Unusual Business Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Jack pulled halfway out of the lane to make room for a lit-up Police car to go past and then nosed back onto the road behind it. It looked like APD Chief Buli ‘Bullet’ Collins was in a hurry, and he steadily pulled away.

Not so far away that when he turned, Jack didn’t recognize that it was onto the street he lived on. He picked up the pace to close the gap. When Jack made the turn he saw several more Police cars, including one of the ‘baby shit boxes,’ a County Sheriff’s cruiser with the hideous hi-vis green/mud brown paint scheme, scattering their blue and red warnings over the scene. His house was in the middle of that. This time it was Jack who smoked the tires off the truck.

As he devoured the block and a half distance between him and home, he saw that with the Chief onsite now, all of the APD cars were at his place. His heart skipped a bunch of beats. Chief Collins stood outside the door of his cruiser, speaking into the radio and turning his bullet-shaped, bald head as he inspected the deployment of his troops, parked just this side of Jack’s driveway entry.

Another of the APD’s vehicles, the brawny former military MRAP Bullet cadged out of U.S. Government largesse, was blazing like an alien spacecraft facing the wood line across the way. It doubled as a Search and Rescue asset for the Volunteer Fire Department which was the justification Chief Collins had used successfully to acquire it. The multiple rack lights illuminated the scene noontime bright. A curious spotlight on the driver’s side peeked at the few dead spots.

The remaining Townie prowl car was at the head of his drive, almost under the carport. Its roof lights spun in their bug spattered enclosures. A short distance from it, a cop was standing over a garden gnome or something with its hands behind its back, sitting cross-legged on the browning front lawn.

County’s cruiser squatted with one tire in the shallow irrigation culvert. There was no sign of the Deputy that it belonged to.

Jack slowed, even though it went against every instinct. He was able to park by his mailbox without getting delayed or fired on. He bailed from the truck and sprinted for the house, leaving the door open behind him. As he got around the tailgate Jack was able to see the gnome was a porky kid with his hands cuffed behind his back. The Policeman looked excited. Jack ran faster, a frigid sensation between his shoulder blades spurred him on. He crossed the browning grass of the front lawn quicker than Trouble could have and vaulted onto the porch.

His little brother Hollister was leaning against the door jamb. He had both hands making a ‘slow down’ gesture as Jack lunged for the doorway.

“Wait, wait, wait, wait. Jack, it’s all good. Hang on.”

Jack took a wild-eyed look around at all the garish carnival lights and cops then snarled, “What the fuck do you mean “it’s all good!?” Get the hell outta the way, Bro.”

He didn’t get a step closer to entry because his little brother, a bit taller and much wider, pivoted on one foot and filled the doorway.

“Jack, breathe. Lysette’s ok. As far as ‘ok’ goes, I guess. Seeing her Daddy shot to death ain’t gonna improve that any. The County Mounty in there with her is a chick and she’s rattlesnake pissed, Big Brother. That’s a little cute but she’s scary, too. Breathe, then go see your daughter. Someone ought to save her from that hellion.”

He squeezed his brother’s shoulder and crossed the porch, headed for his truck. “I’ll swing by later on to pick up my shotgun,” he called without turning around.

He began to ask, muttered “to hell with it” and went to find Illysette.

Charmaigne’s appearance on the scene required a little more athleticism. The Townies had moved two of their cars to positions a half block either side of her house, following the Chief’s directives. The one that held them up had a half embarrassed, half amused expression as he told his former English Lit teacher, “Ms. Crutchfeld, you were always a stickler for the Rules. I’d bet plenty you still are. Ma’am, the Rules stipulate that no one drives further than right here.”

Charli didn’t wait to hear any more. With a distracted, robotic effort, she thanked Liz and opened the car door. She hunted her keys from the depths of her purse and got out. After walking a few steps toward home without anyone stopping her, she broke into the fastest run she could manage. Jack’s truck was sitting there with the driver’s door hanging wide open like he was in a big hurry to get out of it. She moaned and tried to cover the fifty yards toward the yard quicker. Then she was racing across that, too. Some part of her awareness was surprised how well the chunky heeled pumps worked as she hurried across the sunbaked lawn. Charli got to the porch gasping for air and held up until she was functional again.

Keys in hand, she tried the door first. It was unlocked and she almost pushed it into the face of a tiny woman bearing a gun, wearing a badge and dark green Smokey the Bear hat. The cop actually reached for her weapon and Charli almost peed. What the hell were antsy cops doing in her house? What ha…before she could bog down, Charmaigne changed gears.

“I’m Charmaigne, uh Charli Ames. I live here.”

The compact cop nodded and asked, “Do you have any identification, Mrs. Ames?” She had backed up a step but was noticeably not reaching for her sidearm anymore.

Charli was flabbergasted. Her eyes got that Roger Rabbit character look. Close on the heels of that she got pissed. She looked over the miniature Policewoman’s head for help. The two of them were the only people in sight. Charmaigne rammed her hand into her purse, praying she’d find her wallet before she got her mitts on the Capsaicin pepper spray canister. Jack came down the hallway from Lys’s room headed for the kitchen. If she hadn’t done it a couple of times already, Charmaigne would’ve gladly had his babies.

“Honey? There seems to be a bit of confusion here.” Charmaigne had become good at understatement since getting religion.

“Ohh, Charli. Thank God. Come on.” He held a hand out to her and told the County cop, “She’s legit, Deputy. Thanks for all your help.” His worried eyes frightened Charli.

Deputy Dainty stepped aside, touched the brim of the campaign hat and said, “Mrs. Ames.”

“MOMiiieeee!,” Lysette’s wailed greeting as she leaped from the bed was muffled when she buried her face between Charli’s breasts and cranked her arms so tightly around her that Charli had to work at breathing. Lys was sobbing so hard she seemed to have shivering convulsions.

“Oh my God! Baby? Sweetie, what’s wrong? What happened?” She cooed calming nothings at her daughter, stroking her long black hair and shot a quizzical look at Jack.

He shook his head, “You guys go sit down. I’ll make us something to eat. Chicago dogs and some chips and dip, maybe. It’ll keep me out of your hair for a bit.”

Lysette turned to rest her cheek against Mom’s chest and asked, “French Onion, Daddy? Could you make that, please?”

He was the designated sauciere (?) in this lash-up. Jack wasn’t sure that was even a word, French or otherwise. Charli had insisted after trying his spaghetti and later, his scratch-made BBQ sauce that took him all morning to make before taking her breath away in a heartbeat.

With a feeling of relief that he did not let on he answered, “Yep, Little Bit. I’m on it.”

Jack was good with that. Those had been the first normal? conversational? words his distraught daughter had said since he came home. He was so damn glad Charli was here. The girls went to sit on the bed. Trouble stood on it wagging her tail, grinning, as they approached.

The phone was in his hand before he got to the kitchen. His brother picked up on the first ring. “Holly? Go get some beers, some sodas and some green onions, then get over here, ‘k?”

His brother chuckled, “Onions, beer and Dr. Pepper? You pregnant Jack?”

He had to laugh. Only Hollister could make a crack like that amidst all the sexual drama going on. The boy just had no filters.

“Blow me. Go shopping and then get your ass over here, Bro.” They were both chuckling as he killed the connection.

When Hollister got to the house the cute County Mounty was sitting, half turned with one leg out of the driver’s door, talking on the radio. All three of the APD cars were gone. He grinned. Hollister sauntered over, waiting with polite nonchalance until she clipped the handset onto the dash mount. “Thirsty, Deputy? You can have…”

She glared at him but without any force behind it. “If ‘coffee, tea or me’ comes out of your mouth, I’ll arrest you for something.”

Hollister, at about six foot one and north of a couple hundred pounds, looked at the five foot-four or -five compact gymnast’s body of the elfin Deputy and grinned. Push comes to shove, it might be worth resisting arrest a little just for the pleasure of putting his paws on her.

“Actually, coffee is on the menu. The other choices are beer or soda, though. Or green onions.”

She accepted the coffee he’d bought for just this reason, the chance to get acquainted. Holly fished around in the bag for sugar packets and some creamer cups.

“I meant to ask earlier, Deputy. You got a card or something? Some way we could reach you if, hell I don’t know. If we wanted to for some reason?”

Parker County Sheriff’s Deputy Karissa Shannon considered that for a few seconds. She knew she could give him a hard time, but he was awful appealing. Maybe there would be an interesting reason for him to get ahold of her. She pulled a card out of a small wallet, clicked her pen and wrote something on it, then handed it to him.

“Makes sense, Sir. I put my cell number on it just in case.” She did not elaborate but her cool blue eyes showed some amusement. She watched him tuck the card into his back pocket after looking at it.

He smiled and said, “Stay safe.” Deputy Shannon closed the door and watched his V-shaped torso and tight ass in the mirror until he went through the front door of the house. She cranked the prowl car, radioed Dispatch that she was available and backed out of the ditch.

Cutting cukes from their garden into narrow wedges at the counter, Jack looked over his shoulder as Hollister came into the kitchen. His brother waved a fat bunch of green onions with a bright red rubber band cinched above the whiskered bulbs. He cut out two of the beers and put everything else in the fridge. Holly put one on the counter near Jack and popped the top on his own. He figured he knew what was coming and rested one calf over the edge of the kitchen table as he chugged a swallow and waited.

Jack reached for the tall Bud and opened it, swallowing about a third of it before turning around and leaning against the sink. He tapped the bottom of the can against his thigh while regarding his relaxed little brother.

“Holly, why did you think you needed the shotgun?” He took another pull at his brew. He had the rough outline, some pervy kid peeping his in-the-buff daughter but could not grasp his brother’s potentially lethal response to that.

Hollister couldn’t figure out a good way to sugarcoat things. “Jack, Lysette screamed so loud that my fuckin’ hair stood up and I had goosebumps on top of the goosebumps. That cold shot o’piss to the heart, feel me? I was inside the house at the time, Bro.”

Illysette’s father’s eyebrows arched almost to his hairline. His eyes were huge as he blinked a few times, trying in vain to contain the tears before he turned away. He choked on a sob and bowed his head. Jack cried quietly, shoulders heaving now and again. Hollister lived every inch of an eighth of a mile away. What terror had Lysette faced without her Daddy there to help his little girl, to save her?

Hollister waited patiently, sipping his Bud. This was not uncharted territory. Jack, and the rest of his family too, had cried on and off for most of a week after Bobby had been killed on his first patrol outside the wire of a contested firebase in Kandahar Province. When his brother had his shit together they talked about the ‘Garfish Incident’, as Holly thought of it, some more.

Making an abrupt decision, Jack started to put the dinner fixings away. “Hey, go tell the girls I changed my mind. It’s pizza, instead. I’m gonna go wash up. You want to drive?” He made a mental note to stop at the Gas’n’Go for some French Onion dip that wasn’t going to fool anyone.

Holly nodded. He was waiting in his truck when Jack came out. It was cool this evening for a change and his brother cranked the window down after hopping in. Hollister sipped his beer, got the truck rolling with Jack sticking his head into the breeze.

“Who was the garden gnome, Holly?” He still had most of his face in the slipstream and Hollister almost missed the question.

“What fuckin’ garden gnome?” He glanced over then returned his eyes to the road.

“When I got home, one of the Townies, Carter?, had some kid laced up, sitting on the grass in front. My first thought when I passed’em was ‘garden gnome.’”

His brother chuckled. “That was Garland Garfish Fischman, son of the Most Reverend and Holy Artie Fischman of the Holy Light of Heaven Baptist Church.” A grin creased his lips.

“Charli’s church? Her Pastor’s boy? Ohhh, that’s rich.