Kaleidoscope Eyes Pt. 03

Boyd's pistol belched only once, but that was enough to cause Ruthanne's body to be shoved into me by the force of the bullet's impact and she caused both of us to fall back, me to the gravel on my back, and her on her back top of me.

I looked at Boyd and saw a bloody hole appear at the fly to his slacks. I saw him spin, fall, and curl up in agony, an agony that was reflected in a pitiful high-pitched scream of pain. Looking again to my left, I saw—besides Darryl and Sam as they began moving away with the flex-cuffed Herman and Hamp—the brave steady form of Naomi in a modified Weaver stance as the Ruger LCP .380 ACP in her hand pointed in Boyd's direction, just in case she needed to fire again. She didn't, as the female Deputy picked up Mara, approached Naomi, and said something, causing Naomi to lower her weapon.

Boyd had evidently passed out from the pain and shock. Later, we would all discover that the bullet had nicked the bottom of his cock slightly as it passed on to shatter his left nut and embed itself in his thigh, missing his femoral artery by just a whisker.

Ruthanne was not moving as she lay across me. I struggled to be gentle as I tried to get out from under her. I could tell that she was still breathing and offered a quick prayer.

Naomi had put her pistol away and moved to stand in front of Mara. She was obviously protecting Mara from seeing the blood. For some reason, at this moment, concern for the child took precedence over a mother's concern for her own daughter, because Naomi got the Deputy to turn Mara away before rushing over to us, crying out for Ruthanne.

Meanwhile, Darryl had returned and was waving at the pilot of the helicopter. The pilot flicked the spotlight off and on twice, and then turned it off for good and moved to land in the parking lot away from the automobiles, but still clear of the power lines that paralleled the highway out front.

"She is bleeding from the lower left side of her abdomen," said Darryl loudly over the din that was happening around us. Several sirens were closing in and the helicopter, though having landed, still had its engine on and the blades turning.

"I need to get her to a hospital," I shouted back to Darryl. I had finally crawled out from under Ruthanne and I was now standing.

"Are you hit?" he shouted back.

"No," I replied as I bent to lift Ruthanne in my arms, all while Naomi was trying to stay close and touch us both.

"Oh, Baby, I'm so sorry; I'm so sorry!" shouted Naomi.

"Mrs. Norwood," I shouted, "My name is Russ Holloway; and I need for you to let go of Ruthanne. I need to get her to a hospital."

"EMTs are twenty minutes out, Russ," interjected Darryl.

"Not quick enough," I shouted back in anger now. "I'm gonna see if that chopper jockey will take us to the nearest hospital."

For some reason that I could not fathom at that moment, Darryl actually grinned as he said, "I think you will find that guy is very willing to help you." He then pointed to the helicopter.

Climbing out of the cockpit was a tall figure wearing the most incongruous clothing combination that I had seen lately. He had on a suit that must have cost him over five hundred dollars, as well as... a military aviator's helmet and vest, of all things.

When he pulled off his helmet and I saw him better in the distant glow of the big sodium vapor yard light out front of the school, I almost shouted with joy. Sandy Crawford!

****

As Naomi and I hurried toward him and the helicopter, I then made another startling discovery.

It was a Little Bird! 'Oh, shit,' I thought at that moment for some strange reason, 'we are all gonna be in big trouble if he took this bird without permission!'

Before I could say anything, Sandy met us and walked rapidly with us toward the bird. I had Ruthanne cradled in my arms and Naomi now simply followed, but still called out a few times to Ruthanne.

"Did you steal this from Fort Eustis?" I asked as he came alongside me and we hurried together for the last few meters to the open doorway of the chopper—I noticed that there was no one else with him.

"Who, me! Nah!" he said with a grin. "You know that we have to do evaluation rides on these things every now and then to make sure that our students haven't fucked them up during classes. Oops! Sorry, Ma'am," Sandy had been shouting normally over the noise, but then realized that Naomi was there.

"Don't worry about proprieties of language, Mister," said Naomi, "just get my daughter to a doctor, please!"

I had placed Ruthanne inside the small passenger compartment, head forward and on her back in the center of the deck, with her knees bent as she lay on her back. Even though this helicopter actually had the passenger pod seats attached to each side, and with military seat belts, I was not about to have her exposed to the whipping winds outside the bird. Conditions would be bad enough inside with the doors off and the turbulence kicked up just from the airspeed.

I was about to climb in and wave to Naomi, but she beat me by climbing in and settling toward the top of Ruthanne's' body and sliding under her, where she sat and cradled her daughter's head in her lap. I climbed in after her and just sat at Ruthanne's feet as I grabbed the offered first aid box from Sandy. I opened it and pulled out what I guessed—rightly, it seemed—was a military field dressing of sorts. I tore open the packet, removed the dressing, and simply tossed the trash, along with the now-closed first aid box in a pouch that was attached to the back bulkhead.

Sandy was back in the pilot's seat and was revving the Little Bird for lift-off as I pressed the thick pad of the dressing against Ruthanne's wound and gently wrapped the gauze bindings for the dressing under and around her midsection and tied them off. This elicited a groan from her that I could feel more than hear—what with the sounds of the chopper all around us. The groans indicated to me that she was not completely unconscious.

Sandy lifted off gently, so as not to give a lurch to his wounded passenger, and as soon as he cleared the wires and the trees, he began following the highway east, back toward Norfolk. Naomi and I watched and encouraged Ruthanne whenever she would have a lucid moment, each time for just a few seconds, about once every minute-and-a-half, the whole way.

I was quite surprised when Sandy turned slightly north and east. I climbed carefully past Naomi and leaned between the seats and next to Sandy's head as he flew.

"We're not going to Norfolk?" I shouted over the racket, concerned.

"Riverside in Newport News," Sandy shouted back at me. "It is pretty easy to get to their helipad; we can get in and out and then I can follow Warwick Boulevard back to Fort Eustis. After all, I need to get this bird back there ASAP. I am very likely already up to my ears in shit for this; I wanna try to minimize any more problems for you, me, or your mom."

I did not fully understand at this point in time, but I trusted Sandy Crawford to do the right thing in the big scheme of things, even if he shaved the corners with the details sometimes.

Sandy began to descend as we passed over the massive Newport News Shipyard, and then I could see the blinking lights and the well-lighted helipad of Riverside Regional Medical Center with its big "H" in a circle and with its windsock nearby.

Sandy landed upwind and set us down gently. Sandy had evidently called ahead, because emergency workers rushed up, along with an armed security guard, of all things, and they took Ruthanne from our arms. Naomi and I both exited the bird, as well, and followed the gurney carrying my love. Sandy lifted off once we were all clear, and I said a silent prayer for all of us: Ruthanne, Naomi and me, Darryl, Sandy as he flew back to Felker Army Airfield; and Mara ... MARA!

"Naomi! Where is Mara?" I asked frantically.

"A female Sheriff's Deputy has her," answered Naomi, still focused on holding Ruthanne's hand as the trauma nurses and one ER doctor tended to her on the gurney. "I handed her off as I ran to help my daughter after that son of a bitch shot her. You were still down at that time. I am sure that Mara will be okay; we just need to let them know where we are so they can bring her to us."

As we entered the automatic doors leading to the ER, one nurse directed us to the waiting area as they rushed Ruthanne through the swinging doors leading to the treatment area. I took Naomi's hand and led her to a row of chairs where we could do nothing from then on but wait.

As my heart rate began to settle and I tried to get my thoughts together concerning the inevitable "what next," I hoped that Sandy would be okay and not get caught up in any bureaucratic hassles when he landed. I found out a few days later what actually happened to him.

****

A short while later—Felker Army Airfield on Fort Eustis, VA

Sandy had done all the post-op checks and had all the tie-downs and covers in place. He had made all the appropriate entries in the bird's log and in the paperwork that would be needed by flight operations and the school house.

Hell, he had even taken the effort to wipe up the blood that Ruthanne had left on the deck of the aircraft using Simple Green cleaner and a couple of shop towels, both of which were currently in a plastic grocery bag in the trunk of his car right outside the hangar area. Now, he was giving the hangar a quick look-around to see if he had missed anything.

That was when he heard the vehicles stop outside—one of them needed brake work, as it squealed badly.

Entering the hangar were two field grade officers, a warrant officer, a civilian, and two enlisted Soldiers. Sandy almost smiled when he saw one of the field grade officers; and he almost swore when he saw the other.

Major Art Darnley, the deputy airfield commander for Felker, was actually a very good aviator and a fine officer, and he had had a very successful career up to this point. But, he had a nasty habit of treating Contractors badly. It was some sort of built-in "we-they" attitude that should have been overcome by the idea of "one team; one fight." Nevertheless, his attitude had ensured that none of the Contractors on and around the airfield got along with him very well.

The other officer with him was Major Tim Dawson from the Provost Marshal's Office. A friend of Sandy's from Afghanistan and here at Fort Eustis, Dawson was one of those whom Sandy considered among "the good guys." If he were here with Darnley, though, it meant that there was something official—and not so good—in the works.

"Mr. Crawford," began Major Darnley with an exasperated sigh, "did you have this bird out this evening?"

"Why, yes, Sir," Sandy replied, "routine check of the systems to ensure that the students haven't messed something up."

"I don't let no one fly my birds unless I check 'em first, Sandy!" said the Chief Warrant Officer 4 who was in charge of aviation maintenance at Felker with obvious frustration and annoyance in his tone. "You know that!"

"My bad, Chief," said Sandy, attempting to appear truly contrite, but not succeeding very well. "I thought you had checked it off; and ... well ... you weren't around, and that new class starts Monday, and I did not want you to have to come back in and ruin your Friday evening ..."

"Shit!" the chief said with a grin and a shake of his head, knowing that Sandy was throwing some real bullshit now. He also knew of Sandy's reputation, having been with him back in 'the day' when they were both serving in the 2-17 Cav. "Well, I appreciate that. But I would have also appreciated it a lot more if you had double checked before doin' it; at least givin' me a phone call first ..."

"Chief, excuse me, but this is serious," said Major Darnley, interrupting. "Look, I know that you very probably meant well, Mr. Crawford, but we have several violations of procedure here that will very likely going to have to be investigated formally by Lieutenant Colonel Jeffries." They all recognized the name of the airfield commander.

"Meanwhile," continued Darnley, "please hand over your CAC," referring to Sandy's Common Access Card, the primary form of identification used by all Military, Federal employees, and Federal Contractors. "Once this has been handled by appropriate authorities, your company may apply for your return to work. But, as of right now, I am asking Major Dawson to escort you off post."

And, with that, Sandy handed over his CAC and followed Tim Dawson to the parking lot and his car.

"Sandy," said Tim, "you and I both know that you are only supposed to make as short a flight as possible to do your checks. At the most, you should have only needed to go as far as Norfolk. But Darnley is pissed that you ended up out west of there by another seventy-to-a-hundred miles. What was the deal?"

"Well, Tim" Sandy began, "you know that, when I make these check flights, I follow the major highway; right?"

"Yeah," said Dawson, "so, what happened?"

Sandy just grinned and started his car as he said out the driver's window to an amused Tim Dawson, "Missed my exit."

Looking in his rearview mirror as he pulled out, Sandy could see Dawson doubled over in laughter.

****

Over the weekend, word about what had happened to Sandy Crawford reached his boss, my mom. Althea Holloway, upon hearing the details about it later, both the 'official' version, and the real version, began Monday morning to attempt to iron out any difficulties with the offices of the Mission and Installation Contracting Command Fort Eustis, or MICC-Fort Eustis. She also called Delegate Donald Holloway, her estranged husband, and still business partner, asking him to intercede where necessary on Sandy Crawford's behalf with post authorities on Fort Eustis.

Sandy was back to work by the end of the week.

****

Now—Newport News

We sat in the waiting room at Riverside Hospital; at first, we were not talking, and Naomi would choke up a bit and release a few tears every now and then. After a little while, I began feeling like an asshole. After all, this was her daughter who was in surgery, and she needed a bit or comfort and encouragement.

"Hey," I said finally, "do you want to take a stroll? And talk?"

Sniffing and wiping her nose on a tissue, she nodded and we both got up and walked from the ER into the area of the hospital called 'The Pavilion'. The hallways were long, wide, and largely empty. This gave us a chance to talk, pausing only at the approach of the occasional other person, usually a staff member.

"So," I began, "how did they come to have you and Mara wrapped up so tight tonight, and Ruthanne?"

"You gotta understand," Naomi answered, "Simonton is a really small town. Everyone there, just about, serves, well, served, I guess, as eyes and ears for Boyd and his gang. Someone had seen more than the usual number of out-of-town cars, mostly dark SUVs, and figured out that some sort of extended police presence was there and that action was either under way or planned.

"Jerry, the manager at the motel, had more than likely either heard or figured out that something involving you and Ruthanne and that big cop was happening," Naomi recounted, "and then, when more and more activities began to occur in and around the areas near Boyd's and Dennis's warehouses starting Friday afternoon, Boyd sent Hamp to come to the house and back up Herman. When Ruthanne showed up to get Mara, Hamp was there and disrupted her plan to get Mara and me away from Herman. Then, Boyd called Hamp; and, I guess that he told him to bring all of us to the high school. Then, well, you know the rest."

I nodded. "That was some pretty good shooting, by the way," I said.

Naomi blushed and said, "I was trying for his chest; I guess that hitting him in his balls counts as good a hit as any, and justifiable, considering what he and his daddy have put our family through."

I just nodded, but I held off on asking Naomi any more details about her ability to shoot; and the fact that this preacher's wife had a concealed handgun in the first place. She, evidently, felt a need to talk about other things; nervousness about Ruthanne's unknown status at that moment driving her, I guess.

"Since Ruthanne told me who you are," said Naomi, "I guess you know about what Boyd, and those monsters he calls 'friends', did to my Ruthanne that night five years ago, and for the rest of that whole weekend..." She sort of trailed off at that point, sniffing and gathering her thoughts before she continued.

"What she may not have told you is that he and his thugs put her through another day-and-a-half of rape, a bit after Mara was born. Can you imagine a man doing that to his own wife?" she asked in disgust.

She turned to me and hugged me as she cried. I just held her, trying to comfort her simply with my presence and silence.

When she calmed down a bit, Naomi continued. "Ruthanne was a bit off after that. I mean, Boyd had one of his gang doctors," here she snorted, "check her out sometime afterward. That so-called 'doctor' said that Ruthanne had healed up, but that her body was showing indications of infertility. That may have had an effect on Ruthanne's... sexual outlook as well, I don't know.

"I was just so thankful that..." here she trailed off; so that she did not finish that unusual thought. I frowned, but I did not press.

"Anyway, from that time onward, my sweet daughter became somewhat of a bitter woman; and she became, well... a loose harlot and the town slut as well. When I found out, I tried to get her to stop, not only for her own well-being, but for Johnson's and my standing in the community as well.

"She has apologized to me repeatedly over the past couple of years for her increased need for sex and for her escapades in town and at the truck stop, and she has tried to tell me over and over again that she can't help herself; that she has these... 'Urges', she calls them. I don't know what to think. She is just sex-crazy at times! Maybe she really is a nymphomaniac, I don't know!" Here, Naomi held on to my arm and cried again for a few minutes. We got a couple of strange looks, but more looks of sympathy—'hospital' looks, I guess.

"And, Boyd," Naomi snorted when she began talking again, "That boy acts ... well, acted, as if he could not even care less that she was tramping around on him. He just cavorted with his collection of whores. Or else, he preyed on those poor Hispanic women who pass through town frequently. I guess they are illegals and he just takes advantage of them, knowing that they can't or won't report him."

I broke in here. "My friend tells me that Boyd and his boys have been running women—yes, illegals—from south of the border and holding them here briefly in facilities that his friend, Dennis, owns. His other friend, Hamp, evidently makes arrangements for their movement into and out of there; heading north to become sex workers for some unsavory characters in New York and that area.

"Well," I amended, "they DID, until tonight. All the activity in and around Simonton was the result of a major multi-agency law enforcement effort, and my friend was part of it. That is how I knew that it was time to get you and Ruthanne and Mara out of there, in order to get you clear of Boyd's clutches, as well as to get all y'all away from any potential harm if things went wrong tonight."

"You seem to have an awful lot of friends," Naomi said, suddenly showing a hint of a smile. "Like that nice boy who flew us out in the helicopter." The rising lilt as she said that had the implied question.

I gave Naomi the short version of how Sandy Crawford and I had met in 'The Sandbox' and how I had met his brother, and then, how Sandy and I had come to work together for the same company and have the same boss: my mother.

"I did not know that he would show up tonight, and with a helicopter, of all things. Given how things turned out with Ruthanne's needing help, and all of you as well, I am sure glad that he did." The reference to Ruthanne just reminded us both about the reason we were here and we both grew silent as we walked back over to the seating area to await the results of Ruthanne's surgery from someone official.