Money Well Spent

But even though if you're a good person you don't dwell on evil, it never forgets you. So it came to pass I came home one Saturday to an eerily quiet house. "Where's everybody at?" I yelled, as I passed from room to room. I suddenly felt Mom's presence, and she was frantic.

"We're in the basement, honey. Why don't you grab a couple of Shiners and come on down?"

The hair rose on the back of my neck. She'd just used the code we had agreed to in the event intruders got into the house and had control. "Okay. I'll be down in just a minute."

I walked into the kitchen, and sent a quick text to Jim, and called 911, immediately hanging up. I waited fifteen seconds and did it again, and turned my phone to mute. It was standard procedure to call back immediately if you called 911, and if you didn't answer they sent someone out. They didn't know the situation, so the police always proceeded with caution. When no one answered the door, they would go looking.

I called down the stairs, using our code. "I got the beers. Two be enough? I don't want to be running up and down these stairs."

There was a slight hesitation before she answered. "Better bring a six pack, we may be down here for a while."

Mentally screaming, I grabbed the phone , letting Jim know there were six intruders and telling him I was going down. He was trying to tell me not to when I hung up and raced to the bedroom. Knowing I couldn't hide a big weapon, I shoved the .380 That had been Agnes's behind my belt, and put the Remington in my front pocket.

It was as bad as I expected. Five men, with automatic weapons and shotguns, and Gwen, or at least what I thought was Gwen, holding a sawed off double barrel. The ends of the barrels looked about three feet wide. Her hair was completely gray, going down her back and held out of her eyes by a band. She couldn't weigh more than ninety pounds, if that, the needle tradks reading like a roadmap on her arms.

Besides Jen, they had Lindsey, Christy, and Shaggy. It shook me to my core when I saw Grandma sitting off to the side. They had taken everyone who was home down to the basement, carrying her down the stairs. Luckily Grace was in school and Jen's mom went to pick her up, or they would have been there too. I pulled up short in pretended surprise. "What's going on here?"

The leader, who I assumed to be Manson Franks, spoke. "We're here to make a withdrawal, Moneybags. You just be cool and do what we say, and your friends and family will have a wild story to tell later on in life. Don't, and I'm sure there will be a nice writeup in the papers about the tragic loss of life. You understanding me? Good, now open the safe."

I fumbled with the combination in my haste. I could feel Mom, hovering. Mentally I asked her not to interfere unless she had to, and to give me a little warning if she did. It was plain to see they were disappointed, the vault was empty except for some expensive jewelry the girls kept to wear on occasion, and the rest were mostly keepsakes, valuable to us but not worth much. Maybe a hundred fifty thousand in moveable merchandise and money. Gwen went off like a rocket, clubbing me on the cheek with the butt of her gun, screaming about there being more.

"There's not anymore here, Gwen" I told her when I got my breath back. "you should know that, you were here when we emptied it, sending it all to a secure location."

"Bullshit!" she screamed, waving the shotgun around until the leader pushed it down.

"Chill, baby. We have ways of finding out. Maybe we guys poke a little in baby momma or her friends, or beat the fuck out of their guys while they watch. One or the other will make them talk."

I held up my hand. "Hold on there dude. Don't let this thing get away from you. Right now it's just a home invasion. If you rape or assault anyone, it gets a lot more serious. We're telling the truth. That's all there is. I do have another fifty grand in a wall safe upstairs, but other than that and what we have in our pockets, there is no more."

Manson Franks sneered. "Right now I'm wanted for escaping prison, ten armed robberies and eight home invasions, and three murders. You think I give a damn if it gets away from me? Let's you and me go upstairs and get that money. Everybody be cool until we get back, and maybe we'll leave."

We hardly got up the stairs when Mom brained the man with a ceramic cat. He went down like a rock, out cold. It took me destroying three lamps for the cords, but soon I had him secured, gagged with a dusting cloth I found in the closet. I checked his weapon, glad to see it had a full magazine.

"What now, Mom? " I asked, as I racked the slide and made sure the safety was off. I got a mental picture and smiled. It just might work. I took the rifle and hid it behind me as best I could. Mom had projected our plan to the girls, and they were ready. The four guys and Gwen were looking suspiciously, and I was glad I had forgotten to replace the light bulb at the bottom of the stairs.

"Where's Franks?"

I answered the man as calmly as I could. "He's upstairs, packing the money in a gym bag. I had forgotten about the gold bars, and they're kind of heavy."

"Gold, how much gold?"

"Well, the last quote I saw put gold at about twelve hundred fifty an ounce, and there were thirty one ounce bars."

"Shit!"

I had them distracted then, and Mom put her plan into action. The vault lit up, and they could see piles of money in the back. It was all an astral projection, but they bought it. Two of the men went inside, and the vault door promptly slammed. They were watching us, but one turned when the door slammed, and Grandma chose that exact moment to scream and ram the other with her chair. Off balance, he fell back. I took the time to toss Christy the rifle, grabbing the .380 from my belt. He came up roaring and I put three rounds through his head.

Christy had the rifle to the other man's head, begging him to give her a reason to pull the trigger. He put his hands up, all fight gone from him.

We hadn't forgotten Gwen, and I turned to see Jen wrestling with her hold on the shotgun. Gwen suddenly let go and punched her as hard as she could in the stomach. Jen screamed and collapsed, holding her belly. For someone as drug addled as she was, she was incredible fast. I was just bringing the pistol to bear when she turned loose with both barrels. I felt the blast knock me backwards, but I held up long enough to empty my weapon into her. Then everything went black.

Chapter 21

I woke up in the hospital. I was still alive because the shotgun had been loaded with number eight shot and not 00 buckshot. Jen's mom and Linds were in the room, both fast asleep in their chairs. I tried to talk and ended up croaking. It woke Linds up and she punched Mom.

"He's awake! Get the others!"

Soon I had a room full of people, all crying and laughing, glad to see me alive. My thoughts went to how I had last seen Jen, and I tried to get up. Bells and whistled went off, and soon there were two nurses and a doctor in the mix. They were all trying to hold me down, and I kept calling for Jen. Lindsey finally got her hands on my head and looked me in the eye.

Dean! Dean! Listen to me honey. Jen is fine! Do you hear me? She's all right!""

I finally relaxed, although one nurse hovered for awhile. "Where is she? Why isn't she here?"

"She's been a little busy, hon," said her mother, with tears in her eyes. "The punch to the stomach sent her into early labor. Your daughter decided she needed to come out and see what the fuss was about. They're resting now."

"But she was way early!"

"Only about three weeks. She's fine, mommy is fine, now daddy needs to settle down. You'll get to see them both soon, I promise. It's three in the morning or I'd take you now."

I relaxed for a moment before it occurred to me. "Is everyone else all right?"

"No, you and Jen are not the only ones in our family staying in Hotel Antiseptic. Christy got hit, Shaggy got hit, nothing major but they had to have shot removed and they're resting right now. You'll see them tomorrow."

"How's Gram?"

The room got quiet, and I knew. Fat, slow tears started rolling down my cheeks. This was so wrong! She deserved to go quietly, among family who loved her and rejoiced in her long life, not gunned down by a rabid druggie. Soon they were all crying.

"She caught most of one barrel, honey. If it's any consolation, death was instant, so she didn't suffer." Linds was leaning over me, crying into my chest. She was the only grandma she had ever had. I hugged her with the arm that wasn't hooked into anything, and shared her grief.

We finally calmed down, and I started flagging. I barely remember them leaving as I drifted off.

The next afternoon Linds and Mom wheeled me to Jen's room, where despite the fussing I stood, leaning over and embracing the love of my life. She cried for a little before smiling. "I've got someone here who wants to meet you, Daddy. Give your daughter a kiss."

I felt like I might faint, so I sat back down. Linds stood over me, a tiny bundle in her arms. I was shaking so bad I thought I might drop her, but I had to have her in my arms. I looked into the tiny face, marveling at the sight of my immortality. Miss Agnes would be very proud. I commented on her size, and Jen assured me she would grow very quickly, and in no time I would be chasing her around the house.

I stayed until the nurses insisted I go back to my bed. I managed to see Shaggy and Christy before I did, they weren't hit nearly as hard and would be discharged tomorrow. Shaggy's daughters were there, along with Harriet and her little man, hovering over him, and they immediately hugged me, crying as they thanked me for saving their Daddy's life. It was kind of embarrassing.

Jim and their soon to be adopted daughter were with Christy, and I immediately had another child hugging and thanking me. "Don't sell your mother short, honey. She did as much saving everyone as me. Your Mom is a hero, baby."

Jim just gripped my hand so hard it hurt, his eyes speaking volumes.

I made another stop in the hospital two days later, on the way to Gram's funeral. She was strapped to the bed, both hands in cuffs. Gwen had survived, the bulletproof vest she was wearing stopping three of my bullets. She had a nasty gash across her cheek from another bullet, and her arm was in a cast, broken by the last. They gave her just enough drugs to keep her calm, but not enough to get her high, and she was crashing, lying in a puddle of rank sweat, dirty looking hair hanging in clumps. Her eyes got wide when she recognized me and she tried to speak.

I put my hand over her mouth, and her eyes widened in terror, thinking I was going to strangle her. "Relax, bitch. Killing you would be giving you a pass. No, I expect you to live a long time in prison. I'll be paying good money to make sure you stay healthy. The only drawback to that plan is the state intends to go after the death penalty for all of you. Killing a wheelchair bound octogenarian won't get you a lot of sympathy with jurors. No, I'll keep you alive, but I won't keep you safe. Every time you experience a beatdown, every time some dyke makes you her bitch, you'll hear a faint sound. That would be me, laughing my ass off. Have a long, miserable life, Gwen." I had no intention of doing anything I told her, I just wanted to mess with her head. Now every bad thing that happens to her in prison would automatically be laid at my feet. I couldn't ask for a better revenge.

I turned to go but considered for a minute. I faced her one last time before the trial. "You know, all you had to do was stay clean. Your husband was rich and loved you deeply. You had two really good kids, and you threw it all away for a needle. Was it worth it?"

I walked out, as her tears flowed, adding to the dampness of her pillow.

She did get the death sentence, but died of natural causes fifteen years later, awaiting the result of yet another appeal. She went to her grave never seeing her daughters again, even though she sent them a letter once a month begging them, and they never even responded when the authorities told them she passed. Shaggy paid to have her cremated, telling the funeral home to dispose of her ashes any way they saw fit.

The surviving members of the gang weren't so lucky. Manson Franks was executed three years after the trial, the fastest execution from sentencing to death in the history of the state. Two more got lethal injections four years later, and the last surviving member of the gang killed himself when he found out his execution date. I was invited to every execution, and Jim and I sat and watched every one breath his last. I got to speak to Mason before his execution.

"I hear it's like fire in your veins, and you die slowly, and in extreme pain. I like to think so, anyway. Hope hell lives up to it's billing, Franks."

I always thought Mom was housebound, so we had the funeral for Gram in the backyard, so she could attend. We explained it was one of her wishes, to be at home one more time before she went to her rest. We all saw it, though we didn't talk much about it. Mom and Gram, standing behind the casket, arms linked, smiling. I'm glad she went out in style.

Preacher did the service, breaking down twice. He was now the pastor of a large church he had grown from the tiny congregation he started with, and visited often, especially after Gram started going down hill. He had met a widow his age at church, and it took him two years to work up the courage to ask her to marry him. She slapped his jaw and then kissed him passionately. "The kiss was me saying yes, honey. The slap was for making me wait a year while you screwed up the nerve."

Chapter 22

I don't know how I knew, but I knew. Mom was leaving us.

She visited in my dreams, smiling as she patted my cheek. "Don't be sad, my son. I would have left sooner, but I had to see my namesake before I left. It's time, I've fulfilled my wish, seeing a Merchant in our home again. Remember, even though I'm leaving this house, I'll always watch over you. I'll be the breeze across your cheek, the sun on your face. I think I loved you and Jen as much as I loved any of my sons. Think fondly of me, tell your daughter of the legacy she has to uphold."

She visited the rest of the family, appearing in Sandy's dorm room, Lindsey's dreams, to Grace as she slept, still holding the teddy bear she had given her. Shaggy, Christy, and Jim all got goodbye visits, as well as their daughter.

Instinctively, we all gathered one Saturday afternoon, the whole crowd looking up at her portrait, tears flowing from all. We could all hear her in our heads as she said her final farewells, and we watched as the life left the eyes of the portrait.

We all mourned her, me especially. I woke to the sound of my baby's cries on the monitor, and not waking Jen, I got her up, fixed her bottle, and walked her around until she burped, before taking her to bed with us. I stopped in front of the portrait.

"I don't know if you can hear me, Mom, but thank you again. You helped a lonely vet and a beautiful girl live a wonderful life. Even without the money, we would have always loved you. This child," I said , holding A. J. up to her, "will grow up hearing the stories of your life and legacies. I hope I live long enough to see that happen, that she becomes a woman of integrity and wisdom, just like her mother and grandmother. Goodnight, Mom."

For a fleeting second, I thought she was there, but it faded.

EPILOGUE

Oh! I almost forgot to tell you what we found in the third bay of our garage, when we finally got around to cleaning it years later. The prerequisite junk, of course, but three feet back was a tarp. Under the tarp, in almost pristine condition, was a 1960 Lincoln convertible, the largest American production car ever made. It was the last automobile Miss Agnes owned. We rolled it out, had the engine redone, waxed the body and buffed the leather interior until it looked and ran like it just rolled off the production line.

It scares the heck out of me, but Jen and Linds loved the thing, driving it in parades and showing it at car shows and street festivals. They drove it under our company banner, and there was usually three to six children, our children and later our grandchildren, sitting in the back, dressed to the nines , waving and throwing massive amounts of candy. We had set up a charitable foundation, The Merchant-Graham Organization, named for Miss Agnes and Gram, and funded it with seventy-five per cent of our wealth. Lindsey, Christy, and Jen ran it, and when Sandy graduated top of her class, going on to get her MBA at Wharton and her PhD at Oxford, they hired her and after four years turned it over to her and retired. There was a major uproar in the golf world when she decided not to go pro. Shaggy, Jim, and I spend a lot of time on the golf course, though, but our combined scores on just the front nine would be two weeks worth of play for her. Still, it's a lot of fun to watch her when she enters local tournaments.

We contacted an artist famous for his portraits, and gave him a commission to paint exact reproductions of Miss Agnes. One resides in every home of what we considered her 'children'. Shaggy, Jim, and Lindsey have it hanging prominently in their houses, and their children have long ago gotten over their custom of talking to it when they had a weighty decision to make. Some have even taken up the habit.

A man once said that you are only truly dead when the last person who remembers you passes. If that's true, Miss Agnes will live on, for a very, very, long time. I couldn't be prouder.

THE END