hello. Help me. My boyfriend has been shot.” Following instructions from the phone, she bent down close to the body. “Forrester, can you hear me? . . . No, he didn’t say anything, he just moaned . . . Please help us, somebody help us . . . Okay, I’m sorry, I’ll try to calm down . . . I’m taking slow deep breaths . . . Yes, I think he’s breathing.”
A few minutes later, a police car and an ambulance pulled into the parking lot. Eve waved them over to Forrester’s location, past small groups of gawking onlookers. She stood a few feet back as a paramedic kneeled down to assess Forrester’s condition, and a policeman began to ask her questions about the shooting.
“He’s got a weak pulse,” one of the medics said. “He’s breathing okay.” They bandaged the wounds, rolled Forrester onto a backboard, and lifted the board onto a gurney.
One medic looked up at the other. “His legs are floppy, no muscle tone.”
They pushed the gurney into the back of the ambulance. One of the medics placed a face mask for oxygen and an intravenous catheter, and he adjusted the catheter to a rapid IV fluid rate. As the ambulance drove away, a medic radioed a report to the ER.
Forrester woke up in a hospital bed and saw a nurse at his bedside. She adjusted a catheter taped to his forearm and connected to a bag filled with intravenous fluids.
“What happened?” he said.
“You were shot. You were taken to surgery, and you’re now in the post-op area.”
“Someone shot me? Who shot me?”
“The police are looking into that. They’ll talk with you later.”
“I can’t feel my legs.”
She touched his shoulder. “You had some internal injuries.”
“Were they able to fix me?”
“They did what they could.” She heard a noise, turned and stepped back. “Here’s the surgeon now.”
A tall man walked up to Forrester’s bed and introduced himself.
“You had internal bleeding, and we repaired some damage to your intestines and one of your kidneys. I’m afraid one of the bullets cut your spinal cord. We’ll have to wait and see how much function returns over the next few weeks and months.”
“This has got to be a bad dream.”
“I know it seems that way,” the surgeon said.
“Will I ever walk again?”
“Maybe, maybe not. Only time will tell.”
Forrester awakened and opened his eyes the next morning. He was in a different bed, and someone was in the room with him.
He raised his head. “Marley.”
“They moved you out of post-op this morning. You’ve been sedated.”
“What day is it?”
“Sunday.”
“Someone shot me last night?”
“Yes.”
“Who did?”
“The police think it was Eve’s old boyfriend.”
Forrester’s eyes widened.
“Yes. I know about Eve,” Marley said.
“Where is she?”
Marley put her hands on her hips. “I don’t know, and don’t ever ask me about her again.”
Forrester laid his head back. “Don’t worry, I won’t.” He clenched his teeth.
I really screwed up this time. I hope Marley will have me back.
His eyes went to the ceiling, and in less than half a minute, he was asleep.
Chapter 23
Aaron heard Dale’s pickup truck pull into his driveway at 5:00 a.m. He locked the front door of the house and climbed into the truck.
“Ready for some fun?” Dale said.
“Sure, but this is really early for me.”
“Early is good for fishing. We’ll be out on the creek when the bass are biting. Maybe we’ll hook some catfish, too.”
Aaron lowered his window. As the truck picked up speed through patchy fog, the morning air streamed across his face. Along the way, he peered behind the truck several times but spotted no suspicious vehicles.
After a short drive into the country, Dale backed his boat trailer to the water’s edge. “This here’s one of my favorite fishing spots, and there’s almost never anyone else around.”
As they unloaded the truck, Dale pointed to the tackle box. “Now, this is Fishing Rule Number One: before you pick up the tackle box, make sure the lid is latched shut.”
“That makes sense. What’s Rule Number Two?”
Dale looked up and pulled on his earlobe. “Give me a minute. I’ll think of something.”
Aaron chuckled.
Dale finished packing the boat and launched it into the water.
“What’s in the coolers?” Aaron said.
“One’s got cold beer. The other has ice for the fish. Don’t get ‘em mixed up.”
Aaron smiled and clambered into the front of the boat. “That must be Rule Number Two.”
Dale laughed. “Yeah, and it’s just as important as the first rule.”
Aaron could see the calm water in the dim light from the early dawn. He turned as Dale pulled a pouch from his pocket.
“You don’t mind if I chew, do you?” Dale said.
“Tobacco?”
Dale nodded and thrust a wad of tobacco to the back of his mouth, bulging his cheek out.
“I hope you get your mouth checked,” Aaron said.
“Yeah, I know. It’s bad for me.”
Dale climbed into the back of the boat, started the motor, and steered the boat out into the creek.
He handed a life jacket to Aaron. “Put this on, and don’t worry about the fishing poles. I’ll bait your hooks for you.”
Aaron heard loud plops at times as Dale spat into the water.
Dale stopped the boat after about half a mile. He lowered his voice. “Let’s try here first.”
He prepared the poles and handed one to Aaron. “Watch me. Here’s how you hold it, and follow how I cast the line.”
Aaron copied Dale’s motions and cast his hook and line into the water.
“Be extra careful with them hooks,” Dale said.
“I know. I’ve extracted a few fishhooks from people. I remember a drunk guy who had a hook in his nose.”
“Ouch. I’ll bet that hurt.”
“It was difficult to remove.”
“I brought a guy out here once that hooked his own butt.”
Aaron grinned. “Now, that’s embarrassing.”
“It certainly was. It cut our trip short. He wouldn’t even let me try to pull it out.”
They sat still in the boat, watching their lines in the water.
Aaron heard birds chirping in the trees along the creek. As the morning light intensified, the remaining fog lifted and more details of the water and its banks came into view.
He turned to Dale. “This brings back memories of my Boy Scout days. I remember how peaceful it was, just floating on the water in an old canoe.”
“For me, there’s something about being out on the water. It’s always been that way. The real world kind of fades away.”
In the first hour, each man caught several fish. Dale showed Aaron how to handle and unhook the fish. They released the smaller fish back into the creek.
“Keep your fingers away from these catfish spines, or you’re in for quite a painful jab,” Dale said as he showed Aaron the sharp fins jutting out from the fish.
Dale finished his chewing session and expectorated his tobacco chaw, which caused an enormous plop in the creek. He opened a beer, rinsed his mouth, and spat one last time into the water, then threw down three beers in rapid succession.
“I bring a few folks in town to this here creek. We always leave with some fish,” Dale said.
“Are there lots of avid fishermen around here?”
“It’s one reason why people live in the country. Brad Benningham joins me on the creek three or four times a year. Keller Greevy loves to fish here, too.”
“A policeman must have a stressful life. Keller is probably able to take his mind off his job while he’s fishing.”
“That’s why a lot of folks fish.”
“Have you known Keller long?”
“For years. He keeps the town safe. That’s what he’s good at.”
“He seems capable.”
Dale leaned toward Aaron and whispered, “But, he can be influenced.”
Aaron’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”
Dale rubbed his index finger and thumb together. “Dinero.”
“He can be bribed?”
That’s what Brad was talking about
.
Dale sat back. “I don’t like to call it that. You can only get away with it if he likes you. If you’re a troublemaker, no way it’ll work.”
Aaron gazed out over the creek and its banks and noticed the trees glistening in the morning light. They were alone on this stretch of the creek. Water lapped against the boat, which had a gentle rocking motion.
Aaron yawned and his eyelids grew heavy. A vision of a smiling blond woman appeared before him … He shouted and his head jerked up as the end of his fishing pole was yanked toward the water.
Dale laughed. “You fell asleep, huh? Like I told you, it’s relaxing out here.”
“You can say that again.”
“I fell asleep once and pitched right over into the water.”
A few minutes later, Dale put a fish in the cooler and closed the lid. “Well, that’ll do it for me. I’ve got a honey-do list for today.” He secured their fishing poles in the boat and motored back to the launch area.
Some of Dale’s words were slurred as he drove his truck onto the road by the creek.
“Are you sure you’re okay to drive?” Aaron said.
“No problemo. A six-pack is my norm. My body’s used to it.”
Aaron nodded. “That was good beer.”
“I’ll let you in on something: a great investment opportunity,” Dale said.
Another investment idea. Everyone assumes I’m rich
.
“An oil well. An experienced drilling company is looking for investors. I’m fixing to put in a big chunk of change myself.”
“I don’t know anything about oil.”
“That doesn’t matter. These investments can pay off huge, I mean really big returns, and this particular opportunity is a sure thing.”
“I don’t know.”
“There ain’t much time to get in on this. You’re in Texas, in oil country. You should take advantage of that.”
“Well, I’ll think about it.”
“You won’t be sorry.”
Aaron shook his head.
I guess owners of car dealerships can make a lot of money. I’m not quite there yet.
Dale turned the truck radio louder. “I like this song.” He sang a few lyrics out of tune.
Aaron nodded. “ ‘Alcohol,’ by Brad Paisley. A really funny song.”
Dale stopped the truck along the side of the street in front of Aaron’s house and touched Aaron on the shoulder. “I can hook you up with a great girl.”
“Thanks, but I’m fine. I like to find my own soul mates.”
Dale shook his head. “No, I’m not talking about good girls. I’m talking about good-time girls. We’ve got some of the best around here, and I know where to find ‘em.”
Aaron’s eyes flew open. “You mean prostitutes, out here in East Texas?”
“Sure. The best in the business. Why, I’ll get one for you that does some things in a cowgirl outfit that—”
“Hold on, Boots, uh, Dale.” Aaron laughed and held his hand up. “I can’t go there. Not interested.”
“Well, if you ever change your mind, let me know.”
Aaron watched Dale drive away.
I don’t know about him.
He chuckled and turned toward his house.
A cowgirl outfit. Now that does sound interesting.
****
That evening, Buck Bogarty sat with his mother at their dinner table.
“You’ve been quiet lately,” she said. “What are you thinking about?”
“Nothin’.” Buck continued eating his meatloaf and turnip greens.
“Is it a girl? You know, you have to figure out what you’re going to do before you settle down with anyone.”
Buck picked at his food with a fork.
“Do you have any idea about what you want to do to make a living? I can ask around and talk with my friends. I’m sure we can find something.”
I don’t know anythin’ anymore,
he thought.
I don’t know what the hell I’m doin’.
Buck put down his fork and walked back to his bedroom.