T's Trial: A Bone Cold--Alive Novel (35 page)

“No, Red! Tell them they’re wrong!”

“Are they?”

“No.”

“You knew about this?”

“Well…” she tweaked her voice toward the end of the word.

“They’re going to ruin your property, cause a riot. My God, I hear a helicopter!”

Lyla strained to listen. Red’s was too far away for her to hear it, but she had little doubt she would soon. Five more customers arrived.

“I’m calling the sheriff.”

“Sounds like a wonderful idea.” Lyla hung up just as the thwack-thwack of helicopter blades sounded overhead.

“Hey, Lyla, looks like a riot in town,” was the comment from halfway down the counter. “That Red with the news?”

“You might say that.” She swung coffee mugs on the counter, went down the row filling them. “You guys eating or just drinking?”

It was a mixed chorus. Sally was frying eggs and bacon. Toast went on the plates of those not willing to wait for biscuits.

“Well, tell me what town looks like and why.” She tried to be as nonchalant as possible. The helicopter sounds disappeared in the direction of the marina and her house.

“That was a private chopper,” Stan Johnson announced as he entered. “Who knows what’s going on?”

“Could it be the new organ the Methodists just got?”

“What new organ?” Lyla asked.

“I heard someone just called up one of them musical places and ordered it shipped.” The speaker snapped his fingers. “Like magic, you got an organ.”

“It’s not that.”

“Must be a natural disaster we’re not aware of.”

“Haven’t seen that much excitement since the tornado.” There had been only one ‘the tornado’, and the remark would have normally caused uneasy silence in Lyla’s presence. Today, the conversation didn’t slow down.

“Three, count ’em, three, vans with satellite dishes. All at Red’s.”

Oh, hell, Lyla thought. No wonder she was upset.

“Not just any TV, either,” the speaker continued. “National and even some place from California! I slowed down so I could read it. They must have flown it in.”

Lyla felt dizzy and clutched the counter rim. If they’d gone to that kind of trouble, they sure weren’t going to leave on Red’s say-so. Maybe the sheriff’s. But they’d be back. Or here.

Arial and Harrison appeared in the storeroom door. Harrison clutched her hand, sleep still heavy in his eyes. Ari had pulled on a pair of jeans and a tee, but he was in his pajamas. “Mama, was that a chopper? What’s going on? I’m scared.”

“I told him there was nothing to be afraid of, Lyla.” All eyes were riveted to the child as Lyla put down the coffeepot and went to tend to him.

“It’s okay, Harrison. Just somebody scaring the doves.”

“It isn’t a care flight? Nobody was hurt in an accident?” Lyla watched him search the faces of the men at the counter, seek a truth the women in his life might not tell him. She was proud of her customers as they smiled back reassuring smiles, even Norm. “Come here, boy. Sit on my knee. Have some breakfast.”

Harrison looked up at his mother. “Suit yourself.” He joined the men at the counter, a rare treat.

Arial pulled Lyla into the storeroom. “I turned the TV on when I heard the chopper, before I realized I couldn’t calm him down. I know what’s happening.”

“I know what, too. Enlighten me as to how.”

“Most of BCA dodged reporters and vee-jays all the way here. I guess it was kind of a game. But they were tracked anyway. Hell, anyone with a map and no brains could narrow down the part of the country. And then C got caught and must have just led them here! I bet that was him in the helicopter going to your place!”

Lyla rolled her eyes and leaned against the doorjamb. She could hear the speculation in the next room. “The media is caught between having a riot or a circus down at Red’s store.”

“At least it’s not with Dub at the marina.”

“Oh, small favors.” Lyla peered around the corner. “I’ve got to get in and help Sally. One crisis at a time.” She straightened her shoulders. “Since you’re up, come on in and run the register or cook. Your choice.”

Arial took one look at the counter line-up and quickly took the register stool.

*  *  *

The sound of an approaching helicopter roused Fletch from sleep as quickly as a glass of cold water in the face. He tore down the hall and out the front door to stand on the bottom step as Eddie C jogged down the sand drive toward the house. Bo and Ian approached from the water side of the property. Ron stood near the door. T was not in evidence.

“Are you nuts?” Fletch shouted. He stood his ground, his hands gripping the top edge of his boxer shorts. He was shoeless, shirtless, and breathing hard.

“Nice get-up there, Fletch. And good morning to you, too.”

Fletch’s answer was brief and pornographic.

“You told me to get here any way I could,” C answered.

Fletch gritted his teeth. “Get in there!” he hissed as he finally gave over access to the steps.

“Jeez, fellas, schoolmaster been like this long?” C quipped as they all rolled into the house.

They arranged themselves on the loveseats, plumping pillows and settling in for the fireworks sure to come. “Wouldn’t miss this,” Bo grumbled as they watched like judges in an Olympic event.

“Where’s bro?” C acted bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. He dropped his bags by the piano, in the midst of the scattered music. “I mean,” he said as he indicated the mess, “I know he’s here.”

“Well, for the moment let’s just hear about how you got here.” Fletch perched on the arm of a loveseat. It was a little disconcerting to him that T hadn’t shown, but maybe he was just getting his nerve up. C first thing in the morning on an empty stomach was hard to take when a fight wasn’t expected, much less when it was.

“Why don’t you go get a robe first, huh, Fletch? Or at least, offer me a cup of coffee? A beer? Hell, I haven’t been to bed yet!”

“Well, then let’s have some mercy for those of us that have.” Ron turned over on the hideaway bed.

“Ron, you are still as big a pain in the ass as always.” C picked up a discarded decorator pillow from the floor and sailed it to hit the speaker in the head. He took it and held it over his ears. “I mean, is there no sympathy for what I’ve gone through? That flight from Tahiti was rough! And then the office—God, Fletch, it’s a shambles! They’re rambling on about some organ you bought a Methodist church. A
church
! Who went through rehab here? Did you convert?” He paced back and forth between the loveseat and the piano, holding forth on his tirade and enjoying every moment. “Then they said it was to settle some bet you and ol’ T made? Is this rich? You guys know about this?” He didn’t wait for an answer, changed subjects abruptly. “That blonde, Shelly or Kelly—” he was snapping his fingers, apparently waiting for someone to tell him which, “—you know, Bo, you tried to sleep with her—”

“Abby.”

“That’s right, Abby corners me at LAX and there’s no shaking her. I couldn’t make it to the john without her. They are sniffing out the trail you bums have left all over the country, circling like vultures. I mean, you should see the traffic jam in that hick town we flew over!”

Fletch straightened up, visions of just what was happening in Jinks filling his mind. And if it was that close…

“Vans and satellites, hell, this backwater hasn’t seen so much excitement in years. Probably never! But do they get you? No, they pick on me!” C finally stopped and pointed to himself. “So I strike ol’ Abby a deal. Lay off, let me get BCA back together, heal the wounds, blah, blah, blah, then—” he flashed his hands across the air “—exclusive, exclusive. Of course, I had to promise her T’s first public words, et cetera, et cetera. I mean, how much of a problem can that be?”

“Depends on what T’s first words are.” C whirled to find his twin standing in the doorway between the hall and living room. He leaned on the frame, an old robe hanging loosely from his shoulders. He gathered it together at the waist as he pushed himself off and entered the room. Five pairs of eyes tracked his progress as he came to stand in front of his brother. Their eyes were level, and although they were physically identical, Fletch looked upon them now as a study in contrasts. Eddie T’s military hair and somber demeanor gave his face and stance a quality and assuredness Eddie C lacked. Only by seeing them together did Fletch realize just how far T had come. Only by seeing them together did he know T would never go back to his former ways.

“Well, bro, just what had you planned on saying to your public?” Fletch shook his head. C had picked up the imaginary gauntlet and let it fly right back.

“How about ‘I quit’?”

“Oh, not again,” Ron mumbled. “Every few years, someone has to threaten to quit. Look, T, give it a rest. You know you don’t mean it. We know you don’t mean it. The only one that’s worried is Fletch and he’s getting too old for these tricks!” He looked over at the manager, who hadn’t moved and showed no surprise on his face. “Come on, Fletch, why aren’t you telling him to give your poor old heart a rest like you always do?”

“No, let him quit,” C started. “Hell, we don’t need him. Do you think I believe for one minute that he’s straightened out, huh? You think I don’t know that after three weeks in the studio or a couple on the road, he’s not going to buckle under the pressure and start using all over again?” He turned back to T. “I just wish we’d kicked your ass out months ago so we wouldn’t have lost all this time. We could have been using it to get better without you than we ever were with you!”

Fletcher watched T carefully as his hands rolled and flexed into fists then straightened back out again.

C continued the goading. “What is it, huh?” He raised his eyebrows, licked his lips, circled in for the kill. Even though Fletch knew this power play had to come, he had hoped to avoid it until later. “Scared? Don’t think you can get up in front of thousands of frenzied fans and gyrate,” he moved his hips to the words, “and sing,” his lips puckered, “and woo them? Lost your touch now that that bottled, sniffed, up-your-nose courage is gone?” T’s eyes narrowed and his hands still flexed, but he didn’t move otherwise.

Fletch held his breath. He didn’t dare look at the rest of them. C was on a roll and he had no intention of stopping. Or of being stopped.

“Or perhaps it’s simpler, more basic, huh?” He leaned in. “How about that piece of tail that cost ol’ Fletch here a church organ?”

Fletch flinched and knew there was nothing he could do to prevent what was coming. Fletch doubted T even thought about his response. His balled fist connected with his brother’s jaw and C was over the back of the loveseat and into Ron’s lap before any of them was cognizant of it.

T looked down on his brother, grabbed his legs that hung limply over the back of the furniture and pulled. “Stand up, C, I’ve not even started on you yet.”

Ian and Bo were on their feet and had hold of T. They shook him loose from C. “Back, back. Come on, T, let’s calm down.” Bo hauled him over to the piano bench, sat him down, kept a hand on his shoulder.

C righted himself on the back of the loveseat, rubbed his jaw. “Hit a nerve, did I?”

Bo had T this time before he made it off the bench. “Enough, C. Cool it.”

Ron eyed Fletch. “You’re awfully quiet about all this.”

The manager shrugged. C had gotten off lightly, far as he was concerned. Fletcher would have strangled him under T’s circumstances. Still, he needed to say something. “I’ve been getting in touch with my inner self and learning calmness of spirit.”

Stunned silence, but then the laughter began. “Yeah, Fletch,” Ron said, “that’s really good. C’mon, let’s have breakfast.” He swung his legs off the bed, circled around behind and grabbed C around the waist. “Let’s go. Nothing wrong with you coffee and sleep won’t cure.” He headed him in the direction of the kitchen.

The rest slowly followed, leaving Fletch and T alone in the living room. “Say it and get it over with.” T eyed him warily while he rubbed his right hand.

“I’d have killed him and asked questions later.”

“Sure you would have.”

“I’ve met Lyla.” Fletch stood, pointed the way to the kitchen. “C’mon, it was a good bluff, but it didn’t work. Let’s go settle everything over yogurt.” He clapped the younger man on the back as they walked to the kitchen. “You’re still the boss.”

*  *  *

“I want to know where Tib is.” Sally whispered as she waited on the new arrivals, handing plates to customers content to eat standing up. As soon as a seat at the counter was vacated, it was quickly filled. All but Norm’s. He must have sensed something was up and wouldn’t have left even if there’d been a fire. They ran out of Sally’s homemade biscuits and resorted to canned from the front coolers. Harrison had calmed down quickly and was busy opening the cold cans and putting the dough on the cookie sheets. It was only six o’clock and Lyla couldn’t believe the media hadn’t followed the helicopter.

“He’s out patrolling. Probably doesn’t know a thing that’s going on.” Lyla would have been resentful if she hadn’t felt a bit responsible for the media circus they kept hearing about as customers filtered in from Jinks. It was just a matter of time before one of the media found a local map and headed up. The phone rang and she grabbed it.

Red’s voice was hardly calm. “They’re headed your way. I told them I called the sheriff, but where is he? Out making sure the hunters don’t get more than their fair share. You should see this parking lot! And Dub! Dub exploded!” Lyla just bet he did.

“So how do you know they’re coming here?” The place had silenced when the phone rang. She smiled weakly at her audience.

“That blonde found her way into Andrew’s garage and wangled a county map. And what was that helicopter all about?”

Lyla had a real good idea, but declined to offer it. “No telling.” Her eyes fixed on the doorway as the first flash of satellite van appeared in the parking lot.

“Ooh, Mama, look.” Harrison stood on tiptoe to peer over the register, eyes round with fascination.

“They’re here, Red. Talk to you later.”

She hung up and looked at her customers. Raised eyebrows and silent smiles greeted her. “Aren’t you fellas afraid the dove are all going to be gone soon?”