Rude Awakening (7 page)

‘I know,' the man said.

Dalton frowned as he looked down at his mojito and then inhaled half of it. There's something familiar about this guy, he thought. But Dalton was sure he didn't know him from Adam.

‘Dalton,' the man said.

‘Seat's saved . . . How'd you know my name?'

‘Dalton, you need to concentrate here,' the man said.

‘My girlfriend's gonna be back any minute,' Dalton said. ‘Well, she's not exactly my girlfriend – not yet anyway – but she's gonna . . . Who are you?' he asked, signaling to a waiter for another round.

The man pulled Dalton's hand down. ‘I think you've had enough.'

‘Whoa now!' Dalton said, jerking his hand out of the man's grip. ‘Don't you go grabbing! I want another drink!'

‘I think you've had enough to drink,' the man said.

‘Who are you, the drink police? Where's Sarah?' Dalton asked, trying to stand from his chair but not making it all the way up.

‘I'm right here, Dalton,' the man said, swinging Sarah's extra-large purse up onto the table.

Dalton looked all around but couldn't find the girl of his dreams. ‘Where is she?' he whined, staring at Sarah's purse. ‘What did you do with her?'

The man touched Dalton's hand where it rested on the table. ‘I'm right here,' he said again, pulling a strawberry-blonde wig out of the oversized purse.

Dalton jerked his hand away. ‘Huh?'

‘I thought you understood!' the man said, tears in his eyes. ‘I thought you knew what “trannie” meant!'

‘Wha—?' Dalton said, shaking his head. ‘Transmission? Yeah, I know what it means! Makes the car go!'

The man took a deep breath and then let it out. Finally, he said, ‘No, Dalton, it means men who like to dress up like women.'

‘Huh?' Dalton said again.

The man sighed and held out his hand, ‘Hi, I'm Geoffrey.'

It was kinda nice having the house to myself on a Saturday, even if only for a couple of hours. More than that and it would probably get lonely. It's funny how fast you can get used to the carryings-on of a four-year-old. I can't believe I went almost sixty years before becoming a daddy. Something I shoulda done at least thirty years ago. Except then the mama woulda been my ex-wife LaDonna, which is a whole 'nother ball of wax.

I called Virgil Wynn down at the Exxon station, set up an appointment to get the Jeep looked at on Monday and to get a ride to the sheriff's office, then wandered back outside to my new garage.

There was a time when this cleared section of my property had a small stable and a fenced-in area for horses, except that when I bought the place, I didn't have any horses. Then a tornado knocked that down, and my sister and her kids were still living here and I thought maybe I'd build a pool. But before I got that notion totally clear in my head, my sister up and married and moved her and her kids to Bishop, on the other side of the county. So then when me and Jean got married, and we knew we were having a baby, she – I mean
we
– decided a pool wouldn't be a good idea. That's when I had the garage built. Not only is it a garage, it's a workshop, too. Fits two cars and a boat, if I ever get one, and has a room all along the back set up for woodworking and general manly messing around.
And
it has an air conditioner. So I wandered out there and put my tools in alphabetical order.

My cell phone rang when I was on the ‘D's – drill, drill bits, Dustbuster, drummet. I picked it up and said, ‘Hello'.

‘Did you find him?' Clovis Pettigrew demanded.

I sighed. ‘Not yet, Ma'am. But he'll call in soon, I swear.'

She hung up loudly in my ear. Which I felt was better than having to listen to her.

‘Honey, what‘ja doing out here without your pants on?' a voice said.

Dalton jerked his head up. There was a woman at the end of the alleyway. Well, at least he
thought
it was a woman. She had on a real short skirt with high red boots, a real low top showing what looked like real boobies and big blonde hair. The hair he figured wasn't real 'cause her skin was the color of black coffee.

‘You a real woman?' Dalton asked.

‘Real as heartbreak, honey.' She moved toward him and Dalton could see that those boobies sure
looked
real. Still being a little on the drunk side, he reached out and touched one as she bent over him. She cupped his hand so that it squeezed her breast. ‘Now you feel that, baby? Them phony ones don't feel soft like that now, do they, baby?'

Dalton pulled his hand away and blushed. ‘Sorry, Ma'am,' he said, trying to get up.

‘Here, baby, let me help you,' the woman said, pulling him to his feet. ‘How'd you get out here in your underpants?'

Dalton shook his head. ‘'Don't know. I was in a club, talking to somebody, last I remember.'

‘Baby, you got any money?' she asked, cradling his left arm between her breasts.

Dalton looked down at his undershorts. ‘Don't reckon I do,' he said.

The woman sighed. ‘That's a real shame. I like me a big ol' white boy ever once in a while, know what I mean?'

‘Ma'am?' Dalton asked.

The woman laughed. ‘Come on, honey,' she said, pulling at his arm. ‘Let's go get you some coffee.' She headed for the street at the end of the alley.

Dalton pulled back. ‘Oh, no, Ma'am! I can't go out there. I don't have my pants on!'

‘Hey, Tanjene!' called a male voice from the other end of the alley.

The woman looked behind Dalton and made a face. ‘Yo, Luther. What‘ja doing back here? Told you no more freebies!'

‘Ah, Tanjene, honey . . .'

‘Hey, Luther, listen up. Gimme your pants and I'll think about a BJ later tonight. How's that sound?'

‘OK,' the man said, taking off his pants and handing them over without question.

Tanjene held them out to Dalton. ‘Put these on, honey,' she said.

Dalton looked at the pants. They were a black, white and orange plaid. The shirt he was wearing was a Western-cut dark blue paisley and white. ‘'Don't know if these are gonna fit,' he said, looking at Tanjene.

‘So they might be a little short, honey. Good enough to get you some coffee, don‘ja think?'

Dalton pulled on the pants. He couldn't fasten them at the waist, as they were too small, so Tanjene pulled his paisley shirt down over the open fly. The cuffs stopped three inches above his ankles. His feet were still bare. Tanjene looked at Dalton's feet and then at Luther's, and shook her head. ‘Baby, you gonna have to go barefoot, all there is to it.'

‘Yes, Ma'am,' Dalton said, glancing at Luther's feet himself. Dalton wore a size-thirteen shoe; not many people even got close to that.

‘Luther, you go on home and get you some more pants. Can't be walking around half-naked like that!' Tanjene said over her shoulder as she walked Dalton out of the alley.

‘But you said—' Luther started.

Tanjene cut him off. ‘I said later, Luther, now didn't I? Is this later? I don't
think
so!' She turned back around and hugged Dalton's arm to her breasts. ‘Come on, honey, let's get out of this stinky old alley!'

He had a plan. It was fairly simple and straightforward. No one would get hurt, but Dr Jean MacDonnell would suffer, of that he was certain. He just wasn't sure how long he could make her suffer. Days? Weeks? Surely not months. There was only so much a man could take.

Sitting in his van, tucked under some trees only yards from Jean's driveway, he watched. It was quiet up here on the mountain; very nice.
Too
nice. She had a good life here, he thought. But he would soon change that.

Jean sat at the picnic table beside the only other woman she knew at the party, Mary Ellen Knight, the sister of Milt's deputy Dalton Pettigrew. Mary Ellen's son Eli was in the same group at day care as John. Jean attempted to carry on a polite conversation with Mary Ellen, but it was difficult because the other woman would start a sentence and then let it peter out into nothingness, never actually finishing a thought. Jean thought that the woman was obviously suffering from severe clinical depression. However, Jean tried to never make a diagnosis in a social setting, although, like now, it was often hard not to.

‘So where do you work?' Jean asked after they'd discussed their children ad nauseam.

‘At Sinclair's?' Mary Ellen said, making it sound as if she was asking Jean for the truth of the fact.

Jean shook her head. ‘I'm not sure what that is.'

‘Oilfield supply?' Mary Ellen offered.

‘Oh,' Jean said, trying a smile. ‘What do you do there?'

Mary Ellen was quiet for a moment, as if considering, then she said, ‘I'm a credit representative.'

‘Oh,' Jean responded, ‘that must be interesting.'

‘Not really,' Mary Ellen said.

Silence ensued.

‘I'm a psychiatrist,' Jean said finally, feeling like an idiot when the words came out of her mouth.

‘Yes,' Mary Ellen nodded.

Finally, the birthday girl's father got the piñata hanging correctly up in the tree and the children began their blindfolded attempts at whacking it. Jean felt this was the perfect opportunity to forego the conversation with Mary Ellen. She stood up on her crutches and began rooting for the next child in line.

Tanjene had barely managed to walk Dalton through the mouth of the alley when she was jerked sideways by a man in baggy jeans, an oversized T-shirt and so much gold around his neck that it made Dalton dizzy. He looked like one of those rappers you see on TV, except that he was a white man.

‘Where you been, ho?' the white man shouted at Tanjene, almost picking her up off her feet with his grip on her upper arm.

‘Nowhere, J.M. I swear . . .'

‘Who this honky? I tell you to take this honky? I don't think so!' the white man yelled.

‘J.M., I talked to that man you wanted me to, but he wasn't interested, I swear . . .'

The man called J.M. slapped Tanjene hard across the face. And Dalton laid him out on the sidewalk.

‘Wha' the fuck . . .' J.M. said from his position lying on his back on the hard concrete of the sidewalk.

‘You don't hit a lady!' Dalton said, standing over J.M., fists still clinched, more from the pain in his head than from any residual anger.

‘Well, I ever see a lady round here, I won't do that!' J.M. said. ‘Now, sucker, you gonna die!'

J.M. jumped to his feet, a switchblade in his hand.

Jean had moved as far away from Mary Ellen Knight as she could, getting closer to the piñata so that she could watch John as he whacked at it blindfolded. She felt blindfolds were a little much for four-year-olds, but then she thought it possible she was coddling her son again. She sighed. ‘Little boo-boos, little boo-boos,' she said to herself, her new mother's mantra.

John had just finished his third swing, actually touching the piñata this time, when Mary Ellen touched Jean's arm. Jean was busy clapping, leaning her underarms on the cushioned tops of her crutches.

Jean turned her head at the intrusion. ‘Hey, Mary Ellen,' she said and smiled.

Mary Ellen didn't smile back. ‘I've got a family emergency,' she said, her voice flat. ‘Will you take Eli home with you and I'll have my husband pick him up later?'

‘Of course,' Jean said. ‘Is there anything I can do to help?'

‘No,' Mary Ellen said, and turned to her son, directly behind her. ‘Eli, stay with John's mama. Daddy'll come get you at John's house, OK?'

‘OK, Mama,' Eli said, then ran toward the throng of children, yelling, ‘Hey, John, guess what?'

Mary Ellen nodded her head, then walked toward her minivan.

The party was over less than an hour later, and Jean bundled both boys into the car. John was still in a car seat, the ‘big boy's car seat', they called it, but they only had one. So Jean took it out, putting it in the trunk of the Volvo, and put both boys in shoulder harnesses.

It was close to three o'clock by the time she pulled into the driveway. Milt came out of the garage to meet them. Getting out of the driver's side, Jean said, ‘We've got company.'

Eli jumped out of his side of the car and shouted, ‘Howdy, Sheriff!'

‘Well, howdy yourself, Eli! What're you doing here?'

Eli shrugged. ‘Mama said come, so I came.'

Milt shrugged back. ‘What's a man to do, huh?'

‘Yes, Sir,' Eli said, willing to agree with anything the sheriff said.

‘Your turn,' Jean said. ‘I'm going in to take a long, hot bath.'

‘That bad, huh?' Milt asked.

Jean just rolled her eyes and went into the house.

‘Well, you guys come on in the garage and we'll build something. What do you say?'

‘Yeah!' Johnny Mac shouted. ‘Come on, Eli!'

‘Yeah!' Eli shouted back and they ran inside.

Once inside, though, Eli said, ‘I forgot my breathie in the car!'

‘What's a breathie?' Milt asked.

Eli made a motion as if using an inhaler, and Milt said, ‘You got asthma?'

‘Yes, Sir. My breathie's in the car!'

‘Let me go get—'

‘I'll get it!' Eli shouted. ‘I can open the door all by myself!'