New Friends

SUNDOWN IN ZION

CHAPTER TWELVE

Gideon Nelson has taken in a boarder, but first spends some time with his other new friend.

            Tina blinked her eyes and then opened them wide. “You did what?”

            “I took in a house guest.”

            “Who? I mean why?”

            “He is in trouble and needs help.”

            “Gideon Nelson, you are the strangest duck in a whole pond of them. Do you know this man?”

            “As well as I know you.”

            They were at the local micro-brewery at its Thursday evening opening. The usual crowd hadn’t shown yet and the place was quiet. Tina Barrow drank her beer and thought for a moment. Setting it down, she said, “But you haven’t invited me into your house.”

            “Not yet, anyway,” he said. “Besides, you have a home. Charlie is a homeless veteran. A real one, not one of those men set loose from an institution, who gets off his meds, and claims to be a vet. The public loves those,” He stopped and drank, “except when they have to care for them.”

            “Gideon Nelson,” Tina said, “when he murders you in your sleep. I’ll tell the police I tried to warn you.” She tapped the top of her mug with a fingernail. “So dragging me home and ravaging me tonight is out of the question, I suppose.”

            “Maybe,” he said. “Would you like that?”

            She retreated immediately. “Too soon, but allow your hope to spring eternal.”

            “It always has,” he said. “So not, as you say, ‘inevitable’”?

            “Maybe,” she said. “Would you like that?”

            “How were classes today?”

            “I forget,” she said, giving him a playful fist to the chin. “You can be a real jerk. Know that?”

            “You have no idea,” he said.

            “So what did you do in the Navy?” She felt one of his bulging muscles. “I know that you were one of those bad asses. What do they call them? Sea Lions?”

            “Actually, I played piccolo in the Navy Band,” he said.

            “Asshole,” she said, then smiling, “Want to go for a drive? I’ll show you where I live.”

            “A short one,” he said. “I promised Charlie I would be home by ten.”

            “Christ,” she said, “are you married already?”

            He laughed and they finished their beers. Outside, it was dark and the street lights were sparkling through naked tree branches. Her car, a new hybrid, was parked across the street and they crossed together. Nelson folded himself into the passenger seat and they moved through the tall buildings of downtown Little Rock. She eased the car through early evening traffic, and they were soon moving west along Cantrell Avenue in an area, as she was explaining, that was once called “Carpetbagger Hill.”

            “When you Yankees invaded our state, rich men from the north came here to run things,” she said. “They built mansions near the railroad station,” pointing south toward the site. “That was the place to be in those days. Then they made us name this section of street after Abraham Lincoln.” We finally got rid of them and they left us some fine old homes.” They came within view of the river. “A little good comes from every disaster,” she said.

            “Think that might prove true of the disaster in Connorville?” he said.

            She thought as they continued west. “Now that you mention it, those people who live in that place are the modern carpetbaggers.” She made a soft right turn. “The place may just need a cleansing.”

            He said, “A sort of sociological purging, maybe?”

            “Hey,” she said, “you’re talking like a scholar already.” She proceeded down a narrow street. “I’ll show you our Big Dam Bridge,” she said. “Maybe someday you can walk me across it.”

            “What bridge did you say?”

            “Big Dam Bridge,” she said, “as in: the big bridge next to the dam.” The river now glistened to their right. “It’s a nice little play on words, though. It was built for pedestrians and bicyclists. Connects the cities of Little Rock and North Little Rock, places that enjoy a warm love-suspicion relationship.”

            “Like us?” he said.

            “Maybe,” she said.

            They drove along in silence through a linear park. The smell of willows permeated the car through half-opened windows and night sounds began to increase in volume. There were no other cars on the road.

            “You’re quiet,” Tina said. “Share.”

            “Just thinking about a place where I used to live,” he said.

            “With someone?”

            “No someone. Just me alone.”

            “Congratulations for a correct answer. I hear so few of those.”

            They had reached the end of the road now and Tina pulled the car into a parking lot and they quietly enjoyed the view of two structures crossing the river. One was a solid steel and concrete thing, a dam that muscled its way across the roiling water. The other was a soaring, spidery affair that shot across the expanse with a bare hint of intrusion.

            “It’s my favorite spot in the city,” she said. “I’ve never shared it with anyone else.”

            Nelson took it in. “I can see why …” he started to say, but her arm had shot across his shoulder and she drew his head to hers, delivering a long and hungry kiss. He didn’t resist.

            She broke her lips from his and kissed both cheeks. “Damn you,” she said.

            He stroked her cheek and brushed the hair from her face.

            “Damn you,” she said again.

            He said, “Maybe you should take me back.”

            “Maybe,” she said.

            The way she drove him back took them through a section of Little Rock known simply as Hillcrest. It was a wild collection of every type home imaginable served by a central commercial corridor of shops, restaurants, and offices. It is one of those hugely adored neighborhoods that simply appear as if by some grand design but wouldn’t be allowed to be built from scratch in any city in America. Turning down a street lined with small, beautifully kept homes, she pointed to a striking craftsman-era white house and identified it as hers. Then they slowly wound their way back thorough downtown and toward the bar.

            “Where did you park?,” She had slowed near the front of the bar.

            “I walked,” he said, pointing east. “Turn at the next street.”

            “Don’t you know that walking to a bar is considered evil and subversive in modern America?” she said.

            “So sue me,” he said as he pointed to his house.

            She stopped in front. “So now we each know where the other lives,” she said. “What does that mean?”

            “It is not a huge city,” he said, “so I imagine it was inevitable.”

            “Asshole,” she said as she allowed him a quick goodbye kiss.

            Nelson walked into the living room in time to see Charlie retreating from the front window with a soft drink in hand. “Hello,” Nelson said, eyeing the other as if about to ask a question.

            “I thought you walked over,” Charlie said quickly. “I heard sounds outside and thought it might have been someone else. Catch a ride home?”

            Nelson said, “You weren’t by any chance in Military Intelligence, were you?”

            “Artillery,” Charlie said. “They don’t let Officer Candidate School chaps from a small college into MI.”

            “So now you know my secret. I have a personal taxi service so I don’t risk a WWI.”

            “A what?”

            “Walking while intoxicated.” Nelson walked to the refrigerator and retrieved a beer. He waved it at Charlie. “Want something stronger.”

            “Teetotaler, “Charlie said. “This is fine.”

            “A homeless vet who doesn’t drink,” Nelson said. “Don’t you risk being persecuted by ‘Stereotypers Anonymous?’”

            “I’ll risk it,” Charlie said. “I promised my mom after she had come get me out of jail the last time I imbibed.”

            “So how did you spend your evening?”

            “Trying out the new clothes and neat things you bought me.”

            “Everything fit?”

            “It will as soon as I regain my health,” he stopped. Raising his drink in mock salute, he said, “Thanks man.”

            “Forget it,” Nelson said. “Sit.” He motioned toward the couch.

            The two sat in silence for a few moments. Then Nelson broke it. “So tell me how it came to be that your wife controls your disability checks.”

            “Guile, guys, and government,” Charlie said. “She is one crafty bitch.”

            “And?”

Charlie waved his soft drink, “The government puts a lot of credence into sob stories from spouses of vets. You can imagine.”

            “I can,” Nelson said. “Go on.”

            “She has this new guy, a big bad son of a bitch that also protects her interests. I have the cracked ribs to prove it.”

            “So the result is?”

            “The result is that the checks are deposited into some bank that I know nothing about. She has the only access, and the government has been damned slow about helping me with it.”

            “I see,” Nelson said. “Is that it?”

            “Isn’t that enough?”

            “I think we can fix that.”

            Charlie regarded him with suspicion. “You some kind of ‘fixer’ or something? What exactly are you?”

            “Tonight someone called me an ‘asshole’ and I suppose I am—just a tired asshole that wants to go to college and relax for the first extended time in forever.”

            “I suppose people like me keep interrupting it.” Charlie lowered his eyes.

            “And Abbey Stubblefield.”

            “Who?”

            Nelson told him the entire story, at least as far as he knew the facts. Charlie listened intently, nodding his head and smiling as Nelson related the incident with the cook at the diner. Nelson did omit most of the part concerning Special Agent Benson, simply saying that a friend “in the know” had told him that the Connorville Police was questioning his department’s responsibility since it was obviously a Little Rock matter.

            Charlie interrupted at this point. “Sort of a case where we can’t have a black killing in our city ‘cause we don’t allow no blacks in our city,” he said.

            “I don’t think he phrased it quite that way,” Nelson said, “but yes … that must have been the general gist of it.”

            “So the poor girl’s body ‘lies a-molding in the grave,’ and nobody gives a shit,” Charlie said.

            “Her friend and schoolmate Martin Barker does,” Nelson said. “And her parents do. And I do. Now, maybe you do too.”

            “I think I do,” Charlie said, “and that makes five more than would have given a shit about me if those two thugs had killed me instead of just slugging me and taking my jacket.” He stared into space. “That’s assuming you would have.”

            “I would have,” Nelson said. “Now, are you in this with me?”

            “How could I not be,” Charlie said. “But how can a shot-up artillery officer, who can’t even buy his own clothes, help?”

            “I don’t think you have to pay for brains,” Nelson said, “and there have been times when I thought pretty highly of the ‘smarts’ that you cannon-shooters have.”

            “Just give me some coordinates,” Charley said. “Tell me the target.”

            “Zero in on Connorville,” Nelson said. “This friend of yours there, would he help us?”

            “He hates being there like drunk hates a dry county,” Charlie said. “If it wasn’t for his business, he’d be gone tomorrow. As long as you don’t mention his name around town, I imagine he will tell you anything he knows.”

            “And you will call him tomorrow?”

            “As soon as I have made you breakfast.”

            “Maybe we can drive up and see him afterwards.”

            Charlie said, “I’m sure we can if he has time.”

            “Then we can see what he might tell us.”

            “We can,” Charlie said, “and assuming we learn something worthwhile, what do you say we do then?” He emphasized ever so slightly the word “we.”

            Nelson raised his drink in salute. “Then, I say we …,” also emphasizing the word, “fire for effect.”