Martin drove very slowly to Wild Bill’s. He was sure that Sharla was mad at him, or at the very least disappointed in him, for the stupid way he acted the night before and wanted to give him a piece of her mind. He almost didn’t go, but she had called the bar and asked Don to relay the message that she wanted to see him. He had to go even though he was nervous facing her.
The lot in front of Wild Bill’s was completely empty. Not a soul was at any of the gas pumps. “Damn it!” He’d hoped that there would be a few people in there so Sharla would have to be polite and maybe take it easy on him. In an effort to stall, Martin put a few gallons into his tank, and slowly walked to the front door to pay his bill. And to face Sharla.
The bell on the door tinkled in the silent store. No one was at the register. “Hello!” he called into the quiet. He heard the back door to the store slam and watched as Sharla brushed off her hands, her shorts and her T-shirt as she came in from the back room and started down the aisles.
“Hi, Sharla.”
She looked up and smiled when she saw his face. “Oh, Martin, I’m so glad you made it over!” Sharla rushed over to him and threw her arms around his neck. He gently put his arms around the back of her waist, and pulled her tightly to him. “I’m glad I made it over, too.”
+ + +
Martin filled Sharla in on what had taken place with Dayton and Clark that morning, and with every detail, her eyes grew wider and her face darker. “Martin, do you really believe that Jeff and Dayton knew what was going on and did nothing? This is so much worse than I even thought…”
"I know, and I don’t know what to do next.”
They sat quietly at one of the little café tables where men played cribbage and drank beer in the afternoons. Each of them was lost in their own thoughts for a few minutes. “So what does Clark say?”
"He said I should do what I have to do, but try to maintain our confidence and pride in community and in our school system.”
Sharla frowned. “That is so Clark. God forbid he take a stand on anything.”
Martin looked at her and smirked. “So, how do you know that being a journalistic weakling is Clark’s M.O.?”
“I just do. So, what now?”
“I told you, I don’t know what I should do next. Confront Talbot? Confront Daniels and Howe? Talk to more victims?”
Sharla shook her head and looked him straight in the eyes. “Don’t talk to anyone for a day or two. It wouldn’t surprise me if Jeff and Dayton have been scared into doing something they should have done all along. Put your thoughts on paper, and let’s talk some more later.” Sharla stood up and motioned toward a car at one of the pumps. “I have to get back to work, and so do you.”
Martin stood up, too, and took her hand. “Thanks, Sharla. Say, Don invited us to come over for burgers tonight. Can you make it?”
Sharla smiled and squeezed his hand. “I’d love it. When should I meet you there?”
Martin hesitated just a moment before getting up the nerve to say, “Why don’t I pick you up at 6:00?” He saw her smile again and nod. “And just so you know, my mother will be there.”
Sharla giggled a little. “Well good. I like her.” She gave his hand another squeeze. “I’ll see you here at 6:00.”
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Chapter 37
Martin spent a good 30 minutes sitting at his desk, doing nothing, after his conversation with Clark. His fingers were linked behind the back of his head, and he had leaned back with his eyes closed. All he could hear was the squeaking of his chair as he leaned back every few seconds, coming dangerously close to tipping all the way back. He didn’t care – he was gathering his thoughts.
Letting out a huge sigh, Martin opened his eyes, stared at the ceiling for a minute and then, sat up. “I’ve got to get out of here,” he muttered to himself. He looked at his watch. 11:15. Not too early for lunch.
Martin breezed past Sam’s cubicle, cutting him off in mid-sentence when he asked “What’s going…?”
“Gotta take care of something. Back after lunch.”
Shirley tried to stop him as he rushed through the reception area and toward the exit. Martin held up his hand. “We’ll talk later.”
Jogging to his car, Martin wondered where he should go. The two people he needed to talk to and share this information – Don and Sharla – were people he didn’t want to talk to right now. Martin could almost see Don’s sweaty face grinning as he recounted to his friends that he’d bedded Jean Lundeen. His mother! And Sharla probably didn’t want to talk to him. Martin let out a frustrated sigh as he thought about his drunken attempt at romance the night before. “God, I’m such an idiot!”
He decided he’d stop at his apartment for a peanut butter sandwich and then head to Wild Bill’s. It would be easier to face Sharla than to face Don. He would be embarrassed to see Sharla. He wanted to kill Don.
Martin parked as far from the front exit of Risky Dick’s as he could to stay out of sight and sneak up the back stairs to his apartment. His blood boiled when he saw his mother’s car still parked in the lot. Don’s truck was there, too. “So, does he have her working in the kitchen now? Not only a bed partner, but slave labor.”
Martin slammed his car door hard and then flinched, knowing it might have been heard by Don who watched the bar’s comings and goings carefully. As Martin moved toward the back steps, the back door of the bar, closest to the dumpster, opened and Don came out with a dripping, stinky bag of garbage. Don’s face brightened when he saw Martin.
“Jimmy Olson! Good morning. Missed you at breakfast.”
“Had to get to the office early. Wanted to work on our Talbot strategy.”
Don didn’t seem to notice how terse Martin’s voice sounded. “Hey, that’s right. You kids come up with anything good last night?”
“Not really.” Martin turned to go up the stairs.
“Jean and I talked a lot about this when I drove her home last night.”
Martin grunted. “Yeah, I bet you did.”
“She’s very opinionated, your mother. And quite intuitive. Even after she’s had a few glasses of wine.” Don chuckled as Martin seethed. “I just didn’t feel right letting her drive herself home. Not that she was drunk, mind you, but I don’t think she’s used to drinking much of anything. And I would’ve hated to see her stopped for drunk driving.”
Martin turned his head and peered at Don over his glasses and said snidely, “Very nice of you, Don.”
“No problem, Martin. The bonus is I get to see her again tonight. She was so worried about how she’d get her car back, so when I dropped her off, I promised I’d pick her up late this afternoon, bring her over for supper and then, she can drive her car home.” He tapped the front of his forehead. “Always thinking, right?”
Martin turned around, came down the steps and stood directly in front of Don. “So you just dropped her off?” Really?”
Don’s smile faded. He looked confused and then slightly angry. “Well, what the hell do you think I did? Some investigative reporter you are, Jimmy Olson. Jumping to conclusions with little or no facts. Get your mind out of the gutter. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
Don turned his back and started walking back inside the bar, then he turned around and got right back in Martin’s face. “What do you take me for? What do you take your mother for? My God, kid, we’ve been dating for less than two weeks! I’m no prude, but I am a gentleman, and I like your mother’s company and if it becomes more, I’ll let you know.”
Martin stood helpless and mute. Don was almost through the back door when Martin said softly, “I’m sorry, Don.”
Don stopped, stood in the doorway and took a deep breath. “Come for hamburgers tonight with your mom. And bring Sharla. She called this morning, by the way, and wants you to come see her at Wild Bill’s.”
Letting out a huge sigh, Martin opened his eyes, stared at the ceiling for a minute and then, sat up. “I’ve got to get out of here,” he muttered to himself. He looked at his watch. 11:15. Not too early for lunch.
Martin breezed past Sam’s cubicle, cutting him off in mid-sentence when he asked “What’s going…?”
“Gotta take care of something. Back after lunch.”
Shirley tried to stop him as he rushed through the reception area and toward the exit. Martin held up his hand. “We’ll talk later.”
Jogging to his car, Martin wondered where he should go. The two people he needed to talk to and share this information – Don and Sharla – were people he didn’t want to talk to right now. Martin could almost see Don’s sweaty face grinning as he recounted to his friends that he’d bedded Jean Lundeen. His mother! And Sharla probably didn’t want to talk to him. Martin let out a frustrated sigh as he thought about his drunken attempt at romance the night before. “God, I’m such an idiot!”
He decided he’d stop at his apartment for a peanut butter sandwich and then head to Wild Bill’s. It would be easier to face Sharla than to face Don. He would be embarrassed to see Sharla. He wanted to kill Don.
Martin parked as far from the front exit of Risky Dick’s as he could to stay out of sight and sneak up the back stairs to his apartment. His blood boiled when he saw his mother’s car still parked in the lot. Don’s truck was there, too. “So, does he have her working in the kitchen now? Not only a bed partner, but slave labor.”
Martin slammed his car door hard and then flinched, knowing it might have been heard by Don who watched the bar’s comings and goings carefully. As Martin moved toward the back steps, the back door of the bar, closest to the dumpster, opened and Don came out with a dripping, stinky bag of garbage. Don’s face brightened when he saw Martin.
“Jimmy Olson! Good morning. Missed you at breakfast.”
“Had to get to the office early. Wanted to work on our Talbot strategy.”
Don didn’t seem to notice how terse Martin’s voice sounded. “Hey, that’s right. You kids come up with anything good last night?”
“Not really.” Martin turned to go up the stairs.
“Jean and I talked a lot about this when I drove her home last night.”
Martin grunted. “Yeah, I bet you did.”
“She’s very opinionated, your mother. And quite intuitive. Even after she’s had a few glasses of wine.” Don chuckled as Martin seethed. “I just didn’t feel right letting her drive herself home. Not that she was drunk, mind you, but I don’t think she’s used to drinking much of anything. And I would’ve hated to see her stopped for drunk driving.”
Martin turned his head and peered at Don over his glasses and said snidely, “Very nice of you, Don.”
“No problem, Martin. The bonus is I get to see her again tonight. She was so worried about how she’d get her car back, so when I dropped her off, I promised I’d pick her up late this afternoon, bring her over for supper and then, she can drive her car home.” He tapped the front of his forehead. “Always thinking, right?”
Martin turned around, came down the steps and stood directly in front of Don. “So you just dropped her off?” Really?”
Don’s smile faded. He looked confused and then slightly angry. “Well, what the hell do you think I did? Some investigative reporter you are, Jimmy Olson. Jumping to conclusions with little or no facts. Get your mind out of the gutter. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
Don turned his back and started walking back inside the bar, then he turned around and got right back in Martin’s face. “What do you take me for? What do you take your mother for? My God, kid, we’ve been dating for less than two weeks! I’m no prude, but I am a gentleman, and I like your mother’s company and if it becomes more, I’ll let you know.”
Martin stood helpless and mute. Don was almost through the back door when Martin said softly, “I’m sorry, Don.”
Don stopped, stood in the doorway and took a deep breath. “Come for hamburgers tonight with your mom. And bring Sharla. She called this morning, by the way, and wants you to come see her at Wild Bill’s.”
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Chapter 36
Dayton Daniels sipped his coffee and stared out the front window of the Chattering Squirrel as he waited for Jeff Howe. Moments after hanging up after talking to Clark Grayson, he picked up the receiver, dialed Jeff and ordered him to meet him. “Something’s happened, and we need to move fast. Meet me at the Squirrel in 10 minutes,” was all he said into the phone before hanging up.
That Jeff was 15 minutes away on a job outside of Webster was of no consequence to Dayton. He knew Howe would go 90 miles an hour to meet him in 10 minutes, as ordered. He knew Jeff was an obedient puppy that would do anything Dayton told him to do. He took another slurp and held the coffee cup under his nose as he closed his eyes and breathed in and then exhaled heavily. “Damn that idiot Lundeen…”
Dayton knew that at some time, Frank Talbot’s perversion would be exposed, but he never imagined it would be by that lame excuse for a newspaper, The Burnett County Sentinel, or their cub reporter, Martin Lundeen. He thought it would just be fodder for town gossip, stories that would finally be shared by young women who had kept their mouths shut for so long. The stories within the tribe would leak into the general population, and people would shake their heads and feign concern, but deep down, wouldn’t care any more about it than Dayton Daniels. He could almost hear the talk after services at St. Bart’s or at the Lady Be Lovely Beauty Salon. “It’s terrible, but thank God he didn’t touch any of the white girls in town.”
Dayton thought back to his last conversation with Jeff about Frank Talbot at Risky Dick’s a couple of weeks ago. An argument, really. While Jeff was pushing for them to finally expose Talbot before he retired and started drawing his pension, Dayton urged caution. “Jeff, think about it,” he said in his most earnest tone. “What would it say to the good people of Siren that for years, the School Board Chair allowed a pervert to continue in his job knowing he was sexually assaulting young female students?” He counted on Jeff’s basic lack of courage, his pride and his ego to swallow the argument without much push back. “You Chair this School Board, Jeff, and you forever will be seen as the bad guy in this scenario.”
But Dayton hadn’t counted on Jeff’s conscience being stronger than his pride and ego. “Dayton, I don’t care. This has gone on long enough, and I won’t have that jerk Talbot sucking at the tit of the school’s pension fund for the rest of his life!”
For years, they had known about Talbot's actions, but did nothing, even though Jeff believed they should. For all those years, Dayton said that they should just turn a blind eye “If it ever comes out, we can pretend we never knew,” he’d say quietly. “Obviously, he has a thing for Indian girls, so white girls aren’t in any real danger.” Comments like this would make Jeff wince, but Dayton knew he’d never protest. For years, Jeff had kept Karen's heritage a secret, either out of habit or deep-seeded bigotry of his own, even though "mixed marriages", as Dayton privately referred to them, were fairly common place in Burnett County. Just making Jeff Howe squirm gave Dayton a secret thrill every time he could get away with saying something that would knock the uppity and sanctimonious Karen Howe off her perch. And he knew Jeff would never say one thing about it.
In recent years, Dayton knew that Jeff felt more and more uncomfortable with their decision to do nothing. “It isn’t right,” he’d say, over and over again. Dayton started pulling every argument out of his back pocket that he thought would sway Jeff into continued silence. “Think about our town and its reputation. Think about the businesses that will go under if it gets out that perverts are teaching our children!” These arguments worked for a while. Dayton knew that when he talked about businesses going under, Jeff would immediately think about the threat to his own thriving business and what would happen if he couldn’t give the snooty Mrs. Howe everything she wanted. And what about Karen’s store? Something like this would be covered by the local and regional press, maybe even national coverage. What if there were no more vacationers coming in to Karen's shop due to the bad press?
Dayton was well aware that Karen had been one of Talbot’s victims, but he never let on to Jeff. He wasn’t even sure that Jeff knew. “Such a dimwit…” But a principled dimwit, as Dayton was coming to realize.
Dayton knew he had to tread carefully when Jeff arrived. He heard the slamming of a truck door outside of the Chattering Squirrel’s big window that faced Highway 35. He opened his eyes and saw Jeff Howe hurry around the front of the truck and toward the door of the small shopping center. He knew that Jeff would jog down the corridor toward the café and enter, breathless.
Dayton sucked in some air between his teeth and braced himself for his final argument with Jeff Howe about Frank Talbot.
That Jeff was 15 minutes away on a job outside of Webster was of no consequence to Dayton. He knew Howe would go 90 miles an hour to meet him in 10 minutes, as ordered. He knew Jeff was an obedient puppy that would do anything Dayton told him to do. He took another slurp and held the coffee cup under his nose as he closed his eyes and breathed in and then exhaled heavily. “Damn that idiot Lundeen…”
Dayton knew that at some time, Frank Talbot’s perversion would be exposed, but he never imagined it would be by that lame excuse for a newspaper, The Burnett County Sentinel, or their cub reporter, Martin Lundeen. He thought it would just be fodder for town gossip, stories that would finally be shared by young women who had kept their mouths shut for so long. The stories within the tribe would leak into the general population, and people would shake their heads and feign concern, but deep down, wouldn’t care any more about it than Dayton Daniels. He could almost hear the talk after services at St. Bart’s or at the Lady Be Lovely Beauty Salon. “It’s terrible, but thank God he didn’t touch any of the white girls in town.”
Dayton thought back to his last conversation with Jeff about Frank Talbot at Risky Dick’s a couple of weeks ago. An argument, really. While Jeff was pushing for them to finally expose Talbot before he retired and started drawing his pension, Dayton urged caution. “Jeff, think about it,” he said in his most earnest tone. “What would it say to the good people of Siren that for years, the School Board Chair allowed a pervert to continue in his job knowing he was sexually assaulting young female students?” He counted on Jeff’s basic lack of courage, his pride and his ego to swallow the argument without much push back. “You Chair this School Board, Jeff, and you forever will be seen as the bad guy in this scenario.”
But Dayton hadn’t counted on Jeff’s conscience being stronger than his pride and ego. “Dayton, I don’t care. This has gone on long enough, and I won’t have that jerk Talbot sucking at the tit of the school’s pension fund for the rest of his life!”
For years, they had known about Talbot's actions, but did nothing, even though Jeff believed they should. For all those years, Dayton said that they should just turn a blind eye “If it ever comes out, we can pretend we never knew,” he’d say quietly. “Obviously, he has a thing for Indian girls, so white girls aren’t in any real danger.” Comments like this would make Jeff wince, but Dayton knew he’d never protest. For years, Jeff had kept Karen's heritage a secret, either out of habit or deep-seeded bigotry of his own, even though "mixed marriages", as Dayton privately referred to them, were fairly common place in Burnett County. Just making Jeff Howe squirm gave Dayton a secret thrill every time he could get away with saying something that would knock the uppity and sanctimonious Karen Howe off her perch. And he knew Jeff would never say one thing about it.
In recent years, Dayton knew that Jeff felt more and more uncomfortable with their decision to do nothing. “It isn’t right,” he’d say, over and over again. Dayton started pulling every argument out of his back pocket that he thought would sway Jeff into continued silence. “Think about our town and its reputation. Think about the businesses that will go under if it gets out that perverts are teaching our children!” These arguments worked for a while. Dayton knew that when he talked about businesses going under, Jeff would immediately think about the threat to his own thriving business and what would happen if he couldn’t give the snooty Mrs. Howe everything she wanted. And what about Karen’s store? Something like this would be covered by the local and regional press, maybe even national coverage. What if there were no more vacationers coming in to Karen's shop due to the bad press?
Dayton was well aware that Karen had been one of Talbot’s victims, but he never let on to Jeff. He wasn’t even sure that Jeff knew. “Such a dimwit…” But a principled dimwit, as Dayton was coming to realize.
Dayton knew he had to tread carefully when Jeff arrived. He heard the slamming of a truck door outside of the Chattering Squirrel’s big window that faced Highway 35. He opened his eyes and saw Jeff Howe hurry around the front of the truck and toward the door of the small shopping center. He knew that Jeff would jog down the corridor toward the café and enter, breathless.
Dayton sucked in some air between his teeth and braced himself for his final argument with Jeff Howe about Frank Talbot.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
