Flathead

The pills, along with the beer, worked fine. I woke up to the familiar sound of the Flathead starting up, and the sun coming through the window. I breathed a sigh of relief, that Butter didn't turn the Harley lights on. After staggering to the window, and watching my precious Flathead carry my wife and antagonist away, hopefully, for the last time, I took a dump and a well-needed piss.

For some strange reason, I was feeling a lot better than I had been. My first reaction was to take a shower, get rid of all these damn bandages, and to retire to the living room recliner. I made my way to the kitchen, grabbed another beer, and decided that it was too early to make a recovery. After ordering a pizza, I cancelled all my credit cards, which was effective immediately. Candy and Butter would have an unpleasant experience when they stopped for lunch or to get gas, even though I am sure they had enough pocket cash to make do. For a twenty-dollar tip, the pizza delivery boy got me another cold, six-pack of beer. It appeared that my appetite was back; because it didn't take me long to finish off the Meat Lovers Delight.

I spent the rest of the day in front of the television. Nothing was going to happen until the sun went down. I ran out of beer pretty quickly, but it was a good time to switch to coffee anyhow. My right hand was starting to feel a little better, and I actually used it somewhat to make the coffee. In a fit of boredom, I removed the bandages from around my waist. The newly exposed skin was pale, white, and puffy looking, but it felt good being unwrapped. There was less discomfort than there had been. I was wondering if the movement from working on the bike was beneficial. Finally, I just couldn't take it anymore, so I wrapped the casted foot in a plastic bag and took a long, hot shower. I put on a set of sweats and ordered in for Chinese. I promised the delivery guy a twenty- dollar tip if he brought a six-pack of cold beer with him.

It was close to midnight, when I guess I fell asleep during the Steven Seagal movie marathon. Candy and Butter hadn't come back and I hadn't gotten any phone calls or visitors all day.

The constant pounding on the door, by two state police officers, woke me the next morning.

"Mister Tyrell?"

"Yeah."

"Are you the husband of Candice Tyrell?"

"Yeah. Candy, there is somebody here to see you." There was no reply.

"She went to Hershey yesterday to the Bike show. I expected her back last night. I guess she didn't make it. Did something happen?"

The two troopers looked at each other momentarily. They both reminded me of marine drill sergeants. "I am afraid your wife was hurt pretty badly in an incident at the Hershey Auditorium parking lot."

"Hurt how bad? Was it an accident? You said incident."

"Actually sir, it was an incident. Your wife was riding on a motorcycle with another man and it exploded in the parking lot. The gentleman your wife was with was killed. Your wife was injured pretty badly and is in the Hershey Burn Center. Luckily, no one else was injured."

"How badly is she hurt? She is going to be alright isn't she?"

Trooper number one just shook his head.

"That was my motorcycle. It was working fine yesterday morning when they left. What could have caused a motorcycle in good condition to explode?"

"We have some people looking into that. How well did you know Mister Butterworth?"

"Who?"

"Michael Butterworth. He is the man that was killed with your wife."

"We only met him a few weeks ago. I didn't even know his real name. I just knew him as Butter."

"It seems that Mister Butterworth had a long string of enemies. There were a lot of people out there who had grudges against him. It will take some time to check things out."

"I would still like to know what condition my wife is in. Exactly how bad is she?"

"At this point they are not sure if she is going to make it or not."

"Can she be moved? How I am supposed to get to see her in my condition?" I held out my foot for them to see.

"The best we can do is to have somebody contact you."

Trooper number one was busy writing something down on a note pad.

"Were either of you at the accident scene?"

"Yes sir. We were both there."

"I am just curious, but what is the status of the motorcycle?"

Trooper one looked away from his pad. "The engine and tranny were in one piece, but the rest of it was scattered all over the place."

"Could you have the wreckage returned to me? For sentimental reasons, that is."

"I think that could be arranged. By the way, what happened to your foot?" Trooper two handed me a card with his name and phone number on it.

"Nasty little break. I have been housebound for three weeks now. If I hadn't broke my damn ankle, I would have been on that bike."

The two public servants seemed to be satisfied with all the answers, and they got up to leave. I don't think they were investigating anything, just notifying me of the incident.

"Just curious, but do either one of you gentlemen know of a gun dealer that goes by the name of Tin Toe?"

"Yeah. He has a shop down near Ephrata. We busted him last year for selling illegally modified AK-47's. Any particular reason?"

"No. Mister Butterworth had mentioned his name once. Thanks for stopping by."

There was an old TV dinner hidden in the back of the freezer. I popped it into the microwave and started a new pot of coffee. First thing tomorrow, I had to make a dentist appointment. After that, I needed a checkup to get the cast off my foot.

I was going to be a busy beaver for the next few months. Scrounging up the parts that I would need to rebuild the Flathead would be number one. As soon as I was in better shape, I would be going down to Ephrata to talk to Mister Tin Toe about my Navy Luger. He will not be happy to see me. Tomorrow, however, I had to make my way to the truck and drive to Hershey to see my 'loving wife'.

After a few phone calls, Butter's truck was gone and I had four grand in my pocket. It wasn't much for a twenty thousand dollar truck, but it was a trouble free deal with no questions asked.

I went out for supper mainly because I wanted to make sure I could drive with the cast on. I was glad I opted for the automatic transmission. The biggest problem was simply getting in and out of the damn truck.

It was the first time that I ever finished a full rack of ribs by myself. A healthy appetite must be a good sign.

I had to wait until after nine o'clock the next morning to start making appointments. I set up a double session with the dentist for the next morning and arranged to get the cast off in the same afternoon. It took an hour to modify a good pair of jeans so that I could slip them over the cast. There was no way I was going to drive to Hershey in a pair of sweat pants.

Candy wasn't looking good anymore. After seeing her under the plastic tent, I started to feel bad about the drastic measures that I took, but it quickly passed as I remembered the beating I took at Butter's hand. Her nurse explained that she was heavily drugged to numb the pain. She lost her right foot and the skin was burned off the front of her body along with her clothes. It would have been worse, except the force of the explosion threw her off the back of the bike. The bitch deserved everything she got because of the betrayal and her actions afterwards. It was hard to feel any remorse for her. I wanted to do as much damage as possible to Butter, and she got to share it with him. It was only fair, because they were sharing everything else. I found a little comfort by remembering that they were in this as a team. Of course there was no plotting on their part, but they sure did take advantage of the situation.

"Mister Tyrell? I am Doctor Dolott. I am sorry about your wife's accident." I just stood there like an idiot without saying anything.

"Do you have any questions Mister Tyrell?"

"I guess not. Will she be able to talk to me at all? How soon will she be coming around?"

The Doctor took my arm and sat me down. "She is awake right now, but heavily sedated. I am sorry to tell you this, but we don't have any hopes for her recovery. The trauma from the explosion has damaged most of her internal organs. We can keep her going with the life support system, but that just means she has to endure the pain from the burn damage. We don't see any chance for her ever leaving the hospital. We don't know how long she will remain conscious, so if you want to talk to her, you better do it now."

"I am not stupid Doctor. You are recommending that I take her off of life support, aren't you?"

"Yes. It is the most humane thing to do, but I cannot make that decision, only you can."

"Can you leave me alone with her for a few minutes?"

"Certainly."

Doctor Dolott left and I was alone with my wife. I slowly pulled back the plastic so I could see her. It was not a pretty sight. I could tell that she was aware that somebody was there.

"Butter? Is that you Butter? Say something baby."

They were not the words I had hoped to hear. The bitch was still hanging on to that damn hairy ape. I had an overwhelming urge to rub it in her face and gloat about the situation, but I held back. I felt nasty as I leaned over and in a mildly disguised voice said. "I am but mister Butterworth left the hospital about an hour ago with one of the nurses."

Her body jerked at little at my words. After a few gasps and choking sounds, Candy said. "No. No. Butter wouldn't leave me. Butter loves me."

"I am sorry Mrs. Tyrell, but you have to understand, she was a very pretty nurse." There were no further comments from her. Her breathing was labored and uneven. She seemed to be twitching in funny little ways. About that time one of the nurses came in and anxiously checked the monitors. Doctor Dolott came back and asked me to leave the room.

Well, I wanted the bitch dead, but I really didn't want her to lie in a hospital bed and suffer. I guess a lot of guys would have seen some sort of justice in that, but to me it was just cruel. If she had died in the blast like she was supposed to, I wouldn't be having this conflict. That was my fault. Since I screwed up, I guess it is up to me to rectify the problem.

A few moments later the Doctor came out and shook his head.

"I am sorry Mister Tyrell, but there is no further hope."

Well, they pulled the plug on my wife's life support, and by the time I was done with all the paper work she had checked out. The hospital made the arrangements to have her cremated. Three days later, I had the death certificate and a small cardboard box with her ashes.

By that time, the cast was off my foot and I had a new crown with a bridge, whatever that is. It used to take a week to get a crown made, but now they do it right in the office while you wait. Of course it used to be a lot cheaper also.

I was still on Workers Compensation. They didn't want me back to work until I was fully healed. The ribs only bothered me when I laughed or sneezed. I used to think that was a joke.

Fortunately, I had the Flathead insured as a classic. The insurance company balked at giving me anything, until the investigation into the blast was complete. They did, however, have the salvaged parts delivered to me. Of course that cost me over a grand. I had gotten rid of any evidence that I might have left in the garage. I guess a good CIS type investigator could have dug something up, but they didn't seem interested. There was no doubt that it was a bomb that destroyed the bike. Since they couldn't pin it on me, I finally was able to collect.

All of the bike parts were laid out on the garage floor like one of those FAA pictures you see after an airplane crash. It took a while to get everything inventoried and evaluated. About twenty percent of the parts were missing, and about fifty per cent of what I had was damaged too badly to be used. I had to consider the engine and tranny to be an unknown, but I had my fingers crossed. A steam cleaning and a UV dye check, showed that everything was satisfactory. The frame was totaled.

The ankle was getting better everyday, so I started walking as a regular thing. In two weeks, I would have to report back to work.

All of Candy's things were gathered up and donated to the Goodwill. For some reason she had left her purse at home when she went to the bike show. Her Alabama driver's license indicated that she lived in a place called Boaz. MapQuest showed that it was about an hour south of Huntsville.

As luck would have it, the new frame that I needed was located in Chattanooga. It would have been easier to just have it shipped, but I quickly decided that I needed a road trip. I decided to pick up the frame in Tennessee, and then shoot down to Boaz to deliver Candy's ashes to her family. Don't ask me why I wanted to do this, because I don't have a good answer. Somehow or another it just felt like the proper thing.

Things took a quirky twist the next morning. Before I got on my way the two friendly state troopers showed up again.

"Are you getting ready to take a trip Mister Tyrell?"

This was not a good omen. "I have to pick up a new motorcycle frame, down in Tennessee. I'll only be gone for a few days. Is this important?"

"No, not really. We just happened to be in the area and thought we would give you an update."

"On what?"

"The incident that killed your wife. The blast was caused by C4 explosives, which were detonated by a remote device. The Federal people were able to put things together pretty well, but they still don't have a suspect."

"Where the hell does somebody get C4 explosives?"

Both of them just shrugged. I thanked them for stopping by. Ten minutes later, I was on the road. In about ten hours, I would have my new Flathead frame. Tomorrow, bright and early, I would be on my way to Boaz to meet with my in-laws. All I could think about on the whole trip was who the hell blew up my wife and why. What happened to my four perfect little pipe bombs? I knew damn well that the Feds would not confuse a black powder blast with one caused by C4 explosives. Somebody must have really had it in for old Butter. I kept trying to change the subject in my head, but it always came back to the same place. I finally convinced myself that whoever did it was after Butter and Candy was collateral damage.

It was just too much of a coincidence to have happen accidentally. Somebody must have had this planned.

It was a long trip. Getting through Virginia on Route 81 seemed to take forever. Things started to look up when I noticed the Krystal billboards. They don't really have billboards in Virginia, but they list the food establishments at the interstate exit ramps. I think that might be why I decided to take the trip in the first place. I wondered how many sliders a man could eat in three days. Maybe I'd find out.

The Flathead frame cost me almost eight hundred dollars, but came with a good VIN number. It's hard to get a new title without a good Vehicle Identification Number. That would make the rebuild a lot easier. I left Chattanooga just as it was getting dark, and didn't stop until I crossed the Alabama line. I took the frame into the room with me. I didn't come all this way to lose it in a motel parking lot.

I grabbed breakfast just south of Huntsville. The GPS had a good fix on the address that was on Candy's drivers license. For some strange reason, I kept her ashes on the seat beside me. I even caught myself talking to her a few times. I had nothing planned and no idea what I was going to do.

I was humming "Sweet Home Alabama," as the doublewide came into view. I was hoping for a house, but I was expecting a mobile home.

I picked up Candy as I got out of the truck. There was no one around, but the front door was open and a red Jeep Wrangler was sitting in the driveway. At least there was no pit bull sitting on the front steps. There was no answer at the door, so I wandered around back. She saw me before I saw her.

"Can I help you, mister?"

This is something I wasn't expecting. I found myself face to face with a tall, very pregnant, red head. It wasn't red, red hair, but sort of auburn colored, and hung down below her shoulders. She was barefooted and wearing a t-shirt with bib overalls. She stopped hanging the laundry and waited for an answer.

"Is this Candy Selman's house?"

"Yeah, but she's not here. Is there something I can help you with?"

I didn't know how to approach the subject of her demise. I stood there like a dunce and held out the box of ashes in front of me.

She didn't move, but just stood with one hand on her hip. I couldn't tell from the expression on her face, if she was unhappy or relieved. It was apparent that she recognized what the cardboard box was. While she stared at it, my mind started to wander. I kept replaying the video of "Redneck Woman" in the back of my mind. It was as if the music video had come to life. Any minute now, I expected an ATV would come tearing up the hill behind the mobile home. My reverie was shattered by the voice of my hostess.

"What are you smiling about mister? This ain't funny."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make light of the situation. It was just that seeing you standing there, reminded me of a Gretchen Wilson video."

The auburn beauty took a quick glance down at herself. I saw a small smile on her face as she replied. "Sorry. If I knew you were coming, I would have put on a bra."

We stood for a few seconds without saying anything. I think we both were a little embarrassed. She was the first one to break the ice.

"Do you want to come in for some coffee or something?"

I just nodded and followed her into the house.

"Put her down on the coffee table. I don't want that box on the table we eat off of." Somehow or the other, she had figured out that Candy's ashes were in the box. I never told her and she never verified it.

She put the mug of coffee in front of me, but there was no offer of cream or sugar. It didn't matter, because I don't use them anyhow.

"What's your name mister and how did you get a hold of Candy's remains?"

"John. John Tyrell. The crematorium didn't know what to do with her ashes, so I ended up with them."

"Well, Randy will be glad that you brought them. Where did you come from anyhow?"

"Pennsylvania. Candy was in an accident near Hershey. The place where they make the chocolate bars." I took a sip of the coffee. It was almost Espresso, but good. "Who is Randy?"

"Randy is my brother, and he is also Candy's husband."

The coughing noise that I suddenly made at this announcement, gave me away.

"You didn't know she was married, did you?"

"Absolutely not."

There was another moment of awkward silence. This new piece of information left me with nothing to say. The death certificate listed her name as Candice Tyrell. That was gong to be difficult for me to explain.

"Where is Randy at now? How do I get in touch with him?"

"He'll be here in the next hour or so. You might as well make yourself comfortable. My name is Rachel, by the way. Rachel Evans. Do you want more coffee, or something stronger?"

"There is something stronger?" That got me a little snicker.

"Are you making fun of my coffee?"

"Maybe a little bit. I think I could get to like it after a while."

"Wow. Are you planning on staying?"

"I don't think Mister Evans would approve."

Well that went over like a turd in a punch bowl. Rachel suddenly got quiet. She gave me a coffee refill and left the room without saying anything. It was easy to see that any mention of a husband was not going to be received well. I sat quietly with my fresh coffee. I looked over at Candy and silently ask what I did wrong. Of course I didn't get an answer.

A few minutes later Rachel came back. She had on a large flannel shirt and black maternity pants. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail with straight bangs across the front, just above her eyes. I detected a very slight amount of make up that wasn't there before. It was an improvement, but it really wasn't necessary.