by Mickey Hunt
Grandma Middleton always guessed right. If you don’t
believe me, then explain how just a week after Grandpa’s funeral she won a $251
million jackpot in the South Carolina Education Lottery. Anyway, because she
didn’t need outside information, and having been frugal all her life, she didn’t
pay for internet at her house. Which is why my cousin Duncan and I were
spending Saturday afternoon using the Beaufort library’s WiFi for our history
assignment about heroes of the Revolutionary War.
At least I worked. Duncan
“She’s twenty or more,” I
whispered. “Way too old for you.”
“Introduce us, will you?”
“I don’t know her.”
“Introduce yourself first.”
I smirked at him. “Okay, you
asked for it.”
We walked up together, Duncan
“Hi, my name is Carlson
Middleton,” I said in my library voice. “I know Carlson is a weird name for a
girl with brunette French braids and a feminine, but exceptionally fit 5-5
build. My deceased parents followed the fashion of giving girls the last names
of presidents, or whatever. This here’s my cousin. He’s almost normal, except
for his nose. Like me, he’s not old enough to drive, but he thinks you’re cute.”
The blonde glared at me, and
then him. “Excuse me, my shift is over.” That’s what she said in a Russian
sounding accent. She gathered her bag, disappeared into the back room and
emerged moments later wearing a green jacket. She had ignored us altogether.
With his eyes half-closed
behind his thick glasses, Duncan
“Stop it.” I elbowed him in
the ribs. “You’re rude.”
We followed her
surreptitiously to the front door of the library. She went outside and stood by
the curb as if waiting for a ride. I pretended to study the bulletin board, and
couldn’t help but notice the red, white, and blue trimmed poster with Governor
Cobb’s jovial facade plastered front and center. I snickered. The poster
extolled the entertainment value and altruism of playing the South Carolina
Education Lottery.
“You didn’t give her my
name,” Duncan
“What are you talking about? Anyway, her name is Irina Grigorenko.”
“How do you know?”
“Name tag, silly.”
Irina seemed to be occupied with
an incoming text when a burly man approached her and jerked a black sack over
her head. She screamed and dropped her bag. A midnight blue van appeared out of
nowhere. Another man joined the burly one and they wrestled her into the van
and then raced away.
Duncan and I didn’t need to
discuss. We had to help her. We bolted from the library. He slid his hand down
the rail and grabbed her bag, and I jumped on my bicycle.
“Get on.”
“What?”
“Get on my bike. Handlebars.
Feet on the pegs.”
“You’re crazy,” he said,
inching his butt up while I held still. I pedaled us down the middle of the
road, weaving between cars, but I couldn’t see the van.
I leaned the bike over, cut
in front of a sporty, squealing Mazda, jumped the curb, dodged pedestrians, and
dropped back onto the road, finishing with a 360 degree sliding spin on my rear
tire.
“I didn’t mean then, smarty!”
Duncan
“Listen, Bud, you’re not
going to die on a mountain bike with this girl. Besides, you’ve got the balance
of an Olympian. Now where?”
He took another sniff and
said, “Cross the bridge.”
The Woods
Memorial Bridge
arched us over the Beaufort
River Duncan
Ahead, a few miles east, was
the end of South Carolina and the frontier of
the Atlantic Ocean , and between it and us,
water, stinky tidal flats, barrier islands, and fragrant pine-covered hammocks.
Running north and south before us stretched a wide river, and on its western
shore where we stood ran rows of elegant summer homes.
“The scent ends here,” Duncan
“Given our family talents,
Duncan, I believe.”
He had been wearing the
blonde’s bag around his neck, and he re-
moved it, stuck his nose inside, and filled his
lungs with its atmospheric contents.
“Strengthening her
impression,” he said.
“Oh?”
He squinted toward me through
his lenses with a dirty look, which I ignored, then he sniffed the air several
times. He gazed south. “She’s down there.”
We climbed back onto my bike
and took the access road running behind the houses. At last we reached a dead
end, a black gate, and one more house beyond. The property was surrounded by a
heavy iron fence. Duncan
“You alright?” I asked.
He grunted as he creaked to
his feet, then brushed his palms together to dislodge the tiny embedded rocks. “Okay.
She’s inside a house—the scent is fading. She’s petrified. This is not her
home.”
“No kidding,” I said. “It’s
the Governor’s summer mansion. There’s a sign saying so. Wide lush lawns. A
fountain. White columns. With a titanic yacht at the dock! What are you doing?”
“Speed dialing a taxi.”
“You take a taxi. I’m riding
back,” I said and pushed off.
“We’re not leaving. We need
to rescue her.”
“Here? You were delusional for wanting to meet her.” At
this point I circled back and rode tight loops around Duncan
“She needs our help. Now.”
“Call the police, not a taxi.”
“The Governor? The police are
probably in the scheme.”
“Okay. You asked for it.”
I had already noticed how to
scale the fence, so without a pause I headed toward the bin-sized green
electrical box and jumped the bike on top.
“Wait!” Duncan
A couple hops, and then
another jump with a 90-degree turn, and I was on the fence’s top flat edge.
“I’ve got a better idea,” Duncan
I rode along the fence for
30 meters until I came to a cluster of trees and jumped the bike down on the
other side. I thought the trees would give cover, but a red ATV was already speeding
in my direction, the driver and his pal glowering. No problem. I started for
the house and the ATV made a wide arc and followed. He was on my tail zigging
back and forth and pressing tracks into the thick grass. I scanned ahead and
found the perfect tree surrounded by a mulched bed. Getting up speed, I aimed
straight for it, the ATV still right behind. My little maneuver in the mulch
kicked up a dust cloud. I struck the tree hard, the bike and I zoomed up
several meters, hit the upcurved branch, flipped, and completed a loop to the
ground. The ATV and its blinded occupants smashed into the tree trunk.
Poor tree. Seriously.
Now for the house, its vast,
complicated roof an untrammeled, never-before-explored bike park festooned with
dormers and a widow’s walk. An upstairs window was open. I jumped onto a
banister for the handicapped ramp, then to the wooden fence around the pool,
rode on top the length of the pool, then, gathering myself, concentrated with
all my might, and jumped onto the roof. Easy. Just then a text message rang in.
Duncan
What you doing, crazy? He always speaks his texts.
rescue ur
Not that way!
i can get her out
“Come down, bitch!” A couple
security guys in green golf shirts now stood below me, looking up.
“Don’t ‘bitch’ me, you…” and
the rest of what I yelled with my ample vocabulary seemed to so shock the
southerly breeze that she sucked in her breath.
Me: why
I rode to a ridgeline and
crossed over. A half minute later, green shirts collected on the ground in
back, only they comprised a platoon by now and carried guns. Two others were
inching toward me on the roof. The front gate had opened, and the taxi was
cruising in. He sure arrived fast. I pedaled around trying a few quick runs
across roof hips and valleys and keeping out of the goons’ reach. Up close
those guys didn’t look like employees of a governor. More like dumbbell-jerking
gangstas.
Huh? Well, okay. Yeah. I
rode to the highest peak and scanned the scene until a gangsta creeping near
reached out like a zombie, and I lifted my feet to start a long run. Down,
down, and up, finding air. Double forward flip. Land on back tire and recover.
Jump across to a garage, then the roofs of one, two, three limos and one black
SUV, then to the ground. Hear the cracking of gunfire and swerve to dodge
bullets left and right, smack into one of the goons who tried to grab me, and I
finally sprint out the open gate. You’d appreciate the beauty and gracefulness.
I only wished I’d brought my MoJoe camera. Left it at the library, along with
our backpacks and laptops.
“Why?”
“Just give it.”
I did. He slapped at himself
and waved the taxi forward, its trunk lifting open. The blonde in the front
passenger side was biting her thumbs and glancing toward the house.
One of the roof-dented limos
arrived as the gate closed. Duncan
“Alright,” he said
cheerfully. “They can’t follow.”
A gangsta exploded from each
side of the limo and drew weapons, but must have received orders via their
earpieces, because they reholstered and waited for the gate to reopen,
grimacing like fools.
I fixed the lock placement
without Duncan
“This is Irina,” Duncan
“We’ve already met, you
know.” The Russian accent again.
“Where to?” the taxi driver
said, saucer-eyed and gasping. “Shouldn’t we hurry?”
X
We called for an emergency
family conference.
Duncan, Grandma Middleton,
Uncle Al, and Irina and I gathered that evening around the walnut table within
the humongous porch of our house on the ‘Ranch’. In the fading evening light,
the view overlooked an emerald pasture like a wide sea broken by archipelagos
of trees. Duncan
The spring evening’s
coolness felt good. Uncle Al lowered his vacant gaze from the ceiling and rose
for courtesy’s sake when Irina and Grandma shuffled out to us, each bearing a
tray, one loaded with iced tea and the other a raspberry dessert.
“Ah, just what I needed.”
Uncle Al rubbed his belly and sat back down as Irina served him. “I’ll take
three of those tiny dishes, if you don’t mind.”
“The tea is jasmine buds
wrapped in green tea leaves,” Irina said.
“And she made the dessert,
too, from scratch,” Grandma said, scooting her rocking chair forward to the
table. “We are friends already. Another daughter.”
I took my snack to a corner
to watch night coming on.
Irina had told us her basic
story on the way home, but to decide what to do about the kidnapping, we needed
a fuller account, Uncle Al said.
“I was so scared,” Irina
began. “I remembered the stories my father told of the Soviet
Union under Stalin. Many of my relatives disappeared in the Gulag.
A few returned. I felt like I was living their experience.”
“What happened at the
Governor’s?” Uncle Al asked.
“They told me to take a
bath, and they gave me some lovely clothes. What I’m wearing.”
I wouldn’t call a black
evening gown designed in Milan and a cashmere sweater “lovely,” but then I wear
Goodwill for everyday and REI for fancy occasions.
Uncle Al continued. “Then
what?”
“A fretful man, not one of
the thugs, came and told me they had made a horrible mistake. He said it was
the Governor’s son’s birthday, and the abduction was a joke. They mistook me
for the son’s girlfriend.”
“Bullcrap,” I said.
“The man told me the
girlfriend knew about a surprise, but not exactly what. He apologized
repeatedly and gave me $500 ‘for my trouble’. But I had to sign a statement
saying I was well treated and agreeing to not tell anyone.” She covered her
mouth with her hand. “Am I breaking my agreement?”
“We saw it, Irina,” I said. “Duncan
“Really?” Uncle Al said. “Why
didn’t they pretend ignorance?”
“Because the taxi driver
told the doorman Irina had a date with a Marine officer, and he and cohorts
would be looking for her.”
“Good thinking, Duncan
Uncle Al chuckled. “Keeps me
awake. Some people, like Grandma, work crossword puzzles.”
Thus far Grandma had been
sitting like a motionless panda bear with either a faint frown or smile,
depending. She was now smiling. “Crosswords are easy. Your math is too easy,
Al. For a real knotty problem, give me a jigsaw puzzle and a time limit.”
Grandma wasn’t kidding. If
the question was about a fact, any fact, even a future one, she always guessed
right, which is how she won the lottery and bought the Ranch.
After she and
Grandpa Middleton married, he threw their money at lottery tickets and never
won more than a few dollars. He never let her pick numbers. He never followed
her advice on anything, and they lived in poverty. So, the day after his
funeral, Grandma bought a ticket and won the $251 million jackpot. We grandkids
always knew her ability because she was a killer at Jeopardy. Odd thing
is, she never wonders why. She only says in her innocent granny voice, “I let my mind go blank and
say the first thing that pops into my head.”
Uncle Al won’t
let her buy any more tickets because that would arouse suspicion. She doesn’t
care, because she’s richer than she ever dreamed possible and living with me
and Duncan in our big house. Big. Fifty thousand square feet on a hundred
rolling acres northwest of Beaufort…
“Why are you
making a face, Duncan
“Someone pooted.”
Everyone glanced
around for a clue to the guilty party.
“Probably upwind
a mile away,” I said.
“Was a horse.”
“I think,” Uncle
Al said, moving on. “I think maybe we should leave this kidnapping matter
alone. It was a practical joke gone awry. It’s not possible the Governor is
mixed up in such an unthinkable business. He’s a leading candidate for
President.”
Irina suddenly
burst into tears and Grandma frowned like when my parents died in the
motorcycle accident. When Irina recovered her voice she asked, “What do you
think, Mrs. Middleton? Was it a joke?”
Grandma closed
her eyes, and she wasn’t only frowning now. Tears flowed down her cheeks, too.
She opened her eyes and blinked rapidly. “I guess it was… and I blush to say
the words, the Governor’s people wanted you for a sex slave. They expected to
make a lot of money. Your abductors meant to sell you.”
We were stunned.
Grandma’s guesses were as good as Gospel. Were as good as trial by jury. Were almost
as good as God Himself speaking in an audible voice. Were as good as the
founder’s original intentions for the Constitution.
At this juncture
I was happy Uncle Al was present. He was the only one with the brain power to
guide us. “What is it about you, Irina?” he asked. “They don’t pick women at
random.”
Irina stared
ahead. Grandma’s face was working with emotion. Irina sighed and said, “My
parents moved back to Russia
Crap. He had
interrogated her to see if she was a virgin because they command high prices.
We all knew.
Uncle Al said, “Okay
then. You should live here with Grandma. She has plenty of room. Is that okay
with you Grandma?”
Grandma nodded. “We’d
love to have you. My house feels so empty. I should have bought something
smaller.”
“I can cook,”
Irina said. “What will we do next?”
We all thought
for awhile, then Duncan said that since going to the police was iffy, we might
get his father involved, a Marine Corps Colonel who worked at the air base in
Beaufort. Uncle Al suggested that we go to the press, the state legislative
leaders, and the Attorney General.
“If they
abducted me,” Irina said, “surely other girls have been kidnapped too, and we
must do something swiftly. What do you think, Grandma?”
Grandma closed
her eyes, opened them and said, “Y’all are part wrong. But we can’t act until
after the Easter Reunion.”
X
Duncan and I couldn’t wait.
All we could think of were the poor girls trapped in the pervert Governor’s
sordid sex slave network. So we and a half-dozen school friends cooked up an
idea. We secretly bought poster board, brushes, paint, and wooden lath and made
signs including ripped-off pictures of the Guv from his lottery propaganda.
Then on a stormy afternoon, we rode bikes to his mansion and stood outside the
gate.
Our soggy signs said,
“Stop Sex Traffic Now!”
“Cobb is a Crook”
“Free the Girls!”
“Arrest Cobb”
“Kidnapping is Krime”
It was cheesy, but we were
serious. We had sent out press releases and called reporters, but no one
believed us, and if they did, based on the last election coverage, they
probably were insiders and would suppress the truth. It also could have been
the deluge of rain. In short, no reporters showed up.
State patrol showed up. An
officer who’d peel paint with his fiery glare, strutted from his cruiser, water
dripping from his hat’s brim.
“May I see your permit?” he
said.
“Hilarious,” the officer
said without the trace of a smile. “Do your parents know you’re here?”
“My parents are dead,” I
said. “Do your mommy and daddy know you’re harassing an orphan and protecting a
corrupt Governor?”
His face didn’t even twitch.
All he said was, “Your parents or guardians will be upset when you all are
arrested for protesting without a permit and when they get sued for slander.
They’ll lose custody and you’ll land in the foster care system.”
That was a low blow. But we
knew he was bluffing.
Right then the officer
received a call on his cell phone. He walked away. A minute later he returned. “How
long will you stay?” he asked.
“Until dark.”
“I’ll just wait here so you
don’t trespass again.”
And that’s what he did. We
knew then he was one of the pawns… prawns
in the Governor’s sordid gumbo. We also knew that whoever mattered knew we knew
the truth. And that had to have scared them. We hoped so. It scared us, too.
X
On Monday after a government
agent called to threaten Grandma with child protective services, that amazing
lady told us she wasn’t worried and promised to include us in her plan. “I
understand your impatience, dear,” she said. “Waiting hurts me, too.”
If Grandma showed warm grace
about our protest, Duncan Duncan
“What are you trying to
prove with your shenanigans?”
I couldn’t hear Duncan
“I get it,” the Colonel
boomed, “but waving signs won’t do a bit of good. It draws attention to
yourself.”
We had to try. That’s what I think Duncan
“Okay. If you want to help
the world, follow my example.”
But I want to be a doctor. Yep. He’d say that.
“I’m enrolling you in a
military academy tomorrow.”
But I don’t want to leave my friends. I like living at Grandma Middleton’s.
“That’s the problem, isn’t
it? Hanging out with this eccentric family.”
I’m one of them.
“You should be living with
me.”
You don’t have a real home.
“That hurts. I don’t have
money and a massive house.”
Hmm. I’m not sure how Duncan
“I’m not making that mistake again,” the Colonel said. “Your
mother had power to hypnotize people? And she never knew? Bull. I thought I was head over heels in love,
but it turns out I was bamboozled.”
Same thing, in my opinion.
When she was my age, as the story goes, Duncan Duncan ’s
mom and dad married young and after he was born, she ran away to New Mexico
Was Duncan
“She’s Russian?”
I knew it! Duncan
After that last question, it
was quiet for a long while. Apparently, Duncan Duncan
“Stop.” The Colonel spoke in
a normal volume now, but I still heard him say, “Graduate from high school,
pick any college and enroll in ROTC. Once you qualify as an officer, the Marine
Corps will hone your skills. Or, we’ll skip college and give you an
individualized training program. We need you to fight terrorism, Duncan
“To Hell with military
school!”
I heard that. I backed away from the door and assumed a demure posture.
Hands folded in front, head down, but watching covertly.
The parlor doors flew open, Duncan
X
Easter Reunion at the Ranch. The highlight of every year.
You might think
it boring, but not so. Not with our weird family, but even more fun were the
new people, the Lottery Kin. Ever since Grandma won, relatives by the score pop
out of the woodwork. The peculiar thing is, most are real, or adopted. My job
was to scout them and sign them up on the giant Family Tree in the foyer.
Grandma never lets me turn anyone away, not even lying freeloaders. We wouldn’t
give away money, but we served heaping platters of grilled seafood delivered
fresh from the Gay Fish Company (an old family name) and hauled iced tea in
buckets. All free and as much as anyone wanted. We filled every room of the
mansion with overnight guests and even had a large encampment down by the
fishing pond. Portajohns, electric hookups, a rented big-top tent, and live
entertainment every night, and a sunrise worship service on Easter morn.
Rain had washed
the sky clean and left us with faultless weather. More strangers than usual
came this year. Oddly, some of them edged away from me. They kept away from
everyone. I told Uncle Al, and he said he’d look out for trouble.
An hour before
lunch on Saturday, and I had already sent a couple dozen distant
cousins-to-the-9th-degree to the genealogy station when someone caught my eye.
He seemed to be in his mid-thirties, and might have been a movie star except
for the naked expression of skepticism planted on his face. Like, he really
didn’t want to be here. I rode up on my bike, noticed he wasn’t wearing a
wedding ring, and asked, “Who are you?”
He smiled in a
way that made my stomach flutter and said, “I’m looking for someone called ‘Grandma’.
Grandma Middleton.” His voice sounded familiar.
“Oh, she’s busy
now with the jigsaw puzzle races. You couldn’t pull her away with a— How can I
help you?”
He looked at me askance.
“Believe me. I represent
Grandma. Whatever your business, you deal with me.”
“Okay,” he said, but I think
he was humoring me. “Grandma… Is she your grandmother?”
“You may safely
assume.”
“Let’s talk
somewhere private.”
“Then, this time
of day, that would be… nowhere. A bathroom.”
He cleared his
throat.
“Alright. Do you
ride? I can get you a bike.”
“How about if we
sit in my car?”
This creeped me
out. I was thinking of Irina’s horrible experience. “Let’s sit on your car. Where is it?”
“Never mind. Let’s
walk.”
He walked. I
rode.
“Please, let me
start over. My name is Jonathan T. Barron and I’m a host of a nationally
syndicated radio program. I—”
“Oh!” I
interrupted, “JTB. Grandma is a huge fan-girl of yours. I heard about that wild
skirmish in western North Carolina
“Mostly as a
spectator.”
I lowered my
voice to ask, “Are you here to investigate the sex trafficking?”
“The what?” He
turned beet red.
Interesting. “Umm.
Why are you here?”
“Your
grandmother says she has a grandson who sees with his nose. I mean, he has the
sense of smell superior to a bloodhound.”
“That’s not so
special,” I said, probably pouting. “Everyone in our family, I mean, who is
really related, has an ability.”
“Such as?”
“Hey, let me
introduce you.”
I had by then
figured out Grandma’s scheme. Lure JTB in and recruit him to help take down the
Governor. So, I organized the tour for the best effect. First, Uncle Sharp who excels at horseshoes. Never
misses. The only excitement is from how far away, or how high, or how many
spins and twists. Continuous clanking coming from that corner. Roars and cheers
arising from the spectators.
Next, the guy who hears voices.
As he puts it, sound disturbs the foundation of language and releases “meaning.”
A door squeak tells him it’s time to pick up the mail. If the door keeps
squeaking, he hears a lecture on economic socialism. I’ve been told “water”
tinkling into the commode really bothers him. He also understands animals,
because their sounds connect to real meaning. ‘What crows talk about!’ he says.
Mockingbirds drive him insane. Grandma spent a fortune on him for psychiatrists
until Uncle Al just said to wear hearing protection and learn sign language. I
call him Earmuff Guy.”
We watched him signing by
himself in a slow, martial-arts-like dance.
“You sure he’s not crazy?” JTB said.
I shrugged.
“I could do a month of
programs here already.”
Gone was his
trademarked skepticism. That was nice, though I thought he was only being polite, and I
said, “Then that’s enough introductions for now.” I
next showed JTB the rope swings, the swimming pool, the horse barn, and the
auction tent where people sold stuff for charity.
“Where’s your relative with
the extraordinary sense of smell?”
“Gotcha. He’s indisposed.
His father’s here, again. I’ll show
you, and it’ll explain.”
We walked behind the
skateboard park where the bike track was. Under a cluster of pecan trees at a
picnic table sat Duncan Duncan Duncan
“A family crisis?”
“Umm. His dad believes Duncan Duncan
“Admirable.”
A phalanx of helicopters
chugged high overhead interrupting our conversation, a common thing near the
airbase. As JTB looked up, his knees wobbled and he grabbed my handlebar to
steady himself. I glanced at him, his face pale and clammy.
When the airships were
mostly gone, I sighed big.
“What’s that about?” JTB
asked, still pale, but steadier.
“A dream of mine. Are you
alright? My dad sneezed whenever he looked up.”
“I served in Afghanistan
Just then Duncan
“Does he know you?” I asked.
“Maybe. Ask Duncan
“Not a good time.”
“I need to know if he’ll let
me interview him for my radio program.”
“Gotcha. You asked for it.”
I went to Duncan
“And that was…? JTB asked.
“He said you can go straight
to Hades, but I wouldn’t take him too literally.”
We watched Duncan
“His father enrolled him in
a private high school, starting next fall. Up east.”
“I’ve wasted a trip, then.”
His face scrunched up, maybe in disappointment. Then he brightened with
hopefulness. “Unless you have a special ability?”
“You’re not quite done. You
have to meet Grandma Middleton.” We bee-lined for the house and the game wing.
I leaned my bicycle against a sweetgum tree in front.
“Your bike looks new,” JTB
said. “Sturdy, thick tires.”
“It’s a pro-grade mountain
stunt model, custom geared for road riding. I’ve had it four years.”
“But not a scratch or nick.”
“I never crash and never
will.”
“Is this your unusual gift?”
I scoffed and walked through
the front doorway. We moved along passageways into the ballroom where the chess
tournament was. Irina and Uncle Al were battling it out in the center of the
room. Irina had said she was trained from a child, but Uncle Al was a purebred
natural, and so it seemed an even match.
JTB circled through the room
and returned. “The girl’s sharp,” he whispered.
As I told JTB about Irina’s
story, you could see him forgetting the nonsense about our family. I mean, we had our kinks, I said, but otherwise we were
normal. Irina was the needy one, and not her so much, but those girls held in
captivity.
“All those like Irina who
won’t be rescued unless you help us bust this evil crime ring,” I said. “This
is real. See Irina? How many girls like her are enslaved?”
He adopted a poker face, and
the sounds of the chess games pushed into hearing. Click of a piece being
moved. Slap on a chess clock. The word, “Check.” I didn’t know what was playing
in his head, but the longer JTB pondered, the more likely he was to join our
team. When he smiled to himself, I knew I had him hooked. He glanced at me and
said, “I’m ready to meet Grandma.”
Thought so. His conscience
speaking.
We went next door to the
jigsaw puzzle room. If the chess tournament was intense and ponderous, this
space was light-hearted and busy. The room was full of wide tables. Each
contestant kept a talkative assistant who organized the 5000 pieces, with the
contestant studying the box, picking a piece up and turning it, sometimes
fitting it into place and sometimes exchanging it for another. For fairness,
everyone worked on identical puzzles, the image a painting of a young mother
who was hand sewing, with her rosy-cheeked daughter leaning onto the mother’s
lap.
Hands moved fast.
“Grandma’s in the pink and
green dress.”
“Are jigsaw puzzles her
gift?”
“Heavens, no. Grandma always
guesses right about everything. She probably guessed you’d be here now. But you
can’t guess at jigsaw puzzles and that’s why she loves them.”
Grandma looked up at JTB and
suddenly grinned. She abandoned her puzzle, leaving her stunned assistant
gaping, and came over to us. “So pleased to meet you in person, Mr. Jonathan T.
Barron, when I have only heard your voice. She stood up on tiptoe and whispered
in his ear.
JTB sighed and nodded.
“Do you mind, dear?” she
said to me. “I need to talk with Mr. Barron. Anyway, you have your upcoming
bike workshop with the children.”
X
After the square dance that
evening, everyone went to bed early. Grandma had invoked a strict quiet time
because she wanted everyone to be fresh for the sunrise service.
The music Sunday morning
under the big tent was awe inspiring. A couple of local churches joined us, and
they brought a combined adult and children’s choir, with handbells and two
keyboards going at once. If it didn’t raise the dead, it did raise goosebumps.
I was transported. The sermon, however, was the usual nap inducer, something
about how even though the apostles faced a grisly martyrdom, none confessed the
resurrection to be a sham. How a preacher can make such a fascinating topic
boring was a true miracle.
The preacher pitched a
half-hearted altar call, and as an organ softly wandered from chord to chord, a
handful of worshipers started forward. The preacher met them in front of the
stage. The whispering, kneeling, and praying wound down, and the preacher
re-mounted the steps. A few strangers had arrived late, and one of them, a
pale, pockmarked woman wearing slacks and a polo shirt, followed him to the
podium.
The preacher leaned into the
mic. “After the service—”
But the stranger cut him
off, saying, “Excuse me, may I?” and gestured to the microphone.
The bewildered preacher
stepped aside.
The stranger pulled a sheaf
of papers from her back pocket. “Good morning everyone. I hate to disrupt your
party, but I’m with the Department of Heath and Environmental Control. My
helpers and I found twenty-three violations on the property this weekend. For
example, major Portaloo spillage next to the outdoor kitchen and dining
pavilion, with potential food contamination—your lunch, in fact. Also, your
hosts failed to secure permits. Therefore, for your safety, I’m afraid we’re
closing the event. We’ve closed the swimming pool, too. You all will have to
leave. Sorry to disrupt your day, but someone might be hurt, particularly a
child. Pastor, I’ll turn the proceedings back to you.”
I wanted to bellow it was a
truckload of bullcrap, but the preacher raised his hand and mumbled a
benediction. When he pronounced the final Amen, everyone yakked at once, while
the stranger, still at the microphone boomed, “Please go to your cars now and
leave.”
The other strangers, who
reminded me of the Governor’s gangsters, handed out flyers. I grabbed one, a
court order signed by a judge.
The visitors pretty much
herded to the parking lots, anxious to be in the best position for racing to
the restaurants, since they couldn’t eat the mountains of fried chicken and
potato salad waiting at the pavilion.
I ran up to Uncle Al and
asked, “What’ll we do?”
Uncle Al stepped to the
microphone, but the cord had been unplugged. He cupped his hands. “They can’t
make you leave!”
Not many heard him. Duncan
Grandma said and everyone
agreed that the Governor was behind this harassment.
“There’s nothing we can do
till tomorrow morning,” Uncle Al said, “but at least we should protest to the
supervisor.”
“She’s at the swimming pool,”
Duncan
“Good, son,” Uncle Al said.
He patted his mouth with a napkin, then drove away with Grandma in the electric
cart. Duncan, me, and our five friends rode our bikes. JTB, Irina, Earmuff Guy,
and a few others hurried behind on foot.
We kids passed the cart and
arrived first. So many more goons than we expected. We were outnumbered three
to one. Many of them were lounging at the café tables under umbrellas, with
heaping plates of food before them. When we rode up, a few looked frantically
for a place to hide the guilty booty. One laughed and stuffed a forkful into
his mouth. Closing the swimming pool really irked me—I had worn my two piece
bathing suit under my church clothes. To cool off and show I wouldn’t let them
ruin our day, I stripped off my blouse and skirt, climbed the ladder to the
board, paced three steps, bounced, and swan-dived into the pool. The goons at
the café tables cheered when I surfaced, and one wolf-whistled when I climbed
out dripping wet and joined my friends. I was tempted to flip the goons the
bird.
The pale Supervisor walked
toward us and eyed me closely. I plugged one nostril and blew the other, then
wiped my nose with the back of my hand. She shuddered, glanced aside, and
nodded to a couple goons who were standing beside her.
They grabbed my arms. Then
someone grabbed my bike.
“Let me go, you animals!” I
slipped from their grasp and they grabbed me around the waist and neck.
“Hey!” someone shouted.
“Give my bike back!”
“What the Hell are you
doing?” someone else shouted.
“Get off her!”
Yelling, punching, and
kicking, our friends attacked, but the goons easily pushed them down. Then a
goon threw my bike into a nearby midnight blue van. The more I struggled, the
more they tightened their grips until it hurt.
I howled, “Let me go. Give
me my bike back!”
Uncle Al and Grandma wheeled
up, Al with his shaking fists clenched like he might throw a pile driver punch.
I bumped a gun inside one of my captor’s belts and really became afraid.
Grandma said, “Let me handle
this, Al, please.”
Like a queen condescending
to a common bully, Grandma advanced toward the Supervisor.
“Why are you holding my
grand-daughter?”
“We have a court order, ma’am.
You’re not the legal guardian of this child.”
“Is that so? I’m her closest
living relative.”
“It’s only my opinion, ma’am,
but from the look of this place, the child hasn’t been properly looked after.
Twenty-three health and safety violations. We have affidavits swearing she’s
been running loose unsupervised in the streets. The girl will be appointed a guardian ad litem who will protect her
interests. You’ll be able to petition the court to gain guardianship. Until
then, she’ll be placed in foster care.”
“You mean, jail,” I said. “I
want my bicycle.”
“Listen, Grandma.” Here the
Supervisor spoke no louder than Grandma Middleton and I could hear. Her
pockmarks burned red in her whitewashed face. “Your grandchild won’t be harmed
as long as you keep away from the Governor’s business. Stay out of politics.
Otherwise, no telling what could happen.” The woman leaned forward and whispered.
“She’s insurance.”
The stragglers had arrived
in the middle of this menacing threat. JTB hung back but Earmuff Guy waded into
our midst. The two goons pulled me toward their van and I screamed.
Other goons drew their
pistols. All my family stood frozen and helpless. All but Earmuff Guy, but he
wasn’t wearing his earmuffs. He began wailing, waving his arms, and babbling
incoherently. The air seemed full of the noise of bubbling, boiling mud pots
like at Yellowstone
Park
“The vampires will come,” he
croaked at last, then he spun in a circle, faster and faster, emitting a fierce
buzzing noise.
“I’ve seen enough,” the
Supervisor said, unfazed. “Let’s go, men. Stick her in the van. If anyone
resists, cuff them and toss them in with her.”
I looked around for Duncan
Everyone was gazing up.
An opaque cloud that
jittered like static on an old TV screen descended. Mosquitoes, and they
swathed my captors in an instant as if the men had sprouted fur coats. Now they were screaming, and slapping
themselves.
A few insects bumped into
me, and they were in my eyes and ears. Suddenly free, I zipped away, intending
to hide in our secret, prohibition-era wine closet, but as I approached the
house, two goons jumped from behind a van, grabbed me, and yanked a bag over my
head. I broke loose, screamed, kicked, and punched. They snatched me again and
tie-strapped my arms, and I felt a sharp prick in my thigh. Then I was roughly
tossed into the van. The door slammed and I faded from consciousness.
X
Apparently, Earmuff’s communication with nature was two-way.
I’m upset because I had planned to spend the day playing freeze tag in
the water with my friends, then keep-away, and sharks and minnows, then there
was supposed to be a dive competition and the belly flop contest. I’d ride up
the ladder and jump the high dive with a bike. Duncan
I opened my eyes and
blinked. I was lying on a couch, groggy, with a thin blanket over me. It took a
second for my eyes to focus.
“You’re the smart little
vixen, aren’t you?” I swiveled my head toward the speaker, and it was the
supervisor woman who had been wearing slacks and a polo shirt. Only now, she
had on a business suit. New pimples covered her face, which had been slathered
in pink calamine lotion. Ah, the mosquitoes.
I tried to sit up, but my
feet and wrists were strapped. My heart rate jumped, and I started panting.
“No one’s going to touch
you, Carlson. What’s wrong with your parents, giving you a name so ugly? No one
will touch you, but you might see and hear something you won’t like. Now, will
you behave? Can we remove the restraints?”
“I’m not promising anything.”
“There, at least the fox isn’t
snapping her teeth.” She nodded to two gangsters, who cut me loose.
I sat up, rubbed my wrists,
and looked around. The room was strange and formal. Big, but not as big as my
bedroom. I was only wearing my bathing suit, it was still damp and I felt cold.
The blanket hadn’t helped. From my first glances, I guessed I was in the
Governor’s summer mansion, but that couldn’t be right because everything was
too modern. I wrapped the blanket around me, went to the window only to see the
sun setting between two looming skyscrapers. This was not coastal South Carolina
“Atlanta Hotel
U.
“I need to pee,” I said. “I’m
hungry.”
The door opened and a pretty
girl lilted in carrying a long decorative box. She set the box on a counter,
and turning to leave gave me a quick wink. Not a mischievous wink, but
conveying solidarity, like she knew me already.
The Supervisor opened the
box and removed a deep blue sleeveless dress—my size if not a tad small—clearly
intended to be alluring. “Take your shower and put on the dress. Oh, and there’s
supposed to be underthings.” She glanced at a goon, who hurried out. “Your
first guest may arrive soon.”
I’m sure I showed all kinds
of alarm.
“Don’t worry, nobody will
touch you. They’ll be creepy, but you’ll get used to it. This type of client
likes to talk.”
“I might say a few things he
won’t like,” I said, already composing new insults.
“Oh, the clients especially
love this. You should realize that if your family doesn’t keep their traps shut
about the Governor, it won’t be polite, gentleman voyeurs, but hungry, urgent
men with money. Lots of them. Lots of money. Tonight is to let y’all know we
mean business.”
“I want to talk with
Grandma.” The fear in my voice and tears in my eyes weren’t acted.
“We’re talking with her. She
knows what’s happening.” She leaned back and looked me up and down. “As cute as
you are in your bathing suit and blanket, it’s not quite appropriate for
tonight. So, shower. Brush your hair. Wear the dress. We’ll have a beautician
see you within the hour.” She and the goons left, and the door shut with a
mechanical jolt.
I looked out the window
again—no escape there, twenty stories high and the windows wouldn’t open.
Adjoining this room was another room with a king-sized bed. Everything in this
place was expensive. Leather upholstery. Boutique furniture, like pieces in an
art gallery. Watercolors on the walls. Hardwood floors and Persian rugs. Neon
accent lights and stainless steel. Ovals and squares. A thick, hand woven
bedcover, which I wrapped around me instead of the blanket. Sculptures of naked
men and women. Faceted mirrors, like at Grandma’s. A mini bar with imported
distilled spirits. A solid wooden table. The refrigerator stocked with food and
bottled beverages.
When I jiggled the door
handle, a man outside said in a muffled voice, “Forget it, girl.”
I ran to the bathroom to
pee, came back to the kitchenette and helped myself to some yogurt, almonds,
and a banana.
The dress. Like a poisonous
snake. Simple in design, gorgeous, but dangerous. I held it up, draping it
before me in a mirror. Not bad, I thought. Surprisingly heavy, the cloth itself
was exquisite, soft, and was composed of many subtle blues blended together. I
almost could pretend I was a beauty.
Umm… No.
Even if it were my style, I
couldn’t wear the dress. I couldn’t play along that far. I wouldn’t give them
what they wanted. I tossed the dress onto the box and then noticed a tiny
folded scrap of blue paper on the floor. I opened it and read.
“HELP US, CARLSON!” it said.
Then it had the number “34.”
The note must have fallen
from the folds of the dress.
When the door unlocked and
the male beautician arrived with two goons, I was sitting on the couch,
un-showered, watching television. The beautician obviously had encountered
reluctance before and made only a feeble effort to tempt me.
“These genuine blue diamond
earrings and pendant will be fabulous on you, honey,” he said in a pinched,
tenor voice. “They’re my favorite. They’ll just glorify your eyes.”
I said nothing and continued
staring at the TV.
He said, “You don’t need
makeup,” and shrugged his shoulders. Upon leaving, he said to the guard, “Be
nice, will you? After all, it’s her first time.”
The Supervisor stormed into
the room. She didn’t waste any words, but nervously fretted and steamed as the
goons stripped the place of every sheet, towel, blanket, or piece of cloth.
They even tore the curtains from the windows. Lastly, they ripped the bedcover
from my body. I stood there glaring.
“Okay,” she said finally. “You
know, your bathing suit will do fine. A visitor will be arriving soon. The
Governor just finished his speech. It was a good’un.”
They left me alone. I was
scared. I knew Grandma would guess where I was and Uncle Al might try something, but I didn’t know what.
Our family had special gifts, but I couldn’t think of anyone who had a skill
that would help this situation.
Using the gorgeous dress
would be better than only wearing my bathing suit, so I draped it around my
hips and knotted it at the waist, sat on a chair, and waited.
If only I had my bicycle…
The waiting. Fear turned
into anxiety. Anxiety turned into dread. Dread turned into horror and
humiliation. Humiliation turned into panic, and I began hyperventilating. The
lights dimmed and I heard a roaring until I realized I was passing out, and
strangely I knew then I had the power to deal with these feelings. I did it all
the time without thinking when I did crazy stuff on the bicycle. All I needed
to do was breathe deliberately, slowly, and imagine riding. Trust my gift. I pictured
gliding along my most challenging urban trail between Grandma’s and school. I
had ridden it a hundred times. The trail was incredibly technical. I could do
it and recite Shakespeare at the same time. “Once more to the breach.”
The end of this
transformation brought me to serenity, and serenity turned into compassion for
the girls, and cool anger. I’ll endure
this degradation for them and bust the criminal governor all to Hell. I’ll
bring him down from the inside.
Yeah. All my resolution and
courage melted when the lock flipped and the door opened. So much for being a
hero. I ran to the bathroom, and its lock spun uselessly.
“Where are yooou, Carlson!” a treble voice called.
Embarrassed at my cowardice,
I emerged from the bathroom. Oh, great.
The client is a woman carrying a largish bag. This is creepier than ever!
She was dressed in an evening gown like the one around my waist. She was even
wearing blue diamond earrings and a pendant. The ones the beautician showed me?
Holy cow. With her were two goons wearing navy seersucker suits, one suit way
to big and the other way too small. Both of the men sported shaggy beards, and
they fidgeted in their shiny, matching brown and white Oxford
Despite my racing heart, I
laughed.
The woman, however, was
lovely and looked perfectly comfortable. “You’re cute, but please put the dress
on,” she requested, and then smiled in a way incongruous with anything I
imagined. Creep-y.
I felt an overwhelming
impulse to obey her, but caught myself. “I’ve already made this decision.”
“Mother said you knew your
own mind. Then, wear these,” and she pulled shorts and a camo hoodie from her
bag. “We’re leaving. You can’t traipse around the U Hotel lobby in a bikini.”
Then she smiled again in her kind, totally weird way.
“I’m not going anywhere with
you, a-hole.”
“I don’t have time to waste,
feral spirit. My flight back to Albuquerque
Shady Grove—one of the
glassy-eyed bearded men—stepped into the hallway and returned wheeling a brand
new, ultra high-end mountain bicycle, my own helmet dangling from the
handlebar.
“Your grandmother said you’d
need these. I’m Duncan
I grinned and pulled on the
hoodie and shorts.
We sidled past a real goon wearing
a perfectly fitted suit and a drool-slimed tie. “Now, handsome,” Duncan
She and her escorts waited
at the elevator. The elevator dinged, its door opened, and a dapper little man
stepped out, followed by another mindless hulk. Did everyone around here bring
apes for bodyguards?
“Put your watches, rings,
and wallets in the bag,” she said sweetly to the men from the elevator.
“Cheers!” Duncan Duncan
I snapped on the helmet and
threw my leg over the bike. The weight and balance felt off. I looked past the
two men who stood like statues with their mouths open and saw the stairwell’s
sign. Twenty stories up. Fun. I wheeled toward the men and realized the little
guy was probably my client. I could, I should, run him right over. Would be
easy. With his brain addled, he wouldn’t move. I stood on the pedals to gain
power and aimed right at him. But at the last moment, conscience kicked in and
I dismounted to walk by. He leered, and his eyes tracked me as I passed. At the
last moment, he leaned out and patted
my fanny, the turd. I didn’t even look back, even though he howled as he lost
balance and hit the floor.
The dapper man’s bodyguard
must have regained what dim consciousness he had, because he shouted, “She’s
loose!”
The first turn in the
stairwell gave me trouble, or the new bike did, because I scraped the wall and
nearly flipped. After that, no problem. I bumped down the entire spiraling way,
only dismounting to walk through a couple fire doors including the one at the
bottom that opened into a main hallway crowded with glittering people. I
sprinted through, with them screaming and leaping out of the way. A parking
valet waved his hand to trigger the front door to open. As I rode by I noticed
he was wearing protective headphones. Earmuff Guy! He tipped his cap. Outside,
a red van waited in the middle of the lane, its back doors wide open. I jumped
the bike inside. Earmuff crawled in afterwards and pulled the doors shut.
We accelerated, and I looked
around.
Here they were, my closest
family! All of them. Duncan, Grandma, Uncle Al, Uncle Sharp, Irina, and even
Jonathan T. Barron. They were smiling, laughing, and trying to hug me. Duncan
I burst into tears.
When I stopped crying at
last, Duncan
“What worked?”
“Cousin Ralph. Earmuff Guy?
I figured if there was an important message for him, all I had to do was
broadcast a repetitive sound.”
“Oh. Gurgling mud pots?”
“Grits. I took a cordless
mic and turned up the heat.”
“But it didn’t work. They
stole my bike.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
Even in the flashing,
irregular illumination of passing headlights I could see something wrong with Duncan
“Bruise. My usual
clumsiness. Doesn’t hurt. I’m sad because I can smell my mom on you. It’s the
closest I’ve been to her since she left. She’s older, I know, but she hasn’t
changed.”
Grandma had chartered a
private jet and a pilot for the hop to and from Atlanta
and had got permission through Duncan Atlanta
JTB waited until everyone
was done. “I’m sorry you went through this,” he said.
“I knew someone would save me.”
“Yesterday I gave you the
impression that I’d help. I didn’t lie, but I hoped I could be excused. But
after today… After today, I’m completely in. Cousin Ralph and the eerie
mosquito attack really impressed me, but your issue is far more important. I
know I can make a difference.”
I tried not to get lost in
his eyes.
“Your Uncle Al should research
if the Governor is using the foster care system as a farm program for sex
slaves.”
“Oh dear. I’m positive he
is.”
“I’m flying back home to California
Once I nestled into a bed
they made for me on the jet, I fell asleep and didn’t fully wake up until
morning and found myself in my own blessed room.
X
Who said the wheels of
justice grind slowly?
The new bike was better than
mine. I mean, it featured better components, but it didn’t ride the same. I
wasn’t sure I could perform impossible stunts like I did with mine. My old bike
and I had so much history, and I didn’t trust the new one.
Anyway, we were afraid the
kidnapping syndicate would attack us again. We looked at the files of missing
women in the region. So many girls had been in foster care when they
disappeared. And I figured the number 34 on the blue note was how many girls
the Governor currently held in captivity.
Grandma guessed we would be
okay, but it didn’t stop us from watching over our shoulders. I think Duncan Duncan
A month later Uncle Al
finally put together a kind-of plan. Al is a master logician, and he had been
studying the lottery long before Grandma won her money. On a closer
examination, he found that Governor Cobb introduced a political media blitz—TV,
radio, mailers in our box—after every lottery jackpot. Every one. Also, the Governor
received a flush of donations after
the jackpot award and before the campaign.
Studying the Governor’s published itinerary, Al didn’t see any corresponding
increase of fundraising activity. No particular increase of events and few
personal appearances. And most of the events he did throw were fake. That is,
no crowds and no VIP guests.
“The conclusion is obvious,”
Uncle Al said. “But how to prove it?”
“Have Irina win the lottery,”
JTB suggested by phone.
It was easy enough. Grandma
never questioned us for being inquisitive. I waited until bedtime when she
needed help getting ready.
“Grandma?”
“Yes, sweetie.”
“If you bought a ticket for
the next Powerball lottery, what would you pick?”
“How many numbers, dear?”
“Go for broke.”
“I don’t know. I’m tired,
but I’d say…” She closed her eyes. “14, 52, 35, 34, 9. Let’s see… The red ball:
20.”
I jotted them down and
repeated them back.
“That’s it. Is Mr. Jonathan
T. Barron being helpful?”
“He’ll be here next week.”
“It will all work out,
sweetie.”
I gave a covert look, but
she just snuggled into her pillow.
“Good night Grandma.” I gave
her my hand, which she kissed.
“Good night, dear.”
So, Irina bought the ticket
and won the huge jackpot, though she’d have to split it with another winner.
She signed to take it in one lump sum, and Uncle Al said he’d handle the tax
forms. The check was soon ready in Columbia
X
We assured ourselves of the
danger one morning as we waited at Irina’s new Fripp
Island villa overlooking the Atlantic Ocean , we being Irina, and me, too, as a
chaperone to keep her company, Duncan, and JTB, who was watching from the
balcony. It was the middle of summer vacation by then. We had been at the villa
for a week, and I risked riding every day along the beach and into the waves on
the new bicycle.
We were waiting for Governor
Cobb’s presidential “committee” to show up. They’d arrive anytime, maybe.
I peeked out as a glorious
peloton of pelicans floated overhead.
“The waves are high,” JTB
said. “Nice surf. Someone with binoculars was observing me. They don’t seem to
be hiding. That’s good. I don’t believe they know about the Governor’s lottery
business.”
“We don’t know, either,”
Irina said.
Just then Duncan
“Who?” I said.
He stuffed a pistol under a
couch pillow.
A forever minute later I
answered the door. Suits, two of them, one grey and the other black were
standing at the villa’s entrance. They both were sweating.
The grey suit contained a
black man whose expression said he wouldn’t do the talking. The black suit came
with black shirt, black tie, and a black cowboy hat carried in his hand. His
soft hair combed into a gentle wave made an instant impression, but it was
blacker than nature and couldn’t misdirect from the worn, tanned face. The only
life in this person showed in his darting eyes, and then his mouth.
“Good morning. My name is
Whitmire, and I’m an attorney for the South Carolina Education Lottery. We’d
like to see Ms. Irina Grigorenko. May we come in?”
How could we say no?
When everyone settled into
chairs, JTB, who was wearing dark glasses, said, “I speak for Miss Grigorenko.
You’re here to request a donation for the Governor’s presidential campaign.
Miss Grigorenko has received many inquiries since she came into money, and I
regret that she’s turning them all down. This is an exciting time for her and
she wants to take things slowly.”
Whitmire looked shocked. “I said we’re with the Lottery. Who are
you?”
They didn’t know who JTB
was. Excellent.
“Someone who has her best interest in mind.”
“I see,” the man said in a
singsong tone, not attempting to conceal his mockery. “Is this the lady?” he
asked, nodding to Irina and not to me.
At this point the black man
edged around the room and inspected everything as if he was searching for
cameras and recording devices.
“What’s wrong with him?”
Whitmire said.
“He’s blind,” I said.
“You’re all very nervous,”
he said, looking around our circle. “You should be. Ms. Grigorenko is in an
uncomfortable position. Those shadowy men lurking on the beach and in the
parking lot? Your bodyguards?”
“No,” JTB said.
“Ms. Grigorenko is in the U.S. Mexico , perhaps there wouldn’t be an issue, but
as is, she’s in danger of being deported back to Russia
“The Governor has spoken
personally about her situation, and he can help. We will advocate on Ms.
Grigorenko’s behalf to ensure she remains in the U.S. South Carolina
“And what’s the deal? What
does she do in return?”
“Nothing.”
“What about her lottery
winnings?”
“She signs a paper releasing
the winnings. We avoid an expensive, expensive for you, I might say, court
proceeding.”
“What happens to the funds?”
“They become available for
other purposes.”
“You have a contract?”
He handed JTB a sheet of
paper.
“This says nothing about a
scholarship.”
“You’re skeptical. If you
wish, we’ll also cover the cost of your nice villa.”
Here JTB stood up and pulled
open the curtains, letting the glaring morning sunlight pour through. “You’re
not with the Education Lottery, Mr. Whitmire. You work for the Governor’s
presidential campaign. If Miss Grigorenko agrees with your terms, I have no
doubt you will honor your pathetic offer, but I know that the lottery money
will be disbursed to dozens if not hundreds of people, who will, in turn, make
perfectly legal donations to the Governor’s campaign.”
JTB stopped to wait for a
reaction. The minuscule hesitation on the part of Mr. Whitmire was all we
needed to see. I’m sure Duncan
“My name is Jonathan T.
Barron and I produce a radio show called Strange Days Radio. Ordinarily, I
broadcast stories on the paranormal, the weird, the improbable. I’m more of
debunker than believer, and Mr. Whitmire, you’re debunked. This room is bugged
better than the CIA can do it. It’s my trade, sir. And though this story has
nothing to do with the supernatural (here I cleared my throat), it is the
oddest corruption I have ever seen. People will care.”
JTB waited for another
reaction. Whitmire only glanced to his partner who was staring at his phone,
checking JTB’s credentials, no doubt. JTB took off his sunglasses. The partner
glanced up and nodded.
“You can’t prove anything,”
Whitmire said.
“I can speculate. It goes a
long way in politics.”
Whitmire was silent,
thinking.
“You’re an intelligent man,
Mr. Whitmire. You haven’t threatened to sue me for slander. I respect you for
respecting me. But let me tell you something you don’t know. Those men you
thought were Miss Grigorenko’s guards? They’re her tormentors.”
By the end of Irina’s softly
narrated tale of her abduction and our boisterous team presentation proving
Governor Cobb being the hub of a sinister sex trafficking syndicate, Whitmire
and his silent partner were shaking in anger. They said, and I could tell that Duncan
I forgave them for their bad
costume colors.
When they were leaving,
Whitmire said, “I’m not guaranteeing anything, but we’ll see about these
unthinkable crimes. As for our shakedown, you do what you think best. Ms.
Grigorenko has nothing to worry about from us. She won the lottery, and her
immigration status doesn’t affect this whatsoever. We’re at your mercy.”
A week later Governor Cobb
withdrew from the presidential race, stating the classic he “needed to spend
more time with family.” He didn’t even endorse anyone.
We also read that a Mr.
Whitmire of the Governor’s staff had been murdered by unknown persons. Too bad,
really. I felt bad for him—for a political crook he seemed to have a smidgen of
ethics. We had played one crook against another, but as far as we could tell,
the sex trafficking continued unaffected. Uncle Al said that kidnappings of
young girls seemed to be picking up, and we were feeling desperate, especially Duncan
X
It was now nearly the end of
summer vacation. Duncan
“But Grandma said.”
“Not everyone believes her.
So, Dad did his own surveillance. Satellite imagery.”
“And?”
“We’re raiding the Governor’s
compound. We’re going to stop this shit. Yeah.”
“Who is we?”
“Marines. A Special Operations
Team.”
“You mean like Navy SEALS?”
“Some guys are here from Camp Lejeune
“Mr. Barron did?”
“The President okayed the
mission. Apparently, they all know each other from Afghanistan
“Cool.”
“And you know that jump you’ve
always dreamed about?”
“Yeah?”
“I can smuggle you onboard
the plane, but you’ll have to wear a parachute. I insist.”
X
That’s how I found myself
stuffed into an airplane compartment and hugging an expensive, folding,
carbon-fiber bike in its aerodynamic fabric case. Grandma would never give
permission, so this was my only chance until I turned 18, and since it was for
a good cause, I thought I’d give it a try. I have to admit, I was nervous. The
danger was darkness. But I figured the Governor’s house was lit well enough
that I would find my landing site, a long, grassy slope ending at the water’s
edge.
I was wearing a radio
headset that Duncan Duncan Duncan
I didn’t think of it often,
but in those minutes of waiting, I wondered where our abilities came from. I
mean, my skill. Lots of guys have amazing talent on a bike, but mine wasn’t
natural, was it?
Maybe Duncan
I had asked Uncle Al this
question once. He said that with all the bad luck in the world, there must be
good luck somewhere to even the balance. Our family just happens to be the “locus”
of concentrated good luck. He called it blessings. I sure hoped my luck would
hold out for this jump.
My ears popped and the
background chatter took a new note. I turned up the volume. The jump door had
been thrown open.
“60 seconds,” I heard. My
cue.
I pushed open the closet and
stretched my legs. The bike package was strapped to my front. Peeking around, I
saw no one looking in my direction. I slowly stood, pulling myself up. I timed
it just right. I waddled to the door. At the ten second count, I launched.
“What was that?” a voice
asked.
“A girl.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Go, go, go, go.”
Then there were several
seconds of deep breaths, grunts, and quick prayers. The Marines were behind me.
Or I should say, above me.
“Was she wearing a
parachute?” the first voice asked with some unease.
Better than a parachute, I
thought. A Flying Squirrel brand wingsuit.
Once I had cleared the
aircraft, it took a few seconds of tumbling to figure out how to glide. The
bike pack made it hard. At least the ocean gave me an orientation. The view was
spectacular. Bright stars in the heavens and muted stars below. I had studied
night-time satellite images and thought I would see my target, but I was lost.
I had no idea where I was. I was feeling panic. I switched radio channels and
heard Duncan
“Listen, I’ve got more
important things to think about.”
“An altimeter?”
“No altimeter.”
“Alright. I’m with Beta Team
at our mobile base. We are poised to enter the Governor’s compound. I’ve got
you on sonar and infrared. Bear north until I say when, and begin spiraling.
That will bring you closer to the house. I’ll provide you a running altitude.”
At least I had practiced
unfolding the bike, which took 12 seconds in my room. But falling through the
air, it took more strength and focus than I knew I had to get that bike into
rideable configuration.
Worse, I couldn’t see a
thing below, and the Governor’s house and his grassy slope were too far away.
A hound dog was sitting
nearby watching me with curiosity.
I had to tell somebody. “Hey
fella,” I said showing him the bike, “my very first scratch.” Was he impressed?
He whimpered, shook his ears, and trotted away.
Best of all, of course, was
that I had the whole jump on my infra-red MoJoe.
I stripped the wingsuit and
stuffed it into the bike bag, then wheeled up an incline until I could see the
Governor’s house on a rise a mile north.
I was way off target. I
sighed.
Why did I come anyway? Was it just for the jump? Even if I had landed
on the grassy slope, I really had had no plan. Was I going to show off and
dodge bullets again like last time? What good had that done? Duncan had used
his brain and figured out a way to rescue Irina, while I had been only a side
show.
I noticed a lighter band to
my left and found it was a gravel road. Too depressed to ride, I walked along,
the hound dog with me once more.
Eventually, I came to the
iron perimeter fence and could see the house again, popping and flickering like
someone was shooting off firecrackers, but no doubt it was firearms and
flash-bangs. Marine Special Forces giving them Hell. Literally. A blaze burned
near the water—the Governor’s yacht.
The road continued along the
fence and ended at a stumpy brick building, brick similar to that of the
Governor’s house and with a wide garage door. I couldn’t see a way to cross the
fence, bike or no bike, the jump between roof and fence too far.
Just then my phone rang. Duncan
“Yep. Useless, but here.”
“Thank God. Somewhere on
Earth, I assume.”
“Yep. I’m not dead. Due
south of the house. Missed the landing zone.”
“Obvious. We’re done here.
The sex traffickers are dead or captured. Mostly dead, I’m afraid. We can’t
find the Governor, however. Can you ride? You want someone to pick you up?”
“That’d be nice. I’ve got
more bruises than I thought.”
“We’ve got you located. It
will be awhile, ‘cause that gravel road… Someone’s checking a map for me. It
doesn’t go anywhere. But we’ll find you.”
“Should I ride out the road
and meet you?”
“If you want. I have to go.”
I climbed onto the bike and
rode a few yards, but I was pretty stiff, so I got off and walked.
My doggy friend stayed
behind at the brick building. He whined and scratched at the door. Lights
flashed on. A motion detector. The garage door creaked and rattled open.
Headlights streamed out and lit the trees ahead, and from the door crept a
black SUV. And yes, it still had a large dent in the roof.
There must be a tunnel from
the house to the garage.
The SUV’s tires spun in the
gravel as the vehicle gained speed, and I realized there might be one final,
impossible, daring bike trick left for me to perform. One I had never thought
of before. One harder than jumping from an airplane. And it was the purpose for
me so badly missing the target. Maybe it was why I was born and brought into my
family.
The Governor’s presidential
campaign was over. Good. His sex trafficking career was over. Good. But he
would find a way to stay free. He was still in office. He would avoid
punishment and cook up some new corruption. Or maybe he was fleeing the country
to escape justice. But I could prevent him.
The car approached,
accelerating. The driver was leaning forward, his nose almost touching the
steering wheel. I had never laid eyes on him before, but I recognized his face
from the many posters I’d seen. It was
the Governor, pale and grim, illuminated by the light of his console. I timed
it perfectly. My MoJoe was rolling in high definition. I felt weak and dizzy,
but as with all my stunts I smothered my fear and rode on, right into his path
and held up my hand. The pup trotted near and began barking a frantic warning.
The Governor could have
stopped in time. I hoped he would, but if we judged his character correctly… he
sped up. He was right there, looming before me. The metal grill of the vehicle.
You asked for it, buddy, was my last thought…
X
My memory of being run over
and what the Governor shouted near the wreck of my body is fuzzy. As is the
transport to the hospital. I heard a barking dog… When I came into full
consciousness, Duncan and Irina were beside me. Duncan grinning and Irina
teary.
JTB came in and asked if I
wanted to do his radio program from my hospital bed.
“The Governor?” I whispered.
“In jail. Hit and run. Attempted
murder. Assault with a deadly weapon. They won’t let him bond out. He’s a
flight risk. It’s big news.”
“Then, where’s my
microphone?”
X
I really wasn’t up to it so
soon. Doctors said I was lucky to be alive, and with my damaged spine it was
unlikely I would walk again let alone ride a bike. Little did they know riding
was easier for me than walking. But it took a whole week for me to stabilize.
At least one member of our gang sat with me around the clock.
Grandma came every day. I
lamented to her that my supernatural
ability on the bicycle had not covered deliberately peddling in front of a
speeding SUV.
“You’re wrong dear,” she
said. “Anyone else would be plain dead. He ran you right over. Thumpity, thump,
thump. Instinctively you placed yourself so that the SUV missed your head and
vital organs. Your bike punctured the Governor’s oil pan and he ruined his
engine. That’s how we caught him.”
“How about the pup? What
happened to him?”
“He stayed by you the whole
time, keeping guard. He was a stray, I guess, and we brought him home.”
“Can we keep him, Grandma?”
“I don’t see why not.”
JTB was patient. As soon I
was able, they moved me to Grandma’s house, where she had kitted out my room
with hospital gear, and she hired nurses. I have a big room, so it was easy to
bring in chairs, tables, and the audio equipment. Irina helped me dress and put
on a little eyeliner. JTB’s program goes live every Saturday night, barring
national and regional emergencies, so it was pretty exciting. The lights were
turned down low and we had spectators in chairs shoved along one wall. Only
family and Ergo. That’s what I named the pup. I wanted to invite a couple
intelligent, non-arrogant guys from school, but JTB nixed that. “Save your
family secret for Mr. Right,” he said.
JTB produced a transcript of
the program, so it’s easier just to quote from it and then add commentary, if I
think it’s important.
JTB:
Welcome to Strange Days Radio. I’m Jonathan T. Barron, and we are broadcasting
from a secret location near Beaufort ,
South Carolina United States
Well, we will add fuel to
the fires. Because tonight, from her hospital bed, we have the girl who was run
over. What was she doing riding a bicycle on that isolated gravel road near the
Governor’s summer home? She will tell you herself, after these messages from
our sponsors.
The introduction was
awkward, true. I mean, how could I explain me being there in the middle of the
night? But JTB had told us we should attack the issue head on and tell as much
truth as could be believed.
When JTB came back, he said,
“Okay. I begin with a disclaimer. If Governor Cobb is convicted of hit and run,
attempted murder and so on, he’ll be spending a lot of time in jail. Likely his
political career is over. His lawyers may think that what we are about to tell
you gives them a case for impeaching my guests’ characters. They may think they
have a case for slander against me and my guests. I dare them. Try it. Just try
it. We have the evidence on video. Our story is real. At their request, and to
protect their privacy, we’re not using our guests’ actual names. They are not
publicity hounds. All they want is for right to be done. As for our listeners,
all I can say is, believe it or not.
“We will call our first
guest, ‘Marie.’”
So, I explained that I had
jumped from a plane with some military guys whose mission was to shut down the
Governor’s sex trafficking. I didn’t say they were Marines. I didn’t say
anything about my bike riding stunts. JTB guided me with questions. I told
everything I saw and heard. Then JTB asked me the dreaded question.
“I know this is personal,
Marie and it’s an uncomfortable issue. But why did you join this mission? Why
did you make the jump?”
I paused a long time, a
couple seconds of dead air being a long time on radio. I finally said, “What
really matters is the girls who were enslaved and this evil man that so many
people trusted. I wanted to help. I’m lucky that I have people who care for me.
Friends and relatives who protect me. Not everyone has this. I had to do
something.”
“You did help, didn’t you?”
I nodded.
JTB affirmed as much to the
radio audience. “And it cost her. She’s lost the use of her legs. You can’t see
her, but Marie has tears in her eyes. She lost a lot already. I think it’s okay
to tell you her parents both died less than a year ago. When we come back, we’ll
talk with another girl who was abducted by the Governor’s sex trafficking thugs,
and who was rescued by none other than Marie’s cousin, a young man who is a
human bloodhound.”
We broke for another round
of commercials, then Irina, as “Iris,” told her whole story again, including
the scene with Whitmire, then Uncle Al as “Abel” succinctly filled in the
details of the lottery scandal.
Last was Duncan
Here’s more transcript:
JTB:
You have an extraordinary sense of smell.
DENNIS:
Yes, sir.
JTB:
How extraordinary?
DENNIS:
I’ve been tested. The creature with the best sense of smell is probably a male
moth, but it can best detect only a female moth pheromone. Next would be a
bear, probably the grizzly, which can smell better than a bloodhound. My
ability to identify scent is probably 100 times greater than a grizzly bear.
For example, I can tell what brand of cigar you smoked. I can smell the
proximity of a wall by the gassing of its paint. I know how long ago the wall
was painted. You see, I can also smell across time. For example, this
microphone was used by a… a conifer tree? I know that in this room… [Pause.
Takes a deep breath through his nose.] There’s a woman three weeks pregnant.
AUDIENCE MEMBER: [Squeal.] I didn’t know! It must be me! We’ve been trying for a year!
DENNIS:
She tried only an hour ago.
MARIE:
Duncan
JTB:
Umm. Okay. I must remind my guests this is a family program. So, Dennis, tell
the scene in the Governor’s house, of how you used your powers of smell.
DENNIS:
Yes, sir. I didn’t parachute in with Marie and Team Alpha, but I entered with
the second team on the downwind side of the estate. Five men, and me. We
climbed over the fence with a titanium ladder. I helped locate any hostiles who
were outside. When we were sure the grounds were secure, Team Alpha cleared the
known rooms. My job then was to find the hidden rooms. This took time, but not
as long as you’d expect. I jogged through the mansion and located the secret doors
and tunnels. Once these had been breached, team members stepped back and let me
check the air. In most cases no one fired on us. I could tell how big a room
was and who was in it, if anyone. And what their intentions were, even in dark.
So, we found a dormitory full of girls, 30 of them chained to their beds. Two
guys with guns were guarding them. One of them dropped his gun. The other didn’t
and we shot him dead.
JTB:
Was that hard?
DENNIS:
I was armed, too, you know. I can shoot.
JTB:
Really?
DENNIS:
Yes, sir.
JTB:
There’s something else special about you, isn’t there? Something besides your
superhero powers of smell. Would you tell us about it?
DENNIS:
It’s not a big deal.
JTB:
Do you mind if I tell?
DENNIS:
No, sir. My friends and relatives all know.
JTB:
This young man is blind. Totally blind. He wears thick glasses to conceal the
fact. How do you get around? I mean, you seem in all respects to be a sighted
person.
DENNIS:
Doctors believe that as I was developing inside my mother, somehow a wire split
in my brain. The part of my brain that processes visuals connected to my
olfactory system. So my eyes are normal, it’s just they never were hooked up.
Then, my olfactory epithelium is also considerably more densely
innervated than the average person. So, that sort of explains it.
JTB:
Sort of?
DENNIS:
Some of it isn’t explainable. I should have a really long snout.
JTB:
You do have a big nose, if I may say.
DENNIS:
[Laughs] I can’t see it. And I can’t smell it either.
AUDIENCE: [Laughter.]
DENNIS:
I usually get around okay by smell, and I also have sonar implants, but even
those aren’t perfect. I bump into things.
JTB:
What does the future hold for you?
DENNIS:
I want to go to medical school so I can learn to diagnose disease. My father
wants me to join Special Forces so I can help on ops like this more often. He’s
pretty happy with how things turned out, and it was fun. We’ll see. Maybe I’ll
do both.
JTB:
Amazing. That wraps up our program. Strange Days Radio. Tune in next week when
we interview some of the girls rescued during this daring raid on the summer
home of Governor Cobb, former Governor Cobb, of South Carolina
DENNIS:
You have a thyroid condition.
JTB:
What?
DENNIS:
Your thyroid isn’t producing enough T4, and your TSH levels aren’t keeping up.
Do you feel tired all the time?
Though it wasn’t planned,
the engineer let that last spontaneous banter go over the air and conclude the
program. JTB thought it brilliant.
I
was tired, so people left the room quickly. They dismantled and removed all the
equipment the next day. By afternoon when my room was back to normal, Grandma
came in and sat by my bed.
“I’m proud of you, Carlson,
dear.”
“Grandma?”
“What is it, sweetie?”
“I don’t want to be Carlson
anymore. I want to wear lovely dresses once in awhile. I’m ready for a new
life. I want to go by my middle name.”
“Marie?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I thought it was funny you
picked it for the radio. I went through a transition like you did when I was
your age. Or a little older.”
“How?”
“I was a smart-ass know-it-all,
until I met your grandfather.”
I gave her a funny look.
“Our family is odd isn’t it?”
“No, ma’am. Not really.”
“But we do have secrets.”
“Doesn’t everyone?” My
secret wasn’t spectacular or anything. Grandma looked at me like she expected
me to tell her, and I didn’t want to disappoint, so I said, “I’ve always known
I was adopted. I’m not really a member of the family.”
“Oh, yes you are.”
“I know what you mean, but
because I’m adopted, my bike riding isn’t supernatural, like you guys are. Like
Duncan
“I have a secret to share
with you, dear.”
I didn’t say anything.
“I don’t guess at things. I
really know them. I don’t want people to know I know, so I pretend. I can’t
explain why, or how, but it just is. I don’t try to understand, but I try to be
wise with this knowledge, and humble. Your Grandpa Middleton and I were poor,
but we were happy. Grandpa needed to be head of the house—to have the final say
on our decisions. I loved him and let him be who he was. And I also knew he
wouldn’t be with us forever. Those years with our children, your father a baby
growing into a boy growing into a man, were filled with fun. It was hard, but
oh, so worthwhile. And when Grandpa died, I knew I needed to use my gift for
our family, and that’s when I bought a lottery ticket.
“And I knew, Marie, the date
your parents would die. I always cautioned them about riding motorcycles, but I
couldn’t say more. I don’t caution you. Maybe you’ve noticed. There’s a reason.
We didn’t tell you about being adopted because we wanted you to be confident.
You always took smart, calculated risks and challenged your abilities. You
needed to jump from the airplane and ride into the path of that SUV. You needed
to risk losing your life.”
“I suppose.”
“It’s not over, dear. I
haven’t told you yet, but I’ve opened the house as a safe haven for the girls
you all rescued. They’ll stay until they’re ready to resume their lives or
begin new ones. A transition home. Several returned to their families already.
But this crime is worldwide, and we’ll be hosting girls from everywhere, Asia,
Europe, Africa, South America . All over. I’ve
hired Irina to direct the program.”
“She’ll do great. Duncan
Grandma only smiled, and I
knew why she did. All of those vague smiles through the years. She couldn’t say
what she knew.
But I was mistaken about her
smile today. My door opened and in came Duncan, Irina, and JTB. As they stood
back, Irina put her arm around Duncan
Then Duncan
One of them said, “When you’re
old enough, Marie, please sign up for Marine Corps Special Forces. You’ll be
the first girl. I’d love you on our team.” He took my hand.
I told him to be careful
what he asked for.
At the end of the line of
Marines was my cousin Duncan. He said he’d ride on my handlebars again any day.
I’ll not reveal if I cried.
To wrap this story up, I’ll
say that Duncan
And I actually began to feel
my legs.
Who knows if I will ever
ride again? Well, Grandma knows, but she’ll never tell. I have the videos of my
incredible flying squirrel suit/mountain bike landing and the awesome
getting-run-over-by-an-SUV trick, and they’re up at YouTube and other places,
and still garnering millions of views, but that’s past. I have to live in the
present and meet its challenges, whatever they are.
Hey, but picture me doing
amazing, impossible stunts in a wheelchair. Even better, racing down waterfalls
on one of those arm-powered bicycles. I’m sure Grandma Middleton will get me
one someday.
END
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