Elizabeth’s hands went to her hips. “Stop that, Dad. Yes, I remind you of Faith. You have to remember. Your twin sister’s death by drowning wasn’t your fault.”
Silence.
All five stood around the oak bed.
Spiffy lost control, dropped his Wilson County Public Library copy of The Man in the Iron Mask, whirled from the others, and threw his face on the Kid’s chest. The Kid, responding with a few pats on the back, waved him to a chair next to his bed, where he blubbered nonstop.
The others took chairs.
Spiffy’s actions gave control to the Kid. Sensing this triumph, he rose and pulled a rocking chair next to Spiffy.
The Kid locked eyes with Warren’s. “Be brief, about this matter, Mr. Hawk. You stand here only because of the great debt I owe you.”
“Yes Sir, we’re just electricians. We work out of our own shop. We hire fourteen workers to wait on our customers and to make calls. I know you’ll help us, since you and your family are high-class people. Kid, I want you to meet my daughter Samantha. Why don’t you ask Samantha a few questions?”
Without waiting for permission, Warren walked to the door. He motioned for her to enter.
She wore the clothes of a Native American. She paused in the doorframe, placing her right hand on the doorjamb, bringing the other hand to her hip. With confidence, she dropped both arms to her sides and crossed the threshold.
The Kid looked at her. He thought: My goodness, what an entrance! What a natural strut. She can’t be just seventeen. More like twenty-two or three. A looker, too, with shoulder-length raven hair, big brown eyes, nice height, and good teeth, not to mention a trim, solid figure. The clothes make her a magazine model. That gold necklace sets off her outfit. Those outrageous good looks, she didn’t get them from Warren. Her exterior qualities must come from her mother’s people. She carries herself like a princess, too.
Jennifer scratched her rear. “Kid, speak to her.”
“Hello, Samantha, how are you, young lady?”
She looked at him. “Hello, I love your bass voice. It rattles around in my body.” She placed her right hand over the middle of her chest. “Those eyes, they capture me. You do have magnetism. Wow. I do feel drawn to you. I thank you, Sir. So you are the Tobacco Land Kid. It thrills me to meet you, Sir.”
“Thank you Sam, now, you’ll have something to tell your friends when you go back to school today.”
“With all courtesy and respect to you sir, my name’s not Sam. It’s Samantha. I’m seventeen. I’ve been a woman since I was thirteen.”
The Kid squeezed his lips together. He thought. She’s a brusque thing. Yes, she is. “Jennifer, switch chairs with Samantha. Tell me why hunting interests you so much.”
Warren leaned forward. “I can tell you—”
The Kid stopped Warren with his eyes. “No, I asked her.”
Samantha’s eyes closed. She grimaced. “Seems we can establish some common ground, but I have a question. Before I entered, I visited the guest bathroom. A black drape covers the mirror. One of you a vampire? Do I need wolfsbane? Should I trade this gold necklace for a silver cross?”
The room became quiet. The Kid, Spiffy, Jennifer, Ervin, and Elizabeth glanced from one to another while Warren’s boys crept in and took seats.
Ervin, usually reticent, cleared his throat. “The Kid has a doppelganger, German for double walker.”
Elizabeth forced a smile. “Okay baby brother, we know you aren’t a psychiatrist, but you can explain best.”
Ervin began with a speech that lasted for twenty minutes, explaining that a doppelganger inhabited a person, and in due course, blossomed into the personification of evil. Triggered, perhaps, by the unfortunate drowning of the Kid’s baby sister. Perhaps from the Kid’s perspective, he proceeded to yield, without intentional thought, to this wickedness in the form of an alter ego or a split personality. Ervin changed course, allowing his instruction to include the personalities of Percy Shelley, John Donne, George Tyson, and others.
The Kid slumped in his chair and he put his hand over his face. “Stop there. Now! That will do, Ervin.”
Samantha went to his chair, sat on the chair’s arm, and put her arms around his neck. “A Jekyll and Hyde, huh, to take me hunting. You got problems? I got problems. Let’s help one another. Remember the hymn, ′Others′?”
“She is a knockout skirt, Kid. Later, you can touch her,” whispered the doppelganger inside the Kid’s psyche and into his heart.
Warren squirmed in his chair, “May I interrupt for a minute?”
The Kid glared at Warren. “You already have. Go ahead.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Hellfire, go on! Go on!”
Jennifer pulled at her own hair. “Kid!” She calmed down. “Kid, in college I had two nicknames, I.Q. and Basketball Ass. I didn’t do good in school, but I never did act like you just did.”
The Kid forced a smile. “Warren, proceed.”
Warren cleared his throat and swallowed. “Since Samantha’s childhood she’s quivered at anything about the woods or hunting. Even in the first grade, I remember Samantha cutting out a picture of a man kneeling in front of a twenty-five pound gobbler. She still keeps the picture, along with thousands of others about hunting. Yet she has never put one foot in the woods.”
The Kid’s fingers played about his lips. “Why not?”
Warren rubbed his cheeks. “Samantha’s mother always felt it was a dangerous place for a girl. It gives a young woman no training to be a proper lady, but a year ago, Mrs. Hawk drew her last breath due to a meth-loaded driver. Samantha, tell them what the doc says about you now.”
She stayed with the Kid. She buried her face in his shoulder. “Yup, new Daddy, the doctors say I’m in the early stages of acute myelogenous leukemia. I also suffer from depression.” She snatched her head right, then left. “Not going to snuff the candle. With good healthcare, I may live two years, but they say don’t count on it since I refused chemo and other stuff. Before I found out, I had two goals: to sit around the house on Christmas Eve with a wonderful husband and three children in front of an open crackling fire, and the second being to shoot a wild turkey tom.”
Silence descended.
The Kid placed the largest knuckle of his shooting finger between his teeth. He thought. Be kind to her. Say something nice. “Miss, I’m so very sorry. Sad to say, it doesn’t change the fact you know nothing about the woods or the craft of being a woodsperson.”
“No Sir, I know nothing.”
He reached to his desk and as his chair squeaked, he picked up some pictures. “First, my dear, look at these three pictures.” He handed them to her. “I’ve used them to teach children when I worked in the schools. Tell me what you see.”
“Well, the first is small trees, the second has larger trees, and the last has big trees. What are you getting at?” She laid the pictures on the desk.
“In the first picture, the forest curtain is only two or three feet deep, in the second it’s about fifty feet deep, and the third maybe fifty yards deep. The curtain is the distance the eye can see. Of course, the curtain zigzags. Did you see the six-point buck?”
“No.”
“By the same token, you have no knowledge of firearms.”
“I’ve never fired one.”
The Kid lowered his head and rested it on his right hand. “Young lady, please understand: we have an impossible task here. I walk with the aid of family. Please find someone else. My body, my mind flinch from the task.”
Samantha stood to sweep back her shoulder-length raven hair; she spread her fingers and raised her arms, exposing her armpits. “Does the famous Tobacco land Kid have an empty scrotum?”
Ervin blinked.
Elizabeth put her hands over her mouth.
Jennifer’s face turned red.
Warren’s jaw dropped.
The boys suppressed laughter.
Spiffy kept blubbering.
The comment took the Ki
d by surprise, and the right side of his mouth trembled. He fought to hold back a smile. “Please, please listen to me, Child.” He attempted to regain the high ground, but his voice revealed a trace of surrender. “My health.”
Samantha looked into the Kid’s eyes. She laid her hand on his shoulder. “Kid, what makes you think I am a child? In front of you stands a woman. Tell me, Kid. Eighteen bull’s-eyes in a single match made you famous at Fishburne, leading some to say you never miss in practice, a postal match, or a shoulder-to-shoulder competition.”
The Kid brushed her hand away. “Correct, Samantha. With ease, at two hundred yards I can put twenty rounds on a casino playing card in twenty-seven seconds or less. Also, imagine a pie tin so far it’s a tiny speck of silver, just a little fleck—-I can hit it.” He pointed to a ten-space mahogany gun cabinet. “The rifle on the far left shoots a .270. I sent her away to have ammunition harmonized for her. I have few equals with a rifle. In other words, under any conditions, I’ll always hit what I need to when I have to.”
“I’ll bet you’re good with a shotgun, too.”
Realizing he had said too much, he stroked his lips, rubbed his nose, and regained his composure. “Not quite, young lady, but there’s something few know about shot-gunning. Maybe I’ll tell you sometime, or maybe I’ll show you.”
Samantha’s eyes danced. “Listen to me, Kid. You’re a recovering alkie. You have a chance. I don’t. Life stops for me soon. A train leaves the station with me on board. I cannot get off. Nobody halts the Grim Reaper at the throttle. My chance lies with experiencing a few things before the train rolls down the track. Kid, give me something to be proud of in my few days left. I beg you, Kid. Somewhere out there a big gobbler will clutch a limb tonight. Make him mine, Kid. I’m a Native American. I’ll sleep with my ancestors. My blood will be content.”
“You’re a convincing young lady. Anything else you wish to say?”
Samantha stared at him.
“Very well. My answer is No.”
Samantha pulled the oak chair close to the Kid. She sat. “Is it true you play cards?” She put her right hand on his wrist. She crossed her legs, right over left, and rocked her foot. Her left hand went up to support her chin. “Let’s play twenty hands of blackjack. I win, you take me hunting ‘til I get a turkey.”
“I don’t play blackjack.”
“Fine, we’ll play Texas hold ‘em.”
The Kid massaged his mashed nose and thought. She’s clever. Bet she’s darn good, too. If I win, people say The Tobacco Land Kid took advantage of a young girl. Lose, oh brother. Had the stacked deck ready for her to win. Knew all along… “Warren, if I win I really get nothing but off the hook. Put up twenty-five thousand to sweeten her side of the pot or the deal’s off.”
Warren pulled out his checkbook.
The Kid’s head tilted back. “Let’s play Texas hold ‘em. Each of us will deal three hands before turning the deck over. Start, Miss.”
In the first hand, the Kid won with two kings, one four, a three, and an ace. Samantha showed no emotion.
The Kid leaned back in his chair. “For the moment, let’s forget the hunt. Samantha, I’ll bet you a .410 pump shotgun you can’t beat my hand.”
Uncrossing her legs, she swept her raven hair back, and then shook it smooth. “Throw in a case of shells, too?”
“Sure.”
Samantha laid down two sevens, two twos, and a five, which beat the Kid’s hand and guaranteed she would come out with something.
The game ran for an hour; the Kid fell behind six hands.
She handed the cards to the Kid. He smiled. “Everybody check out the mountain goat on the wall.” While they looked, the Kid switched decks from a secret compartment under his side of the table. Now they played with a stacked deck.
“Trust me to shuffle?” said the Kid.
“Sure.”
He looked into her eyes. “Make it winner-take-all on the next hand. It’s time to end this circus.” The Kid grinned. He dealt. “That’s what I’m going to make out of all of you goats.”
Samantha thumbed her cards. Her composure collapsed; her eyes widened. “Are you going to take a ca-card, Kid?”
“No cards, Samantha. I said, ‘win it all or lose it all’ on this hand.”Her head dropped until it touched her chest while she trembled. “Okay, okay.” She sat for two minutes. She shook her head and her eyes filled.
Jennifer rose, touching Samantha’s arm. “You okay, Honey?”
Samantha’s head bobbed while clutching the cards to her chest. “Winner takes all?”
The Kid laid down a nine of spades, a nine of diamonds, with a nine of clubs. He followed the three nines with a deuce of spades, and a jack of hearts.
Samantha spread three sixes. She sucked in a deep breath. Tears flowed down her cheeks. In slow motion, she laid down another six.
The Kid’s chin dropped. “Another six!”
With her right fist, she scrubbed her face. “Yeah, Kid, you just got your lunch eaten. Suck on that.”
The Kid’s chair stopped him from going over backwards.
After a rattling belch, Jennifer took another bite from a raw turnip, tearing a purple section from near its top. “It was just in them cards for her to win.” She made short jumps into the air while clapping her hands. “Don’t you get it, everybody? It’s in them cards for her to win.” No one noticed Jennifer or her little gag, since all had gasped when a teenage girl vanquished the mighty Kid at one of his own games.
Pretending shock, the Kid sat, unsmiling, with his chin touching his chest. The loyal Spiffy started reading Last of the Mohicans.
After Jennifer finished destroying the turnip, she and Warren determined Samantha would move into the Hendricks’ home until the quest ended. Warren expressed his gratitude and said goodbye to Samantha. With magnanimity, the Kid rose from his chair, wished the three well, then saw them to the door.
Ervin told Samantha he would assist her with health issues, and with her arm around his waist they climbed the carpeted stairs to Elizabeth’s old room. Ervin entered first and flicked the light switch. The room held a collection of colors, toys, and stuffed animals. One stuffed plaything in particular, a three-foot clown doll with crocodile tears of happiness streaking its face caught Samantha’s attention. Within the hour, after splashing her face with Elizabeth’s perfume, she went to sleep with the doll.
Chapter 10
At dawn, the house sprang to life. Ervin cooked, the Kid pumped iron, Jennifer snacked on chocolate. Spiffy helped the Kid in the weight room.
The training did not go well. The Kid bench-pressed only twenty-five pounds while sweating like a lion-chased zebra. Similarly, the remainder of his exercises ended no better. Spiffy tossed him a towel. After wiping his face and arms, with a smack he slammed the cloth on the bench. “Not good, huh, Spiffy?”
“Work harder.”
“What d’ya you think I’m doing?”
“Give it time.” He handed the Kid a morning paper. “Read ‘Unidentified Body Found′.”
The Kid turned and faced Spiffy. “Changing the subject to put me at ease?”
“No, why?”
The Kid sat, read, and laid the paper back on the bench. He pondered. “Interesting murder. Seems some Boy Scouts slipped away from camp and walked to an old abandoned boat ramp in Virginia. With moonlight, they saw a pickup truck stop and a man drag something to the end of the companion walkway to the launch. They heard a splash. Two days later a corpse, with a bullet hole through both temples, a life preserver on his torso, and a yellow ribbon around his neck showed up near Milton, North Carolina, tangled on some low-lying branches on the North Carolina side.”
Spiffy nodded. “The stiff crossing into another state makes that an FBI case, right?”
“I think so, but I’m not Sherlock Holmes. You’re not Dr. Watson. You read too much. Let’s go.”
With Spiffy at his heels, he left the mini-gym for the game room, where he flopped into his favorite
chair behind the mahogany desk. He sat. He drew small breaths as he thought about Scotch. The voices of Jennifer, Ervin, and Samantha approaching filtered in, giving his morale a boost. They entered the room and found chairs. Samantha located a hassock and placed it beside the Kid.
Her brown eyes narrowed as she looked at him. “Tell me what you’re thinking about.”
“Scotch.”
Silence.
“Don’t any of you worry,” he said. “I want a drink, but my willpower controls the situation.”
The Kid placed his elbows on the armrest and his fingers in a steeple like position in front of his face. “Young lady, you may never realize how proud you make me. Listen. November ends today. We’ll hunt December thirty-first and New Year’s Day.”
Her mouth opened, her fingers covered her lips, and her hands dropped to her sides. “What?”
“We don’t have time to locate the .410 pump you won. If you’re lucky enough to bag a mature adult tom in one of those days, the postal service should deliver your prize in no more than a week. Ervin, loan Samantha yours.”
“Sure, Dad, the single barrel .410?”
With open palms and fingers spread, Samantha shrugged. “Just one shot. What if somebody sneaks up on us in the outdoors?”
The Kid smirked. “Listen, Samantha, nobody slips up on the Kid in the woods.” He paused. As he rubbed his lips, he coughed. “One might.”
Samantha bounced three times in her seat. “Who?”
“Perhaps you’ll learn.”
The conversation had Samantha’s head swimming. “Wait a minute. I don’t like this. Do you mean we aren’t going to delay the pursuit of a tom until next spring?”
“Heavens no, why should we? Remember, young woman: My defeat in the poker game assures you I’ll carry you hunting. That does not permit you to pick the season, time, or place, or give you the right to make any decisions about the hunt. Most of all, you should thank me for my zealousness. Ervin, go get the .410 and a box of shells.” The Kid thought. Look at the hysteria sweeping her face. She understands the action’s starting. The realization overwhelms her. This might be fun. Hmm, she rubs her hands together.
“Yup, what’s up with the firearm now?”