No Pit So Deep: The Cody Musket Story
Read No Pit So Deep: The Cody Musket Story Online
Authors: James Nathaniel Miller II
Table of Contents
Ne’er Saw True Beauty ‘til This Night
Making Good Use of the Off-Season
No Pit So Deep
The Cody Musket Story Book I
Historical fiction inspired by real events
by
James Nathaniel Miller II
Copyright © 2016 by James Nathaniel Miller II
All rights reserved.
Lions Tail Books
_______________________
All trademarks are the property of their owners, are acknowledged by the proper use of capitalization throughout, and are used non-disparagingly. Names of celebrities appear with no defamation of character or invasion of their privacy. The names of sports franchises, trademarked products, and celebrities are not used to promote this book and not intended to imply that they endorse or that they have any vested interest in No Pit So Deep
.
None of the characters in this story represents any person living or dead, but episodes surrounding these fictional characters were inspired by real events.
Technical Advisors
Robert W. Busby, US Dept. of Defense (Ret)
Lt. Col. Bart Wilbanks, 419
th
FW, USAF
Rebecca L. Mahan, domestic violence consultant
~ ~ ~
Love to my wife Carla, my inspiration for Brandi, and to my brilliant and beautiful granddaughter Maggie, who inspired me to create Knoxi.
My appreciation extends to actress Stacey Danger and to Ann Busby whose insights were priceless while developing the characters.
Special thanks to Vicky Kendig, who made me believe I could write this story.
Cover design by Jason Hagerup
A Word From the Author
“Sometimes a story finds a storyteller, not the other way around,” as the saying goes.
I had never thought of myself as a great author, but when this story found me, I had to step up, I had to become the best I could be. This allegory was riveting, inspired by real events and people. The first thing I had to learn was how to write fiction with a focus on truth.
Parts are gut-wrenching, some of it is funny, but all of it is the story of us as told through the progress of a pilgrim named Cody Musket and a courageous woman named Brandi Barnes. I believe that if you look, you’ll find yourself somewhere within these pages.
James Nathaniel Miller II
Strongly reinforces traditional family
values, but portions may be too
intense for small children.
Cody focused his gaze on the bridge that spanned the great chasm. The latest intel was unthinkable. Capistrano’s army would cross the gorge any minute. He and Brandi, along with fifty children and fourteen avengers, would be overtaken, outmanned, and outgunned — nowhere to run, no place to hide, slaughtered and gutted like sheep.
Suddenly, he heard a whining, howling turbine engine — the Cessna 208 Caravan blew right past them a few feet overhead. His eyes followed as the aircraft banked left, descended, and disappeared into the ravine.
“Daddy! Daddy!”
He looked to his right. Knoxi, age 6, was terrified, running toward him full speed. She jumped into his arms.
“Daddy! Daddy!”
Then Cody heard loud knocking.
“
Daddy?”
The knocking continued. He opened his eyes.
“Daddy! It’s time to get up.” She knocked again. “You said to get you up at seventeen-thirty.”
Cody rolled his eyes, momentarily disoriented. The room was dark and quiet. Brandi was still sleeping soundly beside him, although she had wormed her way out from under the sheet. He set his feet on the floor and reached for his robe, ambled to the door, cracked it open, and peeked into the hallway. Knoxi was one big smile.
“Thanks for the wake-up.” He spoke slowly, gathered a deep breath. “Uh, why are you grinnin’ like that?” He nudged the door open but a few inches, because behind him, Brandi lay on the bed uncovered.
“Jeremy texted me!" She was glowing but trying to keep her voice quiet. “His agent finally got him signed with the Dodgers — a monster contract!” She jumped up and down and clapped her hands. “Is Mama up?”
“Uh, no. She’s still asleep. That’s way cool about Jeremy. I’ll text Tanner. He must be one proud dad.” He paused and stared at his daughter. “You look all grown-up.”
“What? Grown-up?” She cocked her head. “Daddy, I was —”
“Yeah. I know, I know, you were eighteen in November. You look just like your mom.”
“Are you okay?” She reached her hand through the opening and felt his forehead. He was perspiring.
“I was dreamin’ about Librador again.” He broke a tight smile.
“That was a long time ago, Daddy.”
“I’m fine,” he assured. “I gotta get ready. Gotta be at the dinner before seven.” He eased the door shut.
It was 5:30 p.m. in Houston. The January sun was setting and shadows had already darkened the windows. He dialed up the bedchamber lighting one notch, exposing the serene, curvy contour of the sleeping woman on the bed.
Cody eased onto the mattress. Brandi lay facedown. Her left knee was bent, as though she were climbing a hill. He gently floated his hand across the small of her back, her lungs expanding effortlessly with each peaceful breath. Touching her calmed his stormy thoughts. He pulled the sheet over her.
They had retreated to the bedroom earlier for an
afternoon delight
, and now he did not want to disturb her. She had returned that morning from a two-week trip to France and Italy with Knoxi and had yielded to serious jetlag.
He took a steamy shower and then walked to the closet while drying off his dripping-wet, muscular, scarred body. She awoke and caught a glimpse through the corner of her eye.
“
Pssst!
I’m watching you, Babe.”
He turned around, buttoned his britches and walked toward her. “I was tryin’ not to rouse you. Gotta get a move on. Thought I’d take your Mustang.”
“Hmmm, it hasn’t seen daylight in over a year.” She was not fully awake. “Will it start?”
“I’m gonna find out. I’m in one of those wild and crazy moods.”
“Yeah, I could tell.” She chuckled. “So didja miss me?”
“
Ha!
You wanna guess how many ladies called me while you were gone?” His gravelly voice and slow drawl were his trademarks, especially when wanting to sound intimidating.
“How do you know they wanted to talk to you?” She yawned.
“Cuz the first thing they asked me was if Brandi was home.”
“Well, that’s because they were lookin’ for me.”
“I finally figured that out,” he muttered, walking back toward the clothes closet.
No surprise. She was accustomed to his mock arrogance and famous attempted humor.
“Babe! Look at me!” He turned around. She threw a pillow into his face. “You’ve always been such a bad liar!”
“You mean like when we first met and I said that New York had won its independence from Canada, and you asked me if all Texans believed that?”
“I did not ask you that.”
“I know, but I could tell you wanted to.”
“Like I said” — she yawned again — “you’re a bad liar.”
He tossed her the pillow, turned his back, and swaggered away. “So I’ll work on being a better liar. Does that make you happy?”
“
You’re disgusting!
I am
so
going to chastise you for your heady, high-minded arrogance when you get back home.”
“I’m counting on it.” He waltzed into the closet to find his shirt.
“But we have a problem,” she said. “My luggage was misplaced somewhere between here and Rome, so I may not have anything
appropriate
to wear tonight.”
He reappeared, holding his newly laundered and pressed shirt. “I didn’t have anything
appropriate
in mind.” He pushed his arms through the sleeves.
“
Ohhh!
I love it when you growl like that.” Even exhausted, she managed a momentary giggle. “By the way, the trafficking conference in Rome was seriously amazing. Knoxi’s story had them clinging to their boot straps.” Brandi raised herself to one elbow.
He began buttoning the shirt. “So how much did she reveal?”
“Everything. Her escape, the other children, the exodus, the miracles — all of it, including the mud trick and the orbiting light bulb. No one could believe she was only
six
at the time. Afterward, she was surrounded by people wanting to shake her hand —
mostly guys.”
“Hmm, college age, no doubt.”
“Roger that, as you Marines always say. So why do you all of a sudden wanna take my old Mustang? It's not exactly zero to one-seventy in two seconds."
“I have my reasons.”
“Come here, man of steel. You didn’t button it right.” She sat up on the side of the bed and rebuttoned the front of his shirt. “You never get it right. You’d think a grown man — Wait. Let me guess, you did this on purpose, right?”
“You never know.” He grinned.
“Well, when your mission is finished, expedite home to me, Babe. I'll be waiting up.” She reached up and shook him by his elbows.
“
Do you copy?”
“Copy that, ma'am."
Brandi drew the sheet up around herself, blue eyes smiling. “So as General Plasket once asked you,
‘Are we on the same page here, Lieutenant?’
” She had lowered her voice to impersonate the general.
“You never know. Gotta go.” He kissed her and walked out. After he had closed the door behind him, he hardly saw the stairs as he descended. His bed would be warm when he returned — the sweet
Song of Solomon
come to life.
* * *
Brandi listened as his boot heels tapped their way down the wooden stairway to the family room and then faded as he left through the rear of the house.
He wasn’t the man she had met sixteen years before. Walls he had built around himself after Afghanistan had long since toppled. Rumors had even circulated during the latter days of his baseball career that he had told his teammates she was the sexiest woman on planet earth.
Openly, she was embarrassed. When she asked him if rumors were true, he would say, “You never know.” But he would never deny it, and she relished the thought. After all, how many women had an MVP husband who bragged on his
own
wife in the clubhouse?
Now she was age 39. Despite permanent scars from brutal stab wounds on her breasts and abdomen and the fact she had gained twenty pounds in the past year, she was still the most desirable woman alive. She knew this because Cody would not let her forget it. His aviator call sign, Babe, was a tribute in more ways than she could count.
* * *
Cody glanced at his watch and hastened his steps from the back door of their stately southwestern villa, past the pool, and onto the lighted pathway to the barn behind their home. The sun had set.
Two weeks had been way too long. Missing Brandi, he had become bored and depressed. Now his girls were home, and he would share his jubilation with a classy lady who lived inside the barn.
Cody opened the doors, turned on the lights, and removed the cover from Brandi's vintage 1980 Mustang. He opened the driver’s side door and slipped into the worn leather bucket seat. This iconic muscle car of the past was a portal to when his life had begun sixteen years before.
Memories lived in this hot-blooded classic — the aroma of her perfume the night they had met and her tears the first time she had tried to say she loved him. Signing bogus Ricky Casper autographs at CoGo’s Fast Lane in Pittsburgh and barreling through wet streets near the Roberto Clemente Bridge with an armed hit squad in pursuit —
g
ood stuff!
But much like this once-upon-a-time queen of the road, he had lately wondered if he too were a relic. At the age of 43, did anyone believe he was dangerous anymore?
He turned the engine over, felt her pulse once again, pulled the shift to first, and eased the old girl past the doors and out into the pristine evening air. He gazed in wonder up through the custom sunroof — night skies clear, visibility sixty million light-years!
It wasn’t just about getting to the Walter Hodge Sports Awards Banquet where Cody was to be the guest of honor. It was as much about the ride itself — downtown and back in a chic roadstress from the past on a heavenly evening.
He came to the first intersection and turned left onto West Hammer Boulevard. Before he reached Loop 610, he was rudely forced into reality as approaching red and blue alternating strobes glared in his rearview mirror.
He sneaked a glance at the speedometer — cruise control holding at forty.
Nope, it’s not me they’re after
.
But within seconds, the unrelenting police vehicle pulled directly behind his rear bumper. Cody steered onto the shoulder lane, rolled down the window, and waited. A large police officer emerged.
What could this guy want?
Rapid chatter crackled uninterrupted through the police radio. Something was up. The officer slowly stepped toward the Mustang holding a blinding flashlight in his left hand and resting his right palm on the handle of his holstered sidearm.
His nervous body language was accompanied by a deep, commanding voice. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”
He glanced at the Mustang’s rear license plate as he approached and then momentarily aimed the intrusive light into the rear seat of the car. He asked for Cody’s license and registration.
He was tall, robust, and bald, with an advanced evening shadow and strong coffee breath. Sea Breezes Coffee Shop was nearby. Cody had spotted him there more than once but had never been introduced.
The officer used his flashlight to examine Cody’s driver’s license and then glanced at the former ballplayer’s face.
“Liquor store holdup. Blue Mustang. You aren’t doubling as a thug these days are you, Cody?” He offered a rigid grin.
“Don’t gimme any ideas, Officer. Things can get boring sometimes.”
“
Haha!
I didn’t recognize the car. Didn’t have time to run the plates. I know where you’re headed — that dinner downtown. My brother, Mike Cannon is receiving an award there tonight. I wanted to attend, but I gotta go on duty at seven — a heckuva thing.”
“You’re Mike’s brother? He used to be my teammate. I’m supposed to present him with the citizenship award tonight.”
“Nice digs, Cody. You look dressed to kill.”
“Hope you didn’t mean that literally.” Cody chuckled and slipped his driver’s license back into his billfold.
Officer Cannon turned toward another vehicle approaching from the opposite direction on the other side of the boulevard. The headlights illuminated the nameplate on the breast pocket of his dark blue uniform —
Morris Cannon.
The officer was not wearing a vest. Cody didn’t ask why. Perhaps he had stopped off at Sea Breezes while on his way to work and had then gotten the call about the liquor store robbery.
Cannon turned back again and pulled a notepad from his pocket. “Cody, I got a grandson who’d really appreciate an autograph. Any chance you could —” The officer never finished.
Without warning, the boom of a rifle shot at close range shocked Cody’s senses. A muzzle flash blazed from the open rear window of the approaching sedan. Despite the sudden ringing in his left ear, Cody detected that other instantaneous and grisly sound he had hoped never to hear again — the sordid thud of a bullet penetrating a human body.
