A High Country Tale Ch. 02: Three Dog Night

She wasn't yet peaked in her anger. The ex-lady mayor of Rome, Evelyn Leigh, was ready to smack the smugness from the faces of the vile rabble threatening all before them. Stepping back to stand beside Sophie Broadhearst and Cal, she wedged between the two and locked arms with them. One by one, the elders from the softball game and the crowd of spectators all moved in synchrony. Within seconds, a united front of the strong-willed persons represented an awakened and infuriated portion of Rome, Georgia.

Though a bit nonplussed, Odell Rush still unashamedly waved his arm in an arc behind him, egging the truckers to double-down on their antics. "Ma'am, we ain't but exercisin' our God-given rights by organizin' agin' all the corruption and anti-American activities goin' on at this here public park. We ain't gonna be reduced to second-class citizens by the underminin' o' our history an' legacy which we fully intend ta' uphold to the fullest. We ain't breakin' laws but these here darkies sho'nuf be pullin' our great country apart at the seams. So, none o' your nasty insults are gonna be makin' this group of patriots do anything but continue in our mission to save God and America." The guns raised a bit higher after having temporarily wilted under her honor's tongue-lashing.

As the stand-off continued, unarmed people stood solid in the face of armed and unruly, nasty-mouthed malcontents. Ms. Leigh once again demanded the hooligans disperse. Only upon the sound of approaching sirens did any disintegration occur. One by one, the guns sank, shoulders drooped and against the nasal railing by both Odell and the woman with him to stand their ground, the group fractured and turned tails, slinking away before the law contingent arrived. Even Mr. Rush finally left the scene, maliciously promising the episode hadn't seen its end yet.

Multiple videos taken during the ordeal spelled out the methods employed in the bullying assault. Police and SWAT team members promised to examine all evidence. Proper action would be forthcoming, they vowed.

With everyone milling around after the brouhaha, the former mayor apologized publicly to the Broadhearst brotherhood and family in her earnest attempt to impress the party of the goodwill throughout the city for every resident and guest. The conviviality, however, had been broken. In the light of the weather change, all decided it best to pack up, clean the sites and head to home.

Voy reassured the trepidated birthday boy of the overall good nature of people. The worthy father counseled his son not to take away the negative from the scene, rather to focus on the way so many came together in their defense and for the common good. The man was privately incensed by the insults heaped upon his little boy and family. Three generations of Broadhearsts had established deep roots of respectable members.

His heart was hurt by the sordid spectacle.

"Well, Doc Jake, you shoulda seen the door," TL's voice had raised to an octave above its norm. My questioning look seemed likely to push it higher still.

"What does that mean...the door?" I queried, now truly confused. "You just said that the windshield was cracked and the glass hit your eyebrow. Now, excuse my density, TL, but which was it...the door window or the windshield that shattered?" My perplexed bearing was nothing really new when it came to the orderly, what with the serpentine life the young man lived. Or young woman. Depending on the time and day.

"No, the door window wasn't broken. It was rolled down. At least I think it was---the gross-outs yelled at us when we hit, so, yeah, it had to have been down. Had to have been the windshield shard that hit me," he seemed certain of the fact, lying back on the exam table as he was.

"Let me get this straight, TL," as I took another stitch in the freshly debrided and curettaged gash following the exact curve of the previously perfect brow line. It wouldn't be from here on, but if it healed well the scarring should be minimal, I anticipated, "the windshield shattered after you crashed into this truck on Mockingbird and Vine at 3 AM, Sunday morning--- a few hours ago--- and the driver was so drunk he didn't know what happened? And then you and Samuel drove away?" This all sounded dangerous and unlawful and I wasn't at all certain I wanted the details. But I did.

"Not exactly," he winced as I placed another suture, "The drunk was the one who hit us, Doc, and it was on Third and Main. And, it was 2:45 AM, right after leaving 'Jugs'. We only got a block when the idioto came outta nowhere and bashed in the driver's door. But it hit so hard that it dragged the door all the way off. It stuck on his truck and he took off without stopping...the thing was caught on his grill and he left with it."

This was getting interesting. I kept my mouth shut. He wouldn't be able to hold it in anyway and I would get the whole story quicker. The man was a true talker...and I could easily claim 'doctor confidentiality privilege'.

Sure enough, he went on, "We were scared the cops would stop us, no door and all. Samuel was drunk, too; we traded places, me driving. I kept to the side streets but we wanted the door back. I knew if the cops stopped him, especially with that door on his grill, we would all be in trouble. So I drove in circles, Doc, gradually bigger, thinking if the coot was that bad off we might come across him and could get it. We figured out he was still downtown, by the river, when we passed him going down Vine Street--- the wrong way. I waved when they passed and he saw us. The dopes made a circle around a block and came at us again. This time they were tryin' to ram us and when he came around the last corner, he was goin' so fast that he missed and we got sideswiped and the damn door flew off and hit our windshield. That's how I got cut," he smirked smugly in the middle of another wince as the next suture pulled through.

"So what happened to the drunk idiot?" I couldn't help asking.

"Hell, the last we saw, the two of 'em went over the riverfront embankment and were sinking in the water with the motor racin'. Shit, I thought it was gonna blow up or somethin'. Both of 'em were hollerin' out the windows. We had our door wedged through our car windshield by then, so I called 911 on my burner phone and told 'em. I'm guessin' they got pulled out...at least we heard the sirens. I kept away. Took Samuel home and stayed there until an hour ago when I came here," matter-of-factly, like it happened all the time.

"You put on the steri-strips?" was my next obvious question; the response anything but.

"After I cleaned and flushed the cut, they fit just fine and held the gap closed. I keep some in my clutch. They hold my prick out o' the way while I'm performing and work better than a truss... I hate those damn trusses, anyway. Y'know how binding those things are, Doc."

"So, you used an inverted Lembert suture on an unsedated eyebrow, Jake?" Luke was interested in more than just the looney tale about TL's escapade a few hours before. He had dropped in at the Rome Clinic to see where I pro-bono'd sometimes and we were discussing cases. Cal and Jeremy were over to the police department filing depositions on Saturday's fiasco which ended the birthday party. Luke had given his already and walked to the clinic since it was only a few blocks. We sat in the break room, laughing over the transgender woman's story.

"Luke, I was afraid to infiltrate that oculomotor branch of the trigeminal nerve any more than I had. You know how persnickety that thing can react sometimes. I was afraid it might result in a paretic effect. When I told her that, she said go ahead with just a partial block. She is stoic, now, gotta admit." I was respectful of TL's decision. The rest of the story...well, not so much. Luke agreed.

"That story is crazy, Jake. Do you think it'll come back on her and Mr. Hodge?" he was genuinely concerned for the fallout after hearing of the harrowing tale and was fairly astounded, yet again, by the volatile political dynamic being encountered in Smalltown, USA, down here in the lowlands. Then, he reminded himself of the Rasta murders up on the mountain and mentally reassessed: crazy happened everywhere these days, he thought.

Jake was worried, as well, but the latest mess involving the park clash held pre-eminence as the foremost concern. The latest 'Torchy story' was more comic relief than serious, he figured. The police chief was a good guy and would listen to Torchy's side if it came down to that. "I think it will probably all work out OK, Luke. But I am wondering how Samuel is going to get his doorless truck through town to the body shop. Torchy will probably need to stage a decoy drag parade somewhere to distract attention, or something." I snickered at the mental picture.

Their men walked in the door at that moment and the white-boy doctors smiled together at the two. For a small community, a good portion of Rome had reacted in admirably cosmopolitan fashion toward the duos. The general acceptance of the unusual jungle fever marriages, while jolting to a certain segment, was not causing as much concern as had been feared. With exceptions such as the weekend Dixie flag truck rally, notwithstanding. Crazy did, indeed, happen everywhere. Big cities were experiencing some right wing backlash, as well.

Cal seemed more upbeat, now, as he walked in. The two had been allowed through the nursing station checkpoint by the nursing staff. What with Jeremy's accompaniment, the nurses were abuzz by the Magic Mike element and we could hear tittering outside the door from the feminine staff members.

"Jake, you are not going to believe the news we just got at the PD just now," the tall man gushed. "There apparently was a mess of an auto accident early this morning and guess who was fished out of the River at O-dark-thirty today?" His grin expressed a lot, but the mention of river and fishing brought Luke and Jake to attention.

"Seems that less-than-respectable Citizen Rush and his buddy, Citizen Belchnor, of late great low-rent park notoriety, were booked on DUI's and resisting arrest for involvement in multiple hit-and-run accidents after leaving a well-known drag bar... our plot thickens," he was ebullient at the weird events indirectly related to Jeremy and him, overheard as they had finished up depositions.

The doctors exchanged knowing glances, which Jeremy picked up on. "OK, you two, what's up, now?" he demanded, well aware of our conspiratorial penchants. "I've seen that look before. Spill it." He wasn't fooled a bit by the pair.

Checking out the door for eavesdroppers, the two hesitantly related the cliffnotes version of medical treatment for a certain transgender person just vacating the premises. Her summary of the preceding events, which the husbands now knew from this different perspective, provided fodder for conversation best saved for other environs. The Starbucks down the street found the four comparing more details a half hour later.

"At this point, we know that charges have been filed against the reprobates. Odell is apparently in not-so-good shape by the descriptions from Detective Lusk a little while ago. He suffered a few cracked ribs and a dislocated shoulder in the wrecks. Along with that, he was so drunkenly incoherent in front of the night magistrate that he was taken under guard to County General for treatment and observation, instead of lock-up. Hiram Belchnor is screaming civil-rights violations out his ass for police maltreatment and false arrest, even though he wasn't scratched.... He has lawyered up and is filing charges. Isn't that rich?" Cal went on, adding that Hiram's ridiculous actions had prompted him to file his own charges over the Etowah Park incident. So with the ongoing saga, separate cases were presently pending. We debated how to proceed in light of the fleshed-out information.

Finally deciding discretion was the best tack for the time being, we headed toward the house to check on the rest of the family. Curving around a bend a few miles from the homestead, we came upon a truck on the opposite shoulder of the road, listing on three wheels, a fourth clearly flat and non-functional. As we approached, Jeremy slowed the Benz.

The woman leaning on the fender raised expectantly, thumb up, in request for assistance. Cal and Jake put face to name when she came into eye view: Theresa Buckner, the split-end bleach blond wizened shrew from the park episode. A tail-tucked yellow dog shivered off to her side, tethered on a stake in the ground, looking for all the world like a wayward waif. A badly emaciated animal, its sad eyes focused on us dully, evincing a lost look of resignation.

"Cal, we have to stop, baby, if nothing more than to help the dog," Jake was a soft touch for animals and the two white boys ganged up on their men to pull over. The Buckner woman looked hopeful until we pulled close enough for her to delineate two black men in the front seat. That was enough to change her expression from hopeful to derisive. Nevertheless, Jake emerged onto the opposite shoulder across from the banged-up, broken down vehicle.

Not a word was spoken at first. Jake took in the scene, sizing up the problems. The skinny dog immediately recognized a friend by the man's aura and whined a greeting, pawing the air from the tethered spot in the wet and muddy roadside. The scrawny, wrinkled woman turned and cursed at the animal. When the whining persisted, she chunked a palm-sized rock at it. The sharp projectile struck the poor thing in the prominent ribs. A yip of pain erupted from a gravelly throat. With her crusty eyes and nose, horribly matted coat and visible skin lesions, it all proved too much for Jake. He approached the beaten beast and crouched before it, holding out a palm. After cowering in expectation of another blow that didn't materialize, the long nose sniffed the new person in half-hopefulness. A tiny, hesitant tail wag acknowledged the possibly benevolent figure and the dog nosed the hand.

"Get away from ma' dog, you trash," the woman issued the ugly, hoarse command at Jake. She snorted like a hyena, clearing a congested throat, "I said, get away from ma' dog. That there is ma' property an' it'll bite your ass soon as lick it. Damn well, I ain't gonna pay for nuttin' if'n the old bitch lights into your ass--- get away!" she ranted.

Jake patted the friendly head of the forlorn beast, then raised up and turned toward the woman. Without a word, he went over to the stake, uprooted it in one motion, returned to the matted dog and removed the constricted collar. He looked purposely at the spiteful hag, then hurled the entire chain contraption into the muddy adjoining field. Still wordless, the young doctor herded the responsive dog toward the Benz, opened the back door and issued a hand signal for the dog to enter. She jumped right up into the plush leather interior, landing on a surprised Luke. The mud-encrusted mutt liked the aura from this potential friend, too. She was still apprehensive but extended a friendly paw again, in a hopeful hello.

"What the fuck---?" squawked the grizzled, badly aging woman. She was slow in arising from the fender she leaned against, reflexes clearly sluggish from alcohol or drugs. Or both. Jake next motioned for Cal to help him. Exiting the driver's seat, the big man-of-color joined in a short pow-wow by the Benz' back bumper. The woman strode halfway across the blacktopped road, rambling in both her steps and her speech. Potentially dangerous in her mentally compromised state, the two men kept a peripheral eye on the hag as they removed jack and crowbar from their trunk, then together approached the flat tire on the rear axle of the truck.

The ugly woman continued a nasty tirade at the biracial couple. The men persisted in ignoring the epithet-laced tirade. The two Austinites, still in the car, worriedly watched the scenario but settled the cur on a blanket from the trunk, offered by Jake in passing.

Working efficiently, the boys quickly blocked the other wheels for stability, jacked up the truck's frame and proceeded to change the bad tire for the spare they found lying in the bed of the truck. Bald though it was, the spare was mostly inflated. After tightening lug bolts, the pair dismantled the jack, removed the rock tire-blocks and replaced the assemblage to the Benz' trunk space.

The crude-spoken Theresa never diminished in her abusive barrage throughout the effort, still focusing on the now ecstatic dog lost to the sanctity and safety of Luke's care. Not one of the men ever said a word to the person excoriating their manhood, their persons, their sensibilities or their efforts. As the trunk shut on the upscale auto, Cal and Jake faced the ungrateful Ms. Buckner. She flinched under the severity of the couples' silent stare like she expected a violent outburst. Surprise flickered across her face when Cal flipped five twenty dollar bills on the ground before the woman, tipped his hand-to-brow, and took leave of the roadside. Back into the quiet of the car.

They left the erstwhile female in their rearview mirror, now profanely flipping off the helpful men, rescuers that they be. The dog had clearly increased in worth to the woman's thoughts by the fact of the men's interest and liberation actions. The quad of friends knew they had probably not heard the end of the matter. Like that made any difference.

Trekking a circuitous route in hopes that the nasty malcontent might not figure out their destination, Cal finally pulled into the venerable old estate. Reminiscent of an antebellum plantation with big carved front pillars, it posed a strange irony in light of recent events. Sophie and Winnie exited the front entrance with the two kids, hugging their family and immediately welcoming the happily freed ragamuffin of a dog.

A gentle soapy bath in the mud room sink cleansed the scruffy and pitted body. Big fluffy towels appeared and eight hands proceeded to embrace the cleaner pooch. Now a much more attractive female mixed breed, she followed into the warm kitchen for an inaugural meal of cereal, meat scraps, cottage cheese and a dessert of pre-adolescent love. Shining eyes evoked a totally changed bearing in the canine and, though still a rib-showing waif, the dog now looked and acted like a different animal. A wide canine grin effused her new demeanor.

She knew she had hit the jackpot this day as the kids and she cuddled together on the cushioned, blanketed nest in the corner. Winnie and Sophie watched the bonding among the three and their hearts melted at the sight of the maltreated dog blossoming in her gratification, moist nose now nestling into the childrens' arms.

"Should we have left more money for the dog?" Jake had taken to second-guessing. Cleaned up and settled before the fireplace with his three closest confidants, the four boys discussed the state of things.

"You two fixed the ingrate's tire and left her mobile, with money, for gosh sakes, Jake. The dog was obviously held against its will under horrible conditions and that woman was battering the poor thing--- No!" was Luke's vehement reply.

Tacitly agreeing, Cal and Jeremy lounged comfortably entwined with their husbands while half-dozing before the warmth of the crackling flames. The girls had spoiled them with a platter of cold cut sandwiches, fruit and freshly steamed asparagus shoots. Analyzing altruistic actions over the past hours had pretty much ceased upon the filling of bellies. The men knew that they had done the right things on several levels. The remnants of concern now centered around the future rather than the past.

All of the Broadhearst family had revved up their protective activities in the knowledge that some form of response was more than likely to be expected in light of the past 36 hours' events. The six brothers and their sisters, several cousins, aunts and uncles, as well as Jeremy and Luke with Jake, too, had agreed upon security measures now in effect. Various family venues were now under guard by discreet armed members, both inside and outside the homes.