A Storied Man

(click here to read Part Two)

“You’re sure she contacted this kid, the one who had the run-in with Lead-head Larry?”

David considered this carefully. When he took the job, he didn’t know it would be this serious. His computer support business was floundering, and he heard about a guy who needed to track a user’s online activity. The evidence wasn’t clear-cut, but he had a feeling that “all signs point to yes” wouldn’t do. The man asking — a tall, thick brute with unnaturally black hair styled in a comb-over, didn’t seem the type to consult a Magic 8-ball for his daily decisions.

“I’m not 100 percent on that,” David said. “But when I looked at the public stats for his blog, a computer for the girl’s local library was listed as a visitor. Lots of times. Just tonight, somebody who visited from that same IP address left a comment on his blog.”

“What did it say?”

“‘Please send me an e-mail.’ It was signed ‘anonymous,’” David said.

“The girl was seen at the library at that time, boss,” said a short, stocky man with a salt-and-pepper mustache.

“Sounds like we got her, fellas,” the big man said. He turned to the short man. “Jerry, you go tell Anthony I want him workin’ this one.”

“‘Got her?’ What does that mean?” David asked. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Leaving these guys would mean leaving behind a big paycheck.

“Let’s just say we don’t want her talkin’ to that kid,” the big man said. “And we’re gonna help ensure that doesn’t transpire.”

David didn’t like the sound of that. I’ve got a bad feeling about this. He was fresh off a thankless IT help desk job. Breaking out on his own, while liberating, introduced stresses he didn’t have to deal with when he was just an employee. Business had been slow lately, with the popularity of Best Buy’s Geek Squad scooting around town in their Volkswagen Beetles. I hate those guys.

He got this latest contact from an acquaintance who had developed an encrypted database application for a drug dealer. There he was, out on his own, helping people he was pretty sure didn’t have anybody else’s best interest in mind. They paid well, and he needed the money for a class that would help him get a lot more business. Just this one shady job, and then he could be squeaky clean.

“Kid, you know what we’re doin’ here is strictly between us, right?” asked big man.

“Yes, sir.” David nervously wriggled his toes inside his shoes.

——-

“You think they’re done?” Ronnie asked.

Matt peered over Ronnie’s shoulder at the chicken nuggets on the skillet. “I don’t know, man. Take a bite.”

“Why the hell are we having chicken nuggets?” Billy asked.

“My mom’s friend gets a deal on stuff at the chicken plant,” Ronnie said. “You got steaks at your house, and a grill you wanna drag down here, go for it.”

Ronnie stabbed a nugget with his fork and held it aloft, regarding its golden breading. He took a bite and chewed slowly. “Ugh, disgusting. It’s still frozen.”

“You fuckin’ idgit. You brought frozen food to cook on a camp stove?” Billy barked.

“Hey, guys, hold on. What’s that noise?” Matt asked.

They heard a female voice occasionally saying, “ouch,” and “shit,” usually in sequence.

“Mom?” Ronnie called out. The second it left his mouth, he wished he could take it back. Maybe she wouldn’t find them — just wander in the muddy dark and quickly give up under the deluge. Besides, she trusted him, and he didn’t want her to see that gas can.

“Ronnie, where are you?”

This isn’t like Mom. She wouldn’t come out here unless something was wrong. He remembered the time she came and pulled him from his grade school playground to tell him his cousin was killed in a car crash. He had been embarrassed at first, but forgot all about it when he heard the news.

“Guys? Open up. I’m getting soaked out here,” Susan said.

“Well, fuck me. Big Ron’s mom’s joining us. We should have put out the ‘Milf’s Welcome’ sign,” Billy said.

“Shut up, Billy!” Ronnie yelled.

Matt unzipped the tent door and the rain fly. “Come on in. It’s all dry in here,” he said.

Susan ducked inside the tent.

“Mom, you’re not wearing shoes,” Ronnie said.

“You know what they say, barefoot and –”

“Shut up, Billy. Dammit,” Ronnie said. Then, to Susan, “You’ve got mud all over your feet.”

“Sorry I’m messing up your dad’s tent, Matt,” Susan said.

Matt grinned. “No problem. I can clean it.”

“There’s something I need to tell you, son, but not here,” Susan said.

Ronnie’s eyes grew wide. “Is it Dad?”

“No, it’s nothing like that. Just, come on.”

“Let me put my boots on.”

Ronnie crawled to a corner of the tent to get his boots. As he pulled them on, Susan tilted her head up and sniffed. “You boys been smoking in here?”

Matt quickly answered, “Just Billy.”

She looked at Billy. “What are you smoking?”

“Winston Lights.”

“Oh, good, I wouldn’t want one of those, anyway. Thanks for not tempting me.”

“Well, we’re havin’ chickensicles. Want one of those instead?” Billy said.

“Rest it, Billy. Let’s go, Mom.”

A gnarled tree, probably struck by lightning years ago, was Ronnie’s landmark to find the trail. He grabbed Susan’s hand and led her to it. His feet slipped so much he felt like a cross-country skier.

“Oh, a trail. That’s good information,” Susan said. “Next time I run out in a downpour to tell you Trena’s contacted you, I’ll remember that.”

Ronnie stopped and Susan’s face slammed into his back. He turned around and grabbed her shoulders, rain dripping off his bangs. “What did you say?”

“I said I’ll use the trail next time.”

“Not that part. You said something about Trena.”

“There’s a chat window that I’m pretty sure she opened.”

“Right now?”

“Yes, and I think she commented on your blog. I figured you’d like to know.” She wiped rain from her eyes.

“No way! Let’s go!”

It was Ronnie’s chance to hear that Trena was recovering fine, and let his guilt go for good. Or, he could find out she hadn’t progressed much, and sink farther into his regret and shame. Either way, he had to know.

He practically dragged Susan the rest of the way out of the woods and through the small field past the winterized apartment swimming pool. As they passed the door to the apartment where Trena got hurt, Ronnie shut his eyes and sloshed through a puddle too wide for Susan to jump over.

“Watch where you’re going, son,” she said.

At that point Ronnie didn’t care about the weather, nor his mother’s short legs. He was trying to find solace for his conscience.

(to be continued)

This entry was posted on Tuesday, January 23rd, 2007 at 11:02 pm and is filed under Drama. You may follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed, and/or leave a comment below.