Once again
I am trying to get remotivated to start working on my novel again. I have been too long away from it and I am missing the creative muse.So I will post it again in hopes of reigniting the fuse of creation. Click on the link to read it in its entirety...
The tension growing in Walter Jeffries plays out in a throbbing vein in his temple, and the tongue chewing he does absently. Gripping the wheel of his Jaguar Walter barrels down the interstate on his way to the home of his best friend.
Walter pays no attention to the speedometer; he never does. He believes he knows how fast he is going by intuition. He is never correct, though his belief that he is traveling at around 60 is only off by 30 mph. Like most luxury automobiles the only noise you hear inside the cabin is the radio. Which in this case was blaring on one of those “light jazz/soft rock” stations that alternate between playing Sade and Kenny G three times an hour.
Donnie Ollie Grady, Jr., Dog to those who know him, is doing his usual weekday routine. Having stumbled upon a stretch of woods off the interstate that looks as though they may contain a deer worth killing, he proceeds at a half-drunk stagger through the woods unable to reason for him-self that the drunker he gets, the less likely he is to find game of any kind. Unless of course Dog is lucky enough to wander across a deer that is at the very least completely deaf, half blind, incapable of locomotion and possessing a unique suppression of the instinct for survival. But as anyone who has ever come across Dog in is 48 years can attest luck just does not apply to him.
As Walter turns off the interstate on to a back road, erroneously believing this will save him time; he switches the radio to the local classical station. Walter knows of course nothing of classical music save that a man in his position is expected to enjoy said sounds enough to have knowledge of them. His lack of enjoyment of all things involved in the classical vein is only marginally surpassed by his lack of knowledge of the genre.
His friend, a attorney, is preparing lunch for the both of them. Lunch will begin with the usual chitchat over drinks. Proceed to the meal where Walter will inevitably ask his friend for advice that he will immediately discount and dismiss. Once again believing that his logic and intellect will see him through. This irrational belief is based upon the fact that 4 years prior through a fluke in the market he stumbled into a substantial amount of money. This he attributes to his grasp of the economic market and not the fluke the world at large knows it to be.
Close to 10am Dog drops himself onto a rotting log for a breather. He pulls from an oversized leg-pocket of his filthy camouflaged coveralls his usual hunting partner, a half-empty bottle of Evan Williams bourbon. After taking a full snort of the cheap whiskey he returns it to its moldy pocket. With artificially induced cheeriness he heads off in the direction of a live oak that appears a couple hundred yards off, which looks to be a good place for a mid-morning nap. The mornings drinking combined with even the moderate physical effort of carrying his old Turkish hunting rifle and bottle of cheap whisky through the woods is already beginning to have the adverse effects he never considers when he starts out. Slightly nauseous and sweaty, he gathers his rifle and heads off.
Glancing at the Rolex on his wrist, Walter feels he has shaved at least 15 minutes off his travel time, when in reality had he kept to the interstate he would just now be turning onto the long driveway of his friend. Instead he is flying down a fire-route at 77 miles an hour. Once again he decides to change the radio this time to the more upbeat Latin channel. One more glance at his watch and he presses the accelerator a little harder.
100 yards from his resting-place at the stump, Dog stops at a dirt road he thinks is a fire-route maintained by the state in case of forest fire. Feeling this is a good time to wet his whistle he pulls out the bottle and downs two serious gulps of whisky, it is at this time two things take place to alter Dog’s life forever. First, after this latest assault, his stomach decides to change gears and set the process in reverse. Second, the 8 point buck that had been standing no more than 4 feet from Dog since he stopped to take a drink decides to bolt across the dirt road in flight. Startled, Dog’s only response is to hurl the nearly empty bottle at the fleeing quadruped. After that, he takes 3 steps toward the now-gone buck, spins around and begins to vomit between his ancient boots.
Seeing that the road has a bend up ahead, Walter applies modest brakes and slows the Jaguar down to 45 mph. As he comes around the curve he sees a large deer- dart across the road no more than 50 feet ahead of him, pursued almost immediately by something with a dull shine flying through air. As his eyes follow the objects arc across the road, it dawns on him that the object is a bottle. His eyes return to their normal position just in time to see what appears to be a hunter bend over and begin to vomit as the right bumper of the car slams him in the rear, sending him spinning off into the tree-line.
Upon impact Walter hears three things. The sound of the car hitting the hunter, the sound of a rifle discharging, and his own wailing of “EEEEE, What the hell!? What the hell!?”
His car is slowing down faster than it should. As soon as the car is completely stopped he gets out and confirms that indeed the rear driver-side tire is flat, though he doesn’t know why. He trots around to the front of the Jaguar and sees that there is substantial damage to the right front corner. Squatting to inspect it closer he notices a cold spot on his leg, looking down at his pants, Walter realizes that he has wet himself.
“Oh fucking Christ.”
Moving around to the passenger side Walter notices something spread from the corner panel to the rear door and across the front passenger door window. As he moves closer the unmistakable smell hits him.
“Vomit, that’s fucking great.”
All at once it dawns on him that there is something much more important than the damage to his car.
“Oh shit! I’m going to jail! I’m going to jail!”
He starts running back down the road to where he hit the unlucky hunter. He spots an old rifle first, stock broken off, lying in the gravel by the road. Walter walks slowly toward the tree line, not wanting to verify what he suspects. The first thing he notices is an odd coppery smell and what has to be booze. Moving closer he sees what he thinks is some clothes wrapped around a sapling. Upon reaching the hunter he determines that a leg is still inside the pants wrapped twice around the trunk.
“Ugh, God!”
Walter discovers the other leg tucked under the torso. One arm is bent in 3 places, none of which is the elbow. The other arm is obviously dislocated at the shoulder and stuck beneath his neck. Blood is flowing from several large gashes in his head, pooling in the sand. Dog begins a crunchy set of breaths, during which Walter drops to his knees and empties his breakfast onto the ground next to the broken hunter.
“Ohhhh fuuuuuuck.” He sobs, spittle dripping from his lower lip, snot hanging from the tip of his nose.
“Aaaaaawwwwww I’m fuuuuuuuccked”
A broken gasp with a soggy rattle escapes the hunter, at which point Walter scrambles to his feet runs to his car crying, jumps in and drives as fast as his semi-deflated tire will go.
Back on the interstate he travels 10 minutes before stopping to change his tire on the roadside. He finds in his trunk a three-gallon water bottle for emergencies; this he uses to try and wash away the dried vomit with limited success. Realizing he is trying to clean a crime scene in open view on the interstate he decides to get in and get to his friends house before anything else happens to him. Walter manages to get 3 miles away before he is pulled over by a highway patrolman and ticketed for doing 83 in a 65. When questioned about the fresh damage to his car, he says he hit a deer on a back road where he stopped to take a leak, asked about the bullet hole in the passenger door he claims neighborhood vandals.
***
Lying astride her Chez Lounge in her backyard Tanya Amber Bowden-Inez thumbs through the latest Hammacher-Schlemmer catalog, looking for yet another lawn ornament to prove to her neighbors that she is better suited to gated community living than they are. Setting the catalog atop the matching outdoor coffee table next to the pitcher of Tom Collins perspiring in the warm morning sun she grabs the phone and dials the local police number. Not 911 of course she would never do anything that pedestrian, she opts as always to go straight to the top. After 2 rings she is greeted by Katie Loomus, Chief Clayton Diggs personal assistant.
“ Good morning Chief Diggs office.”
“ Hi Katie, its Tabi put me through to Clayton please.”
“Good morning Mrs. Bowden-Inez, how can I help you today?”
Bringing forth all the authority her status as a housewife carries.
“Well you can put me through to Clayton like I said.”
“Chief Diggs is very busy this morning, I can have him call you back later when he gets a free minute if you’d like.”
After a deep and expressive sigh aimed directly into the receiver.
“ No I wouldn’t like, what I would like is for you to put me through to Clay right now!”
The last part of her statement comes out a little husky due to the Tom Collins, But Tabi thinks it just adds weight to her demand, not in fact giving away that she is drunk before 11am on a weekday.
“ Yes, Mrs. Bowden-Inez I understand that, but the fact of the matter is Chief Diggs is quite busy at the moment. If you like I can put a check in the urgent box on the message for you?”
“Now you listen to me Katie! I can have your job for this! I am a very important member of this community and have a legitimate emergency I need to tell the Chief about, so just what do you think of that, huh?”
“Well Mrs. Bowden-Inez since Chief Diggs doesn’t take emergency phone calls our 911 dispatch officers do, I suggest you hang up the phone and then dial 911 and describe to that officer your problem.”
Tabi's anger, fueled by her use of gin as a breakfast drink, boils over.
“I do not have to take this kind of talk from Clays secretary!”
Finally Chief Diggs decides to try and end Katie’s game.
“Oh, just gimme the call you know I’m not doing jack in here.”
Katie presses the mute button on the phone.
“Yes chief, just trying to save you some hassle.” She chimes sweetly then releases the mute button and cuts Tabi off crispy mid-tirade.
“Mrs. Bowden-Inez, please hold for Chief Diggs.”
“Tabi are you there?”
“…Clayton so good to hear your voice.”
As though he had called her for one of her dinner party recipes.
“What can I do for you today Tabi?” Asking the speakerphone from his stance bent over a golf ball on a rectangular length of Astroturf.
“How’s that wife of yours? You tell her I said she better make the next bridge game.”
“She’s fine; I’ll sure do it. Thanks for calling Tabi.”
“Well Clayton don’t be silly, you know I would never call you at work for something like that.”
“Of course, what’s on your mind Tabi, I have an appointment with a couple of county commissioners in 5 minutes.”
“Oh, well, I’ll try not to keep you then. Remember last summer when we had all that trouble with those inner-city thugs shooting up our woods and poor old Debra Carlson lost the glass out of her patio door from it?”
“ They were neighborhood kids, we don’t even have an inner-city around here and they were just having fun shooting cans with a .22, why?”
“Well not five minutes ago I heard another gunshot maybe 2 perhaps more, and I tell you those hooligans are using bigger guns now, it couldn’t have been farther than a half mile from here. Scared the life out of me, I almost dropped my lemonade.”
“Riiight, so why exactly are you calling me Tabi?”
“Well I want you to have it dealt with of course Clay.”
“Tabi you really should just call 911 that’s what it’s there for, for this exact reason.”
“Clayton you’re a dear, thank you for doing this for me, Love to the wife, bye now.”
Having missed his putt and now staring at his phone, he sighs.
“Katie, call dispatch and have them send someone out to the woods by the Ricco Bianco gated community and see if those kids are shooting anything, if so have them scared off or Tabi will be calling all day long about it.”
“Yes sir.”
“ Do you have to get her all bent out of shape every time she calls?”
“Chief lets not exaggerate, it isn’t every time, besides are you trying to take all the joy from my work?”
“God no, heaven forbid.”
“besides,’ she says dialing dispatch.
“Those bimbos out in whiteywood need someone to take them down a peg from time to time, it’s good for the soul.”
He then shuts the door to continue his putting practice.
***
At 10:20 am Officer Jacob Trehorn gets a call to go and investigate possible shots fired in the wooded area attached to the Ricco Bianco gated community. Five minutes later as he is traveling the dirt road fire route through the woods he spots a broken rifle on the ground and some clothes wrapped around a sapling. He stops his cruiser gets out and notices that the clothes are a body and there is a leg not just clothes wrapped around the trunk of the tree.
“Oops. That’s not good.”
Upon closer inspection he notices there is a twig where the mans right eye should be, officer Trehorn believing the man dead from his physical appearance is about to call dispatch to have the medical examiner sent out when a crunchy wet croak that becomes a moan escapes Dog.
“Holy shit! He’s alive!!”
Grabbing his radio from his belt he stumbles backward away from the moaning Dog.
“Dispatch 376!”
“376.”
“Signal 25 with injuries at fire route 815 north of the Ricco Bianco subdivision, EMS 10-18 advise they may want LifeFlight to respond. Have a supervisor en route, need units for traffic control.”
”10-4.”
END Chapter 1.
Chapter 2
Speeding down Gidon’s driveway a portion of the right front panel of the Jaguar’s body shears away to expose the crumpled, greasy interior beneath. Sobbing in fits and pauses now as his own actions keep replaying in his mind on a loop; he slides to a halt at the front door, where Gidon having seen him screaming down his driveway has come to see what the commotion is about. Leaping from the car Walter runs toward his friend, the spastic sobbing reasserting its self in great heaves, sighs and shudders, upon reaching Gidon he almost tackles the man grabbing on to his shoulders and shaking him as he begins a torrent of unintelligible pleas and sobs that Gidon has no chance of understanding. As soon as Gidon recovers from the onslaught of his disheveled and raving friend he pushes Walter back as he takes a step back himself.
“JESUS WALTER! Get a hold of yourself what the hells the matter with you!?”
“Oh Gidon thank Christ you’re here!!”
Is all Walter can manage between bouts of gasping and shuddering?
“Of course I’m here don’t be an ass, you were supposed to be here half an hour ago! Now what the hell is going on?
“I, I, I took a shortcut.” Sob. Sob.
“I, I, I, I, may have fucked up…”
“Well Walter, what a shocking bit of news that is, get in here and calm down before you go into full cardiac arrest in my driveway.”
Gidon pushes his blubbering lunch guest into the house and takes a closer look at the Jag that somehow manages to look more pathetic than Walter. His eyes are immediately drawn to the bullet hole that is in the passenger door.
“Well fuck me to tears!”
He opens the passenger door expecting to find a body inside, relieved to find no one slumped over in the seat he follows the bullets trajectory through the front seat and then the back and guesses that its path sent it out through the rear drivers side area. With his anger and annoyance growing by the second Gidon closes the car door, he notices something on his hand and raises it to inspect the substance and immediately yanks it away and spits out the saliva in his mouth that welled up from the stench.
“Aww geez! Puke, puke?!?!, Damn it Walter!”
He pulls out a handkerchief and reopens the door and looks into the glove box for some sort of wet wipe, finding none he wipes hand on the passenger seat. As Gidon Climbs out he closes the door with the handkerchief and heads for the house intent on pushing Walters head into a wall. As he is storming past, Gidon glances at the front of the car and is stopped dead in his tracks. On the torn body of the Jaguar, bedside where the right front signal should have been was a scrap of camouflaged cloth.
Furiously scrubbing his hands at the sink in his wetbar and having trouble knowing where to begin. Should he just start yelling at him or maybe dive on Walter with a bottle of scotch screaming “you idiot!”.
But finally after pouring himself a tall glass of Glenlivet he looks to Walter sitting defeated on the sofa already finishing his second scotch in as many minutes. Gidon sighs
“this had better not be any of the things I imagine you capable of being stupid enough to involve yourself with.”
“It isn’t Gidon I promise.”
“Ok, so tell me what happened and I swear if you leave anything out or lie to me I’ll know and boot your sorry ass Walter.”
“Ok ok I’ll tell you everything, the reason I was coming over here in the first place is because it think BAMBI knows I am seeing another woman. She has been hinting at divorce and huge alimony payments.”
Losing all of his patience with his disheveled guest Gidon screams.
“Walter you IDIOT I don’t care about your trophy wife! Now if you don’t start telling me what in Gods name is going on you can get the hell out of my house!”
“OK OK OK” once again the sobbing coming back to inhabit Walters body.
“ I was using a shortcut through those woods over there.” Gesturing in the direction of the highway.
“There is no damn shortcut through those woods Walter.”
“Well I know that now don’t I?” shudder sob sob
Walter gets up and goes over to the bar and grabs the bottle of scotch and pours it towards his glass leaving as much on the bar as in his glass.
“Well Walter?”
“What Gidon?”
“Get on with it! Jesus what the hell is the matter with you?!?!”
“Oh Oh Oh I’m sorry.” Sob sob
“ Well like I said I took a shortcut, then there was this deer running across the road.”
“You hit a deer?”
“No, I hit the guy throwing up in the road, I think he was a poacher or something.”
“and he shot at you?”
“no no I think his gun went off when I hit him.”
Sobbing once again coming in violent waves as he finally gives voice to what he has until this point hoped might just go away.
“Well that is just swell, is he dead?”
“ I don’t think so, I mean he wasn’t when I left him there.”
“Great Walter.”
Mentally tallying all the crimes Walter has managed to accrue before noon on a Wednesday.
“So let me see if I can get this right, you’ve been caught cheating on your wife who is going to soak you in the divorce more than likely for everything you own. Then on your way to cry to me about your gross stupidity you first take a shortcut that doesn’t exist then you run over some poor schmuck in the woods who shoots your car, go and check him. Find out he is still alive then flea the scene of the accident to come straight here. All I need to hear now is that someone was there filming it on a video camera!”
“No no Gidon, no witnesses were there.”
“Well at least you didn’t manage to get seen doing all of this, you didn’t stop at a store or anything on the way here did you?”
“Well no Gidon I mean Jesus what kind of idiot do you take me for anyway?”
“A complete and total idiot Walter.”
“Oh wait…”
“what?”
“Oh never mind it’s nothing.”
“Walter if you don’t tell me what it is right now I swear I will deviate your septum with this whiskey bottle.”
“Well I got pulled over for speeding on the way here.”
“oh fuck me.”
Walter and Gidon both look up when they hear the house alarm give a non-commital chirp and the sliding glass door that leads to the back patio opens to reveal a slightly flushed and moderately inebriated Tabi. Gidon rolls his eyes at his wifes condition and moves to head her off at the pass when she spies Walters dismal visage.
“Walllllter, how are yooouuu?!?!, I’m just so glad to see you how is every little thing?”
Walter pulls his face up from his 4th glass of scotch.
“Hi Tabi.”
Even in her condition Tabi notices that Walter had been crying and she moves as fast as her unsteady legs will carry her, bumping into nearly every obstacle in her path and planting herself with a woosh of the cushions on the sofa next to Walter.
“Sweetie, what’s wrong? You tell me right this instant.”
Finally catching up with Tabi as she hits the couch Gidon grabs her by the upper arm and begins hoisting her to her feet.
“It’s nothing he can discuss Tabi.”
“Oh…well fine then you talk with Gidon he will know what to do wont you baby?’
“I sure as hell hope so.”
Dragging Tabi upright and giving her a push towards the hall.
“Now you just go back to what you were doing and let us talk.”
“Oh, ho-k bye now Sweetie, you boys call me if you need anything.”
“We will.”
Tabi trys to take her time moving towards and then down the hall, hoping that they will begin speaking again so that she will hear at least something of what they are talking about.
Gidon waits for his tipsy wife to disappear down the hall before returning his gaze to Walter.
As he is about to resume his yelling he hears sirens moving along the interstate he waits to see if they will turn off into the woods adjacent to his community. When they do he breathes a sigh of relief.
“Well that is one less phone call I have to make.”
At this time Tabi explodes into the room.
“I knew it!!! Those damned gangsters have done a drive-in!”
Gidon's jaw drops at his wife’s entrance.
“Tabi what the hell are you talking about?”
Tabi shocked by the abject stupidity of the question begins addressing Gidon as if he were a child.
“the gangsters are back Gidon. Jesus H. Christ on a crutch didn’t you hear the shootout in the woods?”
At the mention of gunfire in the woods Gidon glances over at Walter who sinks lower into his scotch.
“Tabi, I didn’t hear a damn thing.”
“Well it’s just a good thing I did, called Clayton to come and have it dealt with, yes I did.”
“you did what?!?, Goddamn it Tabi how many times do I have to tell you to leave Clayton the hell alone??!! Has real work to do!”
“Gidon don’t you dare start this crap with me. There are roving bands of thugs in the woods who could at any time start going door to door in this community raping and killing! Ding-dong! Who’s there? Rapist ma’am. Bang! Is that what you want Gidon!?!? Maybe I should let them in, God knows you aren’t doing any raping around here.”
By now Gidon has dropped into a chair with his face in his hands to ride out Tabis self-righteous, drunken rant. Having learned long ago that to interject anything resembling reason or logic will only prolong her maniacal diatribe. Raising his face from his hands to look at his wife.
“Tabi, Walter and me really need to talk.”
Amazed by her husband’s inability to grasp that rape-gangs are moving through the streets of Ricco Bianco even now, Tabi lets out a frustrated growl. As she storms back through her bedroom she realizes what she said about Gidon not raping anyone around here and begins to chuckle loudly as she slams the door to her bedroom.
posted by Chef @ 5/19/2006 09:33:00 AM
2 Comments:
I read it and enjoyed it.
Being an engineer who likes to write, and not a trained writer, I won't attempt any literary criticism.
The one part that the engineer in me had trouble reconciling was that Walter drove 13 minutes on the interstate between the accident site and Gidon's house, and yet Gidon's wife could hear the gunshot from their house. I realize it wasn't a shortcut, but I had trouble imagining a scenario where you were basically next door but had to drive 13 minutes on the interstate to get there.
OK, that's literary criticism for nerds. Sorry it's not more substantive.
I'm glad you posted it and I'll watch for more.
~Sigh~
He is in a large wood near the subdivision.
Hate to say this to an engineer buddy but sound travels as well. ;-)
Also he travels 10 minutes on a flat tire.
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