Book of Mercy (20 page)
The Pink Shark
A
FURIOUS
E
ARTHLY
S
IMS
was a sight to behold. As her ex-husband Chester used to say before he went over to the dark side, “Righteous law do look good on you, woman.” So did her fuchsia suit with matching high heels and big feathered hat. She hadn’t been this mad since Chester sold out, turned corporate, and got that strip mining company off on a technicality. Her baby girl, crying her heart out over a dead deer, wouldn’t get out of bed. Her friend and partner Antigone was God knew where. It was time somebody paid.
The meeting was being held on the stage in the Mercy High School Auditorium. The seven board members and Superintendent Bradford Mitchell were seated on one side of a long table; Earthly stood on the other side. The
Mercy Full
frieze danced behind her. She gave the board her best shark smile and thought she saw Superintendent Mitchell gulp.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I graduated at the top of my class at Tulane. I had one of the best litigation records during my eleven years with the ACLU. In short, you are not the first school board I have faced. When I was actively practicing and not selling fine outlet linen, I sued school districts for discrimination, denial of civil rights and religious freedom, and even book banning.”
“Now, see here . . .” said old Howard, the hardware store owner.
Earthly ignored him. “And when I sue someone, they don’t forget it.”
Superintendent Mitchell said, “Ms. Sims, this whole situation has been blown out of proportion.”
“You bet it has. Banning books without a review . . .”
“This school board had nothing to do with that,” said Hank the accountant, casting a furious glance at Irene.
“Refusing to return the books to circulation—even after said books had been reviewed and deemed suitable for students.” Several members of the board glared at the superintendent.
“Persecuting an innocent woman, her family, and her business.”
“There is such a thing as community standards . . .” interrupted Irene.
“Shut up, Irene,” Hank growled.
Earthly continued, “You even got my client arrested on obscenity charges. A pregnant woman spent a night in jail.”
“Now that wasn’t our fault,” said Gary the dentist.
“Oh, no, none of us would ever want that,” said Kalinda the artist.
“We have no control over the county prosecutor,” said Hank. “That had nothing to do with us.”
Earthly pulled out a chair, sat down, and shuffled the papers in front of her. “I’ve already taken care of Mr. Braxton Richey,” Earthly said, looking up with an evil smile. “And now I’m going to take care of you.”
Ellen, who volunteered at the food pantry and various other nonprofits in town, said, “What do you mean?”
Earthly studied the woman who was pleasant, often shopped at The Great Cover Up, and dressed like a walking gunny sack. “Ellen, someone has to pay for this disruption to my client’s life, not to mention the stress at a critical time in her pregnancy.”
“There was no personal vendetta against Antigone,” Irene insisted. “We’re simply looking after our children. As is our right.”
“You can restrict what you or your children read, Irene, but you cannot call upon other governmental or public agencies to do your dirty work.”
“That’s absurd,” Irene smacked her hand on the table. “We support this school and library with our taxes.”
“Nevertheless,” Earthly said, “The First Amendment is clear. No government may prohibit the expression of an idea simply because society finds the idea itself offensive or disagreeable. That’s the Supreme Court’s opinion and the law of the land.”
“Well, I don’t like it.” Irene tossed her head.
Hank cleared his throat. “Enough. What’s it going to take to settle this matter, Earthly?”
“Yeah,” said Luther, the mill foreman. “How much?”
“Two million.” Earthly studied the group. “Per board member. And $3 million from the district.” Silence.
Ellen’s jaw dropped.
“Denial of civil rights doesn’t come cheap,” Earthly said. “We’re not talking about a towel with an uneven hem.”
“You’re nuts!” erupted Luther.
Earthly leaned her hands on the table and stared each board member in the eye. She said firmly, “If I don’t get what I want, this little stunt is going to cost you. And you can bet that this will not be a quiet lawsuit.”
Gary, the chamber president, groaned.
The fingers gripping Irene’s jacket were nearly white. “What do you really want?”
“To make this all go away?” Earthly asked.
Irene gave a curt nod.
“ALL the books back in circulation. Today.”
They Went Whicha Way?
A
NTIGONE HAD BEEN GONE
for nearly eight hours. Sam and Ryder sat in silence at the kitchen table, jumping each time the phone rang. Between them, a box of Froot Loops lay on its side, its colorful contents pouring onto the table. Every once in a while one of them would mindlessly pluck a handful of cereal from the pile and pop it into his mouth. They’d long ago alerted the authorities, the highway patrol, but it was as if Antigone had driven that little red Mustang straight into a black hole.
It was four in the afternoon when there was a knock on the front door. Sam answered and found a boy on the front porch. Ryder joined him and frowned. “Stanley? I told you not to keep bringing this crap to our door.”
“It’s not a book,” said the scrawny boy, shoving his red hair out of his eyes. “It’s for the deer lady.” And then he thrust a piece of folded paper in Sam’s hand, turned, and sprinted away. Sam unfolded the loose leaf sheet. It was a crayon drawing of what he assumed were supposed to be Antigone and her deer. The stick figures frolicked under a sun shining big and yellow in the corner of the page. It said, “Sorry about your dead deer.” On the doorstep were other notes and cards, all addressed to the “Library Lady” or the “Deer Lady.”
Sam peered across the road, where a memorial of flowers, stuffed animals, toys, and candles was growing near the gate to the O. Henry Deer Farm.
A
NTIGONE’S CALL CAME AT
2:13 a.m. on Friday, eighteen hours after she’d sped out of Mercy. A startled Sam fell out of the chair where he’d been dozing as he leaped for the phone. Digging through the cards and papers, he scrambled for the phone.
“Hello. Hello. Don’t hang up. I’m here.”
“Sam?”
“Tigg? Where are you?”
“Sam, I need you.”
Sam pushed his hands through his hair and realized they were shaking. “Where are you?”
“I don’t know. It’s snowing, and there aren’t any signs. It’s dark. I need you, Sam.”
“Okay, stay calm.” Sam mumbled to himself, “Think, think.”
“Sam?”
“Don’t worry, honey.”
“Sam, I think the baby’s coming. I can’t drive anymore.”
“It’s too early, Tigg.”
“I know. I keep telling the baby that, but she’s not listening to me. This is definitely your child, Sam Thorne.”
“Let’s stay calm.”
“I am calm, as calm as I’m going to get,” she said with a moan.
“Look, Tigg, I’m coming to get you. Describe where you are.”
Sam knew by the silence that she was trying to recall roads and landmarks. He waited, then began scribbling notes on the back of a crumpled envelope as she began to talk. “Tennessee. I peed at the welcome center. Left the interstate. Needed a nap. Two-lane roads. Mountains. I passed a town; I don’t know how long ago.”
“Think, honey.”
“There was a billboard for a ski area.”
Sam tried to keep his voice calm. “Good. What else?”
“I think I’m in a roadside park. Fell asleep. Don’t know how long ago. It’s snowing.” Antigone cried out.
“Tigg!”
“Sam! The pains are coming.”
“Like regularly?”
“Like this kid is kick boxing in my uterus.”
“I’m calling the highway patrol. And then I’m coming after you.”
“How? You’ll never find me.”
“I’ve got the GPS.”
Ryder leaned over his shoulder and read his scribbles. “I’m coming along.”
Sam put his hand over the receiver. “I can do this.”
Ryder crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re not leaving me behind.”
Sam didn’t want to take the time to fight. “Fine.” He said to Antigone, “I’m bringing Ryder.”
“Is that a good idea? You two are like Siamese fighting fish.” Antigone gasped in pain, and Sam wanted to fling the telephone against the wall. “Don’t kill each other before you get here,” she said.
“We’ll manage. Thank God, you had the cell phone with you this time. Promise you’ll keep in touch.”
“Promise.” There was a pause. “But hurry.”
R
YDER GATHERED BLANKETS, COATS,
and flashlights. William handed him a thermos of coffee and a bag of food. He smacked Sam on the shoulder. “Take it easy. Keep a cool head. Bring her back.”
With a wave, Sam and Ryder drove off in Sam’s truck. Sam got half way down the road, realized he was going the wrong way and turned around. They waved again.
“We shoulda got more veggie burgers,” Ryder said, watching a waving William pass by the window. “This could take longer than I thought.”
When the cell phone went silent in the middle of a conversation with Antigone, both Ryder and Sam panicked. One minute she was talking to them, and then nothing. Ryder reported the phone was dead, and they’d forgotten the adapter.
No phone. No GPS. “Find me a town,” Sam shouted, pointing to the glove box. “Map.”
Ryder hunched over the map of Tennessee. “What exactly are we looking for?”
“An electronics store.”
“At this time of day?” Ryder glanced out the window. It was five in the morning.
They found a town, and then they found Crazy Jerry’s Electronic City: 24 Hours of Plugged In, Amped Up, Out-a-sight Online Fun. Ryder and Sam scrambled out of the truck and ran to the store entrance. Even at this time of morning, Crazy Jerry’s was hopping.
In Crazy Jerry’s, Ryder and Sam leapt over the remote-controlled hot rod barreling down on them, fishtailed around a kid tapping on a computer terminal, and skidded to a stop in front of a wall of circuits, sockets, plugs, cords, antennas, and adapters.
Sam grabbed two packets and dashed for the register. He slammed a package of batteries and a phone adapter on the counter. The teenager behind the register smiled at him, “I hope you found everything to your satisfaction at Crazy Jerry’s. We’re crazy to please.” The clerk tapped on the computer in front of him. “May I have your area code please?”
“I don’t have a phone,” Sam said, digging in a back pocket for his wallet.
The clerk looked pointedly at the phone adapter. “Your zip code then, sir?”
“I don’t have one of those either,” Sam said, throwing two twenty dollar bills on the counter. “That’ll cover it.”
“But, sir,” the clerk looked frantic. “I only need a little information for our records.”
“I don’t have any information,” Sam shouted, pulling Ryder out of the store.
As Ryder plugged in the adapter, Sam muttered, “God, I hate people who need to know everything about you.” He threw the truck into gear with a squeal of rubber and immediately took a wrong turn out of the mall.
“Same here,” Ryder said, beginning to notice the unfamiliarity of the road. “Didn’t we cross railroad tracks and pass a taxidermy shop on the way into town? Where’s the sign with the deer head? Uh, Sam, I think we’re going the wrong way.”
“You’ve got the goddamn GPS,” Sam said. “Find out where the hell we are.”
Ryder located their coordinates and got Sam driving in the general direction of Antigone. Again.
The Sunset Is Not as Close as It Seems
T
HIS USED TO BE
easier, Antigone thought. Once riding into the sunset had been a cinch. It had occurred to her in the last few hours that all the heroes who rode off into the sunset—the masked men, the cowboys, the private eyes on Route 66—had never suffered a single labor pain. No wonder they were so happy and mobile.
This had been the most miserable road trip she could recall. Her sense of direction was on the fritz again, probably thanks to baby hormones. She had no idea where she was. And she had the awful feeling that she had been going in circles. She could be just a few hours from her own backyard in North Carolina and not know it. Several times she had pulled over on some back road and taken a nap. Her back ached, her feet were falling asleep, and her bladder kept demanding that she stop and shuffle off behind some tree. As she got back in the car one more time, she thought, “This is why I don’t go camping.”