Tank 'n Bull Ch. 04-05

On the way down the mountain, his eyes were caught by a flash of red off in the woods where it was a surprise to see a car. There was a track leading into the bush, but it didn't appear to be in regular use. He was almost down into Gatlinburg when he realized that what he'd seen back in the woods was a red Mustang.

This worked on his mind the whole time he and Bull were jogging in the park he'd found.

When he returned to the tavern, he found Hal sitting on the front porch, looking for the rare store customer to come by and smoking a Camel as he rocked in a tattered chair.

"Saw a red Mustang down in the woods on the way down the mountain," Tank said as he climbed out of Craig's car, leaving the door open. "It looked like it was in a ditch. Saw it up here the other night—"

"I wondered," Hal said in a slow drawl.

"Wondered? Wondered what?"

"I sorta saw you out of the corner of my eye the other night. So, you want to see my cellar too?"

"What? I don't understand. What does that—?"

"Yeah, I think you want to see my cellar too," Hal said as he slowly, deliberately flicked his cigarette off the porch onto a patch of hard dirt and unfolded himself from his rocking chair. As he came up out of the chair, he brought a shotgun up into his arms and turned it toward Tank, not exactly pointed at Tank, but not exactly not pointed at Tank either.

"Hal."

"Move on around the side of the house, Tank. I'd really like you to see my cellar. I've been thinking about you."

Tank moved in the direction where Hal was swinging the barrel of the shotgun.

"Hal, I don't really care about—"

"Here. Here's the key," Hal said as they came to the covered external staircase and tossed a key on a chain hooked up to a poker chip to Tank, who instinctively reached out and snatched it out of the air. "Unlock it and open them doors pushed back and git on down there."

Tank unlocked the padlock and took it off the clasp and opened one side of the doors, but then he turned. "I'm not goin' down—"

"This here shotgun says you are, Tank. I can do this either way. Don't make no difference to me. Prefer 'em alive and kickin', though—within certain constraints, of course." Then Hal laughed and the laugh caused him to go off into a hacker's cough—which had him lowering the barrel of the shotgun and taking his eyes off Tank. Tank tensed up, ready to spring.

It was right then, though, when Hal gave out a yelp of pain and collapsed to his knees without Tank's help, sending the shotgun skittering across the scrabble grass of the side yard.

Tank had left the door to the car open, and Bull had awakened to the scent of the interloper who had disturbed his nightly repose twice already.

Hal was screaming in pain, clutching at his bloody calves, swatting at the pit bull who was all over him, and yelling, "Git him off me!" even as Tank was dragging him over to the cellar stairs; pushing him down into the darkness, while pulling Bull off him; slamming the door shut; and snapping the padlock back on.

Half way down the mountain, when he'd stopped to make sure that no one was in the red Mustang, he made a 911 call on his cell phone and left only enough information for the cops to be able to quickly put two and two together on their own.

Then he pointed the nose of Craig's car toward Nashville, leaned over and gave Bull's ear an affectionate tug while whispering, "Good dog" to him, and they were on their way toward destiny.

Chapter 5: Coming Back Around

"Hi, it's me. Tank."

"Where are you Tank? I've worried."

"I didn't get through, Craig. The Titans. I made it through the first three days of the tryouts and then they said they had more than enough linemen. And that they didn't see me at any other position."

"Oh, Tank. I'm sorry to hear that. So, you're in Nashville then?"

"Yeah. We're here. You were right. I'm not good enough for the pros. The scout was just pumping me up."

"We?"

Tank either didn't hear the question or didn't process what was really being asked. "I did better, though. Better than I was doin' with the Hornets. I met someone along the road who helped me. It's called a word association system. I wasn't doin' too bad learning the plays."

"Of course the plays for tryout camp wouldn't be anything like for the real season," Craig responded. Then there was a heavy sigh at his end of the line—like if Craig could have taken that back, he would have and was really sorry he'd said it. "Yes, Tank. I've heard of that system. I'm glad it's helping you. What are you—?"

"I'm sorry about the car, Craig. I'll bring it back to you wherever you want—pay you somethin' for the rent and wear and tear on it, if you want. I didn't get in an accident or nothin' with it. I didn't even think when I took it. I'm sorry. I just wasn't thinkin'. I needed to get to Nashville."

"No big deal on the car, Tank. I understand. I'm glad you went. Not because anyone was right about what you'd find; who knows, it could have worked out. But because if you hadn't gone, you'd always think you lost out just because you couldn't get there. I'm glad you went. I would have gone with you, though, you know. All you would have had to do was ask."

"For real? You'd have come to Nashville with me."

"Of course I would."

"You didn't call the cops on me about the car or anything."

"No, of course not. You are more important to me than a car."

"I don't know . . . I don't know what to do now, Craig. Maybe I'll . . ."

"Come home. Come home, Tank. Or tell me where you are and I'll come get you."

"You'd come get me?"

"Yeah, of course. What'd you think?"

"Well, you know, you were sayin' . . ."

"It doesn't matter what I said, Tank. I was hot under the collar. You being gone told me that it didn't matter. Can you understand that?"

"Yeah, I think I can. I think I found that out too. But what can we—?"

"You're still on the roster here with the Hornets, Tank. I told them you'd gone for the Titan tryouts, and that actually made them more interested in you being here. And there's the Stallions in Rocky Mount. They haven't rescinded their offer for both of us. And if you think that word association thing is working, I'll be happy to work with you on it."

"I think I'd be better this time, Craig. This trip was good for makin' me see I have to hold my end up on things, not think about myself so much . . . make room for others. He taught me that."

"He?" The tension was back in Craig's voice that had set in momentarily with the "we" spoken by Tank earlier in the conversation.

"Yeah. Bull. Havin' him with me and having to take care of me—"

Tank stopped, taking notice of the dismayed snort from the other end of the line. "Oh, Bull? Bull's a pit bull, Craig. I picked him up at Reynolds Park the day I left for Tennessee. I . . . I hope you're OK about me bringing him home with me."

There was a pause and a slight noise at the other end of the line that could either have been a slight sob or a tension-releasing laugh.

"Yeah, that's OK. That's . . . great, Tank. Just come home," Craig responded, the relief palpable in his voice. "We'll work it out."

-FINI -