Fiction Friday

Hero Gideon Nelson and new friend go looking for adventure and find an old friend.

SUNDOWN IN ZION

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

            When Nelson completed his morning exercise rituals and returned home, Charlie had breakfast waiting. He had produced a striking meal of eggs, bacon, and fruit. “The fruit is for your health,” Charlie said. “The rest is for your happiness.”

            Nelson sat and eyed the waiting meal. “Where did you learn to cook like this?” he said.

            “My mother taught me. She said I probably would never find a wife worthy of me so I should learn to take care of myself.”

            “Good advice,” Nelson said as he tore into the meal. Charlie watched him like a proud parent. After a minute, Charlie sat on the other side of the table and began eating his breakfast.

            Between bites, Nelson said, “Did you call your friend?”

            “I did,” said Charlie. “He seemed glad to hear from me but couldn’t fathom why anyone would want to come to Connorville.”

            “What did you tell him?”

            “That I had this weird friend and benefactor that wanted to know more about his little garden spot.”

            “And?”

            “He said he would be there all day, and we were welcome anytime.”

            “Good. When can you be ready?”

            “By the time you shower and dress, I’ll have this cleaned up and be ready to go.”

            Thirty minutes later the pair climbed into Nelson’s pickup truck and he eased toward the interstate highway. Instead of heading north, however, he turned toward the East-belt loop.

            Charlie glanced at him. “You do know the way to Connorville, don’t you?”

            Nelson nodded. “You said your friend would be in all day, right?”

            “Yes.”

            “Then,” Nelson said, “we have time to make a detour, that is unless you have some pressing engagement. I wouldn’t want to disrupt your social schedule.”

            “Everybody likes a little ass, but nobody likes a wise ass,” Charlie said.

            Nelson laughed. “Ever been to Armistead?”

            “Once or twice,” Charlie said. “What’s there?”

            “Some friends,” Nelson said. “Maybe an enemy or two as well.”

            “Oh great,” Charlie said. “I need my daily ass kicking.”

            Nelson laughed and they drove in silence. Turning toward Armistead, they began passing fields still wet from the winter snows and early spring rains. The land stretched out flat, its dark fertile soil waiting for the re-emergence of life. The sun began to warm the truck’s interior and Charlie yawned.

            “I suppose with your past life of leisure, you haven’t been getting out and about this early,” Nelson said.

            “I just can’t get used to sleeping on a bed,” Charlie said. “All this sudden comfort has me disoriented.”

            “How long were you on the streets?”

            “I don’t know, maybe three months or longer.”

            “And you haven’t seen any of your disability money?”

            “Not a penny. It is deposited to some bank account I don’t even know about. My wife and her new man seem to enjoy it, though.”

            “They might better,” Nelson said.

            “What do you mean?”

            “I mean while they can,” Nelson said in a quiet low tone.

            Charlie looked at him, started to say something, changed his mind, and turned to stare at the empty fields. When Nelson wasn’t looking, Charlie smiled.

            They soon reached the town of Armistead. As they reached the downtown district, Nelson whistled in surprise. “My, my” he said.

            “What?”

            “There have been some changes made,” Nelson said, “since the last time I was here.”

            “What kind of changes?”

            “See that building?” Nelson said pointing to a freshly painted front advertising itself as “Herndon’s Hardware.”

            “What about it?”

            “That building was boarded up the last time I was here … so was that one,” Nelson said. “A new furniture store. How about that?”

            Charlie looked around. “They seem to be doing well,” he said.”

            “You should have seen it a year ago.”

            Nelson parked his truck near the Courthouse and turned to Charlie. “Come on in,” he said, “and meet a fellow ‘jarhead.’”

            “Careful there sailor,” Charlie said as he opened the truck’s door. “Former Marines can get testy when they are disrespected.”

            “No disrespect,” Nelson said, “just force of habit.” They both laughed.

            The Sheriff’s office had changed very little from the last time Nelson was there. The same languid atmosphere filled the entry room. The same stern-faced woman sat at the reception desk. When she saw Nelson, though, she smiled. “Good morning,” she said. “Welcome back.”

            “I called earlier …,” Nelson said.

            The woman interrupted him. “He’s expecting you. Go right in.” As Nelson and Charlie started to walk by her, she said, “Be prepared for a shock.”

            Nelson nodded and kept walking. Charlie glanced at the woman and then looked around the room. Everyone in the antechamber had stopped what they were doing and were staring at Nelson. The room was profoundly quiet, almost eerily quiet. Charlie hurried after Nelson.

            They came to the door marked “Sheriff Gladson Love” and Nelson opened it. He was inside the room before he stopped, and started to turn around. “Excuse me,” he said. “We were looking for …”

            “Come in Boats,” a voice boomed. “I can call you ‘Boats,’ can’t I?”

            The voice came from a man who had stood and was extending a hand toward them. He was around six feet tall, compact, and tanned. He was in his sixties and wore a huge smile augmented by dark, dancing eyes. “After all,” he said to Nelson, “we are still considered the ‘Dynamic Duo’ around Armistead County.”

            Nelson stared. “My god,” he said. “Sheriff Love?”

            “In the flesh,” he said as he grasped Nelson’s hand with almost greedy exuberance, “or the little flesh that is left him. Who is your friend?”

            Nelson didn’t speak for some time. He continued to stare. Finally, he said, “What happened?”

            This generated a hearty laugh. “The Fat Nazi at the Veteran’s Hospital,” he said, “that’s what happened.” He shook Charlie’s hand. “Gladson Love,” he said. He motioned toward Nelson. “friend of the accused.”

            Nelson finally spoke, “Sheriff,” he said, “meet Charlie Winters, a fellow Marine.

            “Well fire at will,” the Sheriff said, “you are welcome in this house anytime.” He sat and waved toward the visitor’s chairs. The others took their seats.

            “I wouldn’t have known you,” Nelson said. “What’s this about the VA?”

            “After our last little adventure, the VA took me in and began my path back to good health. Seems those chemicals they sprayed on us in the jungle wreaked havoc on some of my inner parts. They’re helping with that under the condition that I participate in a weight loss program called MOVE, as in ‘move your fat ass’ I suppose.”

            “I guess it worked,” Nelson said.

            “We attend regular nutrition classes and vow to lose a couple pounds a week. I’ve lost nearly a hundred. We also vow to walk five times a week. I do it every day. Want to guess how long it took me to walk a quarter of a mile around the high school track the first time?”

            “Tell us,” Nelson said.

            “More than half an hour,” the Sheriff said. “I’m up to five miles on a good day now.”

            “You look great,” Nelson said. Charlie nodded in agreement.

            “All because I fear disappointing the VA Fat Nazi at weigh-in. Actually she is a sweet lady, but you know me.”

            “I wouldn’t have,” Nelson said. He pointed to a picture on the Sheriff’s desk of two young marines in combat fatigues standing in a battle-scarred spot of jungle. “You look more like that now than the Sheriff I knew.”

            “I feel more like him,” the Sheriff said. “But enough about me. What are you two doing in Armistead?” His eyes danced as his face crinkled in a smile. “Doing some banking?”

            Nelson shifted uncomfortably. “Never,” he said turning to Charlie, “do something in this town that you wouldn’t want broadcast on the six-o’clock news with half-truths and innuendoes added for extra spice.” This made the Sheriff’s face even merrier.

            Nelson said, “Actually we were headed for Connorville and decided to detour through here and say hello to some old friends.”

            “Connorville,” the Sheriff said. “Why on earth?”

            It’s a bit of a long story if you have time,” Nelson said.

            “I retire in six months so don’t take longer than that.”

            Nelson thought about this. “Not running again with all this new found health?”

            “Tired of it,” the Sheriff said. “And …,” he paused, “though our past efforts, those of the two of us, would buy much goodwill around here, I would have the wrong letter after my name on the ballot.”

            “Wrong letter?”

            “The folks at that place you mentioned, Connorville, run the county now,” he said. “Conservative to the core. We are still the county seat but I suspect they will change that in time. Meanwhile, I can switch to their side or choose not to run. I choose the latter.”

            Nelson nodded and then told the Sheriff how they happened to be going to Connorville. He ended with, “So I thought you might have some insight for us.”

            The Sheriff leaned back in his chair. “Actually I don’t. The police there haven’t asked me to be involved and rumor has it that they won’t.”

            “Jurisdictional protection?” Nelson said.

            “Hardly,” the Sheriff said. “They don’t want jurisdiction.”

            “Then why …?” Nelson said, “would they not want help.”

            “If you ask them, they will tell you the crime was committed somewhere else and shouldn’t be their concern. If you could hear them talk amongst themselves, you would hear them say it’s a ...,” he paused, “black thing. Only they have their own word for it.”

            Nelson said, “What kind of man is the Police Chief there?”

            The sheriff said, “He’s …,” He stopped and glanced toward Charlie.

            “He’s okay,” Nelson said. “Tell me about the Chief.

            “He’s an asshole,” the Sheriff said. “In case you haven’t heard, the town is full of them. Why do you want to know about him?”

            “I may get to meet him.”

            “Be careful,” the Sheriff said. “He is not a man to be trifled with.” He paused and thought. “But then neither are you, I hear.”

            “I’m just a poor vet trying to recover from my wounds,” Nelson said with a smile.

            “And like a wounded tiger, you just want to recover in peace, I know,” the Sheriff said. “Tell you what. Here is a little tip. There is a little band of thugs there that hang out at a local church.”

            “The Connorville Baptist Tabernacle,” Nelson said.

            “The very one,” the Sheriff said. “Now the boys in this group are even considered by the good folks of Connorville to be thugs, so you can imagine what that means.”

            “From what I hear, I can imagine,” Nelson said.

            “If,” the Sheriff said, “and I emphasize the ‘if,’ I were wandering around looking for either original sin or serious mischief in Connorville, that group would suck me in like a dark hole sucks in stars.”

            “Thanks for the tip, Nelson said.

            “Now,” the Sheriff said, turning to Charlie and signaling that talk of Connorville had ended, “just who the hell are you?”

            Nelson said, “Charlie here was an officer during that little cluster-fuck in Iraq.”

            “An officer,” the Sheriff said in a bellowing voice, “and you brought him into my office? Where is my gun?” he said in mock indignation.

            “Artillery officer,” Charlie said quickly.

            “Oh,” the Sheriff said. “That’s different. You probably didn’t do too much damage to our side.”

            “I hope not,” Charlie said.

            “How did you become associated with this walking gob of trouble,” he said nodding toward Nelson. “He’ll get you killed faster than Al-Qaeda will.”

            “I’m sort of TDY’ed to him right now,” Charlie said.

            “Bless you child,” the Sheriff said. “Be sure to wear your piss-pot and flak jacket at all times.”

            “Noted,” said Charlie.

            They then talked of their time of service—duty assignments, changes in warfare, regrets, dark moments, and times of despair or hope, with feelings known only to a few throughout history. When the conversation reached its natural end, they rose and the Sheriff walked them to the door. With a “Semper Fi” and a “god speed,” he said goodbye to his brothers.