The Crew Pt. 09

Sharon and Robb slept over. So did everyone else. I collapsed on my bed. Pete collapsed in my chair. I found it a little interesting that Izzy and Scoot claimed the futon. Izzy looked briefly conflicted until I caught his eye and nodded. Scoot looked at me and smiled a bit sheepishly. Then she shrugged and cuddled into him. Pressed into him. Her hand resting on his balls. Her ass and the lips of her womanhood pointed in my direction. She grinned more broadly when she caught me watching.

Marcie, I think, spent part of the night in the chair with Pete, part on the futon and part with me. She was draped over me when I woke in the morning. The sheet had been kicked off. We were partially turned on our sides, facing each other. Her breasts were pressed to my ribcage, nipples hard. Her head was cradled on my shoulder. One arm and one leg were wrapped around me, her warm moist cootch snuggled against my rigid shaft. She joined me in the shower.

Neither one of us uttered a word as we washed one another. Exploring each other with hands and mouths and slippery skin to skin hugs and gyrations. It didn't take long before I was fully hard and sliding between Marcie's uppermost thighs from behind, the top of my rigid manhood wrapped in her slick folds. One of my hands slowly played with her breasts. Her nipples. My other hand toyed with her clit, teasing and stroking in a rhythm that matched my thrusting. I pulled her to me and held her tightly when she gasped and her knees buckled. Held her like that until her breathing returned to normal. She turned in my arms and kissed me deeply, sliding a hand between us to wrap her fingers around my cock. She pumped me slowly, teasingly, as my own urgency built. Sensing how close I was, she wordlessly dropped to her knees and engulfed me with her mouth, plunging forward and taking me deep. Five. Maybe six times before I shot. She pulled back and swallowed, then suckled just the head as three or so lesser spasms overtook me.

When we emerged, Pete had apparently made coffee and taken his first cup outside. Scoot was awake and smiled at us as she teased Izzy's balls and morning wood. His eyes were closed but he wasn't asleep. He had one of his hands between her legs, toying with the petals of her pussy while he suckled on her nearest nipple. Marcie and I got coffee and and briefly watched before joining Pete outside.

Later, at breakfast, we talked with the parents and weighed out some options. Decided the five of us would drive back to the river house, then go back out to Bobbi's road and nose around some more. Being Sunday, we might find some other people out and about and more willing to talk. It was worth a try. For a couple of days. We weren't giving up.

By the end of the day on Monday, everybody we knew was worried and calling around or out looking. Miss Betty discretely checked with all the regulars at the diner. Sharon and Robb and Maurice had asked all along the river. Scooter was beating herself up about not doing more after Bobbi called us that very last time. Sal was ready to come back from The City and hit up some of the shadier streets in Toledo digging for clues. He even named a couple of biker hang-outs in our area. We talked him out of it. Promised to keep him in the loop. My parents told me to take all the time I needed. Herbie and Janet were covering chores at the farm.

After almost nine days with no information, on Tuesday night, we were back at the river house, all comparing notes. We'd spent another fruitless day making calls and knocking on doors. Scooter, Pete, Marcie, Izzy, Frank, me. Miss Betty had brought over supper. It had been such a hectic and frustrating day that the six of us all were still in our street clothes. Around 10:30 that night, Sal called. Scooter picked up. Listened. Burst into tears. Threw more than handed the phone to me and ran out the back door sobbing.

Pete and Marcie followed her out. Frank just sat at the table staring somberly off into nowhere. Izzy was up and pacing the kitchen. Judging from Scooter's reaction, I think we were all expecting the worst. I looked at the phone, still in my hand, and swallowed hard against the lump in my throat.

After several seconds, I brought the receiver up. "Sal?" was all I could manage.

"She's here man," he said. "She's a mess and she's scared to death, but she's safe."

"She's safe," I told Frank and Izzy quickly. Then to Sal, I stammered, "Why...how...what happened?"

"I don't really know much yet," he told me. "She showed up this afternoon. Walked into the bar about 4:00 looking like death warmed over. Said she's been sleeping in her car. Parking lots and rest areas. Town to town. Hiding."

"That doesn't make sense," I said. "Why didn't she come to us? Or call?"

"I got nothin', bro. All she gave me was bits and snatches. She wasn't making much sense. It was all I could do to get that much out of her. She either cries or sits and stares into space or paces around like caged animal. It took me till an hour ago to get her showered and into some clothes of Ziva's. I finally got her to eat and as soon she crashed on the couch, I called."

"What can we do?" I asked. "We can be there in four to five hours."

"No," he said. "Stay put for right now. She's safe, whatever's going on. My guess is she'll be dead to the world till the morning. I'll crash on the floor by the couch if I sleep at all. Trust me, we won't let her out of our sight. I'll call you tomorrow as soon as I can make some more sense of what's going on."

"OK", I agreed, reluctantly. "But we may need to tie Scoot to her bed. She's going to want to be there right now."

"I know," he said. "But Bobbi already said no. That much, she was clear about. She didn't even want me to call you at first. Said it could be too dangerous for you. So for now, tell family family she's safe but sit tight. Say nothing to anyone else. Anyone. Remember she told Scoot that she was afraid of something going really sideways? Well it looks like it did. And with all the poking around we've been doing, it's hard to know what else might have gotten stirred up. So watch your backs."

***************

By the time I hung up the phone, Scooter had calmed down some. I filled everyone in on my conversation with Sal, along with his cryptic warning. I called my parents to give them the basics and let them know I'd be staying the night again at the river house. Pete called his folks. Then the six of us talked some more about what Sal had said. Trying to read between the lines. We didn't come up with much.

Frank and Izzy went home around midnite. Told us they'd call after noon the next day if they hadn't heard from us. Marcie ran next door to check in with Maurice and give him the update. Miss Betty was still there so she heard too. When I finally crashed, Scoot was passed out in a chair and Pete and Marcie were cuddled on the couch, watching an old Bowery Boys movie.

I didn't sleep much that night. Scooter came out and joined me in the hammock some time around five in the morning. Snuggled and cried herself back to sleep. Neither of us heard Marcie leave, but it couldn't have been much more than an hour later. The diner opens at seven.

Pete and Scooter left a note by the coffeepot. They were stopping by Robb's office to make sure his crews didn't need a supply run. We had agreed the night before that one of us...me for now...would stay at the house in case Sal called. They promised to bring back some of Miss Betty's Danish.

I slammed down a quick first dose of caffeine and started to think out my morning. I wanted to go through the random scribbled notes collected from the last couple days and try to combine them into a cogent account. Spend some time writing and drinking naked coffee.

Right after my shower, I went out front to grab a fresh notebook from my Bonneville. As I pulled back the cover I always throw over it there to protect it from tree sap, I thought I heard something rustle in the brush on the side the house. I looked, expecting an animal of some kind. Nothing. Then, as I opened the trunk, I heard an engine revving up loud, out by the road, followed by spraying gravel and screaming tires. I couldn't see it because of the trees and a bend in the drive. Apparently, Maurice had heard it too because he came out of his front door, naked...at a run...carrying a double barreled shotgun.

"Eveything Ok over there?" he called.

"Fine, as far I can tell," I answered. "I didn't see anything, but I'm going to look around now."

"You stay right there," he said. "I'm coming over."

Wearing nothing but a pair of gardening clogs, he clambered through the trees and scrub to where I stood by my car. Shotgun open but loaded. Together we walked up the drive to the mailbox. From the ruts and gravel spray we could tell a car had been in the driveway. Something with wider racing tires by the look of the burnout marks on the road.

"Whover it was, they left in a hurry," I grumbled.

"Or, they wanted you to know they'd been here," Maurice stated darkly.

We checked all around the house. There on the heavier wooded side where I'd heard the rustling, a rusty flatbar was hanging still jammed underneath the window sash to Scooter's room. It was the side of the house with the most screening from view.

"Damn," Maurice muttered. "Somebody was trying to get in over here. Definitely not stopping by for a friendly chat. I don't like the looks of this." I had a strange feeling he wasn't saying everything he was thinking. He seldom did. Like Jack Pascal, Frank and Izzy's dad, Maurice had come back from "Nam" real quiet and a little spooky. Jack took to the marshes. Maurice to the river. From what I'd heard, neither man talked much about it except late at night over beers at the VFW.

"Do you think we should call the sheriff?" I asked.

"You can try, but I wouldn't bother. Sonny won't get off his fat ass to come out here for this. This is river folks. He'll blow you off and tell you it was probably just kids. Nobody actually broke in. Nobody was hurt. Nothing was stolen. He'll tell you to come to the office and Sara will take down an incident report. Unless you're one the rich folks up by Rock Harbor, or one of his friends, he won't 'waste the resources'. He'd rather have his deputies out on the highway writing tickets. That's where the easy money is."

I sighed and kicked at the dirt in frustration, before remembering I was barefoot. I knew he was probably right. I'd heard my uncle Robb say similar things about 'Acting Sheriff' Sonny Cox. The department had never once come out to look around when Robb called about an overnight theft from a job site. They just gave him a report number and told him to call his insurance.

No one had ever even voted for Sonny Cox. Hobart "Hobie" Meyer had been the Pelee County Sheriff for years. Robb said things were different then. But several months back, Hobie Meyer's body was found floating face down in Black Creek with a 30 cal soft point slug in his chest. No suspects were ever arrested. Official speculation was that he walked up and surpised a poacher. No one who knew him bought it. Hobie was smarter than that. And more careful. Based on seniority, the county commission appointed Deputy Sonny Cox to serve out the rest of his term. Sonny's younger brother Walter became his senior deputy.

"Are you here alone?" Maurice asked.

"Yeah," I said. "We decided last night that one of us would stay by the phone until Sal called. I'm here while Scooter and Pete run some errands."

"Okay," he said. "You got any way of getting in touch with your cousins?"

"They were planning to check in with Robb at his office, then stop by the diner and bring me some Danish."

"Call them," he said. "Fill them in on what happened here and tell them to call ahead and let you know exactly when they'll be back. That way you'll be looking for them. Also, ask 'em to see if Betty still has any giant frosted cinnamon rolls left from this morning." He grinned. "I don't think whoever was here would risk coming back in the daylight, but just in case, do you have any guns in the house?"

"None that I know of," I told him.

"You know how to handle one?" he asked.

"Out on the farm, my dad's got a few. I grew up shooting with him. Two pistols. A.357 revolver and an old Ruger. A couple.22 rifles for plinking. An M1. A 20 guage pump. And a 12 guage single barrel breach break. Ancient. Belonged to my great grandad. And my Uncle Robb brings his pistols out sometimes. I've handled them all. We've got an earth berm range set up."

"Fine," he nodded. "I'll be right back." He made his way through the trees to his house and disappeared inside. Emerged and headed back with another shotgun. A single shot break action 12 guage. It looked just like my great grandad's gun. He handed it to me, open, along with a small box of shells. "These are bird shot," he said, but they'll do the trick in a pinch. You ever fire one like this?"

"Exactly like this," I said, looking closely at the words "White Powder Wonder" etched in the barrel.

"I figured. Sears and Roebuck sold a lot of these back in the day. I've only got my one pistol and it's on the boat right now. This thing's not fancy and kicks like a mule but it's simple and indestructible. Go on back inside and wait for your call, but keep this close by. Don't load it unless you need to. Remember, there's no safety. I'll be down at the dock, doing some work on the boat. Yell if you need me. Or if your cousins show up with those cinnamon rolls."

I went inside and leaned the shotgun against the wall in the corner by the door. I opened the box of shells and put it down on the table next to my notebook. Grabbed some coffee and called Robb's office. He said the twins had just left for the diner. I told him about the attempted break-in and once I convinced him I was fine, he said he'd be over as soon as possible. I asked him to call my parents so I could keep the line open for Sal. I called the diner and Marcie picked up. Pete and Scooter were there. I filled them in and they said they had a delivery to drop at a site yet and should be home shortly. With Danish and rolls.

I spent most of the rest of the morning drinking naked coffee and pacing and writing and pacing.

Sal called at 11:27 exactly. I know because I was looking at the clock when the phone rang. As soon as he heard my voice, he started talking, "Dude, before you say anything, let me tell you. I need a beer. Bad. Can you meet me for a beer?"

"What? What are you talking about?" I stuttered. It didn't make sense. The City was five hours away. "Sal," I said, "what's going on? Did you get any further talking wi...."

He cut me off. "Listen bro, take a breath..." Then more slowly, "Take...a...breath. We really need to get a beer. I can't talk now. Can you meet me at 3:00? Seventh Avenue? By the pinball machines? It's important. Understand?" In the background, music was playing. Loudly. The Police. The stalker song. "Every Breath You Take." I thought about it. No matter what you do, you're being watched?

Sal and I both pay a lot of attention to lyrics. Sometimes we throw them back and forth at each other. It's a game we play. I knew what he meant. It was code. One only he and I would understand. "Seventh Avenue" was the name of the song I'd been working on for months. No one but Sal had heard it yet. It was about the night we got into the fight with the frat boys who tried to drug Bobbi's drink at a gig we were playing at that joint way out in the country southeast of Jackson. The fight happened off to the side of the stage. By the pinball machines.

"I'll be there," I told him. "Three o'clock. Seventh Avenue."

"Solid" was all he said before hanging up.

I was getting more coffee and running through plans in my head when I heard the sound of tires on the gravel. Coming up fast. Just in case, I grabbed the shotgun and dropped in a shell. I pulled back the curtain to look and started to breathe again, stepping outside as Pete's van skidded to a stop by my Bonneville. He and Scooter jumped out but stopped in their tracks, Scooter's eyes on the 12 guage.

"Jamie. What the fuck?" she cried. "Where did you get a gun?"

"I brought it over to him," Maurice called as he came through the trees. Naked. Wet. Clutching his double barrel. Also open.

As they came over to us, I was just about to explain when we heard another car hit the gravel. Fast. Maurice pushed Pete toward the cover of the van and I did the same with Scoot. When Robb came around the bend in the drive, he was greeted by two naked men with shotguns at ready. When we recognized his Cordoba we lowered them quickly, breaking them open. Robb pulled to an easy stop and got out. Face serious. Looked us both up and down. Nodded to Maurice. "Hooah, captain," he said.

Maurice nodded back. "Hooah, sarge."

Scoot had her arms around my midsection. Pete clamped me in a quick bro hug, then firmly shook Maurice's hand and thanked him.

"Show me," Robb said to Maurice and me, a steely look in his eyes. We quickly went through the story again and led the three of them to Scoot's window. Robb dug a big red bandana handkerchief out of his back pocket. Wrapped it around the flatbar and pulled. Then loosely rolled it up the rest of the way. "In case somebody decides to do his job and check this for prints..." We went around the perimeter of the house again looking for any other clues. Didn't find any.

Inside, over coffee and Danish...and cinnamon rolls...I told them about the call. The code. I needed to hit the road if I wanted to make the connection with Sal, so we kept it brief and came up with a plan. Scooter and Pete would stay close to their dad. They would lock up the river house. Maurice would keep an eye on the place. He was changing the prop on his boat (which explained why he was wet and dripping on the rug). He planned to leave Dawg, his coon hound, out on the screened porch to set up a ruckus if strangers came around. And, since whoever had tried to break in had likely seen part of my Pontiac, Robb insisted I take his Cordoba. He never let anyone drive it, so nobody local would even suspect it was me. And with the tinted windows and top up, no one could tell who was behind the wheel. Scooter would drive my car to her parents' house and then one of Robb's guys would cause it to safely disappear for a while. We'd work out details when I got back.

They had me dressed, out of the house and into the car at 1:17 exactly. I had a thermos of coffee and some Danish for the road. I had all my notes, a fresh composition book and a handful of pens in a leather courier bag on the passenger seat beside me. My go-bag was in the trunk, though I didn't expect to need it. Robb opened the passenger door and leaned in as I slid the key into the ignition. "Remember," he said quietly "doors locked and windows up. Call Sharon at home when you're on your way back. Or whatever. She'll tell whoever else needs to know. Be careful. And...just in case...I know you know how to use this." He tapped the glovebox button, popping it open. Inside was his loaded Beretta M9, an extra clip, and a small box of shells. I silently frowned a question at him. In answer, he lifted his shirt tail showing me the holstered Sig on his hip.

The combination of adrenaline, paranoia, sugar and caffeine had me checking my mirrors every fifteen seconds until I got past Toledo. I started to feel more at ease once I got off the interstate and onto the side roads and two lanes. As I drove to my meeting with Sal, I couldn't help thinking about his call and the code. The things he was saying without really saying them. The lyrics of the unfinished song kept rolling around in my head.

***************

SEVENTH AVENUE

I remember that night at Ricki's Lounge off Main on Seventh Avenue.