No Pit So Deep: The Cody Musket Story (5 page)

“Brandi? Hi, my name’s Cody.”

Brandi turned around. Her stomach, still in knots, leaped into her throat. His chiseled face was handsome in a home-on-the-range sort of way. His sculpted cheeks were partially masked by a rough-hewn beard — the obvious cover-up for scars visible through his whiskers. His nose had been broken at least once. This guy had been in some fights.

The Pirates cap he had worn earlier was now in his back pocket and his sandy blond hair wet around the sides. Did he know that his shirt had turned pink on the front? The blood spatters had faded together, partially washed off by heavy rains.

Was she face-to-face with a superhero? He was not as tall as she remembered. His fiery eyes that could have intimidated Lucifer earlier were now softer, like quiet blue waters. He offered his hand, but his shallow, forced smile told her he was not certain how she would respond. Was his shyness just an act?

Whew!
His extended hand was attached to a massive forearm. His neck was wide and muscular, his body built to last, rough-cut from head to toe — a description that would make good print in her eyewitness report for the
Gazette.

“I wanted to thank you,” Cody told her, “for savin’ my life earlier.”

She could hardly believe her ears. Was it a come-on? Was his voice naturally that raspy, or just a poor attempt to imitate Batman?

“You want to thank me? Shouldn’t it be the other way around?”

She extended her hand. It was cold and unsteady. Would he notice? His handshake was warm, ardent, but gentle — the same paw that had just mauled three professional tough guys. She tried to swallow her stomach back down into place but her mouth was too dry.

“Well, I would’ve been a sittin’ duck if you hadn’t deflected that guy’s arm. You showed presence of mind and courage.”

“Presence of mind and courage?” She snickered. “You mean for a girl?”

“Uh, no I didn’t say that. Courage knows no gender.”

She tried not to laugh. The Texas accent, nearly as bad as in the movies, and one-liners about courage — where was he getting his material? Was he left behind by his Boy Scout troop?

“Why are you soaking wet?” she asked. “Did you get lost?”

“Lost? Nope. I went outside lookin’ for you.”

“Looking for me? Why?”

“Just wanted to see…see if you were okay.” He shrugged.

“You’re a long way from the rodeo, cowboy. I mean you obviously aren’t from around here.”

“Nope. What gave it away?”

Brandi fancied herself an expert at controlling a conversation, but she was on a slippery slope with this guy. She pulled out her smartphone to take notes.

“Texas. Right?” She looked up from her phone. “I think it’s a good thing that God didn’t make us all sound the same.” She waited for a response.

He took his time. His sweet-n-soft eyes perused her face like a pair of blue searchlights looking for hidden bounty. She wondered if Lois Lane had felt the same urge to hide behind something when she discovered that Superman had X-ray vision.

“So, it’s God’s fault I sound this way?” he finally responded. “I like that. You’re smart as a bullwhip —
for a girl.”

Was he just messing with her? Was he trying to be funny, or just plain rude?
Does this Stony Burke ever smile?

He was familiar but a total stranger. She should have known him but had no idea why. “Okay, let’s see, ‘Courage knows no gender.’ Who did you hear say that?” 

“It just came to me. You must have inspired me.”

Oh, how lame!
“Okay, fair enough. But why should I trust a guy from Texas who just happens to show up over a thousand miles from home right when I need a hero? Why were you here?"

“Divine appointment?” he suggested, his face like stone.

She wasn't buying it. “Okay. I get it. I’m grateful. You were wicked impressive, but I didn’t ask for your help, you know.”

He dropped his head and crammed his hands into the front pockets of his Wranglers. Sasha had warned him she wasn't high on men.

By now, his pupils had readjusted to the dim light. He noticed the raw skin and bruises on her throat. Her hands were still trembling. He winced at the abrasions and carpet burns on her arms, knees, and feet — the repugnant signature left behind by a gritty carpet over which she had been dragged.

As his staring eyes drifted downward, a solid knot formed in Brandi's throat. The cut-offs did not extend low enough to hide her battered legs. If only she had obtained a pair of full-length jeans when she had purchased the jersey. She put her phone away.

He raised his eyes and forced a hasty, genteel smile — an offering which seemed out of sync with his growly voice and brooding forehead.

“Well, as far as my showing up at the right time, I don’t believe things like that happen by accident.” His voice mellowed. “If it hadn’t been raining, I wouldn’t have been here tonight. I wudda been at work."

She frowned. Divine appointment? Why did he seek her out after the attack? What did he expect from her?
He works at night, but not when it rains?

During the awkward silence, Cody glanced toward a coffee shop. “Would you wanna get coffee at the Allegheny Brew?”

“Sure,” she said. “But it’s on me.''

As they walked, people stared. Cody covered his face with his hand, yanked his soaking wet Pirates cap from his pocket, and pulled it low over his eyebrows.

His secretive body language heightened her suspicions. “Are you here on business this weekend?”

“You might say that, but I had the night off.”

“Do you play games?”

Cody raised his brow. “Play games?”

“Yes. Games. Like right now. You’re just playing games with me, right?”

“
Ohhhh. Games.
Of course not, I never play games.”

“So let me get this straight, you work more than a thousand miles from home at night except when it rains? Or do you just zip about looking for somebody to rescue? Someone to beat up maybe?”

“Not really,” he muttered. His mechanical smile faded as he jammed his fists into his front pockets again.

She was crashing and couldn’t wait to get her hands on a cup of pick-me-up. “Do you enjoy making me play twenty questions?”

“I wasn’t counting.” He looked straight ahead as they walked.

At the coffee shop, he ordered a double espresso, and the server gave Brandi her usual — a topped-up macchiato. They sat down.

“So can you at least tell me your last name?"

"Can you tell me why those guys were after you tonight?" he countered.

"I asked you first, Mr. Texas."

Cody drew a deep breath. “I returned from Afghanistan several years ago, and I haven’t got what most people call a
real
job yet."

“A real job? How ‘bout a
real
name
?"

“What’s your interest?” He raised his cup and took a sip. “Is it just so you can write a story?”

"Should there be
another
reason?"

"I was hoping…" He hesitated. "Hoping we could be friends."

“Well, to quote the famous Rodolfo LaRenzo, 'You’re either a big nothing disguised as something, or a big something disguised as nothing.’ So which one are you?” She waited.

He stared for a moment and scratched his chin. “I heard someone say you played pro basketball in the WNBA.”

Brandi waved him off. “Yeah, but that was a while back.” She sipped her macchiato. “What about you, Cody? Do you know any professional athletes?”

“Not any as pretty as you.”

Her legs and neck were stinging and throbbing, and she was in no mood to be hit on or flattered. “So, um, Cody, do you have a girlfriend?”

“I had a blind date this week in Philly. She was a six-three hockey player from Erie.”

“Erie, Pennsylvania?” Brandi took a nervous swallow from her cup.

“Yep. Didn’t work out, though. We sat there at the arena coffee shop for about a half hour. We didn’t talk much.”

No talking? Hmm, that’s a surprise
. “So what happened?”

“Well, I cocked an eye at her, she cocked an eye at me, and we just sat there real cock-eyed for a while.” He lifted his cup again.

She covered her mouth and looked away.
Oh, God, please don't let me laugh.

“I can understand y’all wondering why I’m reluctant to tell you who I am. But there’s a reason.”

“I know,” she said, as if a light had dawned, “you’re with the Feds, or you’re a front man for some politician maybe?”

Cody rolled his eyes. “Where are you comin’ up with this stuff?”

“Stuff?
Well, you do know what a politician is, right?” She crossed her legs and began kicking her foot nervously under the table.

“Oh, I’m not very political myself.” He folded his arms. “In fact, to quote the famous Maxine T. Dillahogan, ‘Politicians and diapers are somewhat alike — they both need to be changed often, and for the same reason.’”

Brandi covered her face with both hands and tried desperately to keep from laughing out loud, but an impulsive knee-jerk sent her flip-flop flying underneath the table. It landed on his chair between his knees. The traumatic events of the evening and the macchiato had her wired.

She wanted to disappear into her seat, but Cody never reacted. He looked away momentarily and then dropped her wayward pink leather flip-flop back onto the floor underneath her feet.

The macchiato in Brandi’s stomach felt like lava. “Um, Maxine T. Dillamahoochie or whatever you said? Never heard of her. Who was she?”

The gravel in his throat rattled off again. “I just made her up.” He shrugged.

Brandi leaned forward, curled both hands around her empty cup, and fought the urge to crush it with her fingers.

“Mark Twain,” he rasped.

“Mark Twain?”

“It was Mark Twain — the guy who said it. About the diapers.”

She crossed her arms and sat back. Her glare would have sent a papa grizzly scurrying home to mama.

Cody decided to man up. "Look. In the lobby, I overheard your phone conversation with your father. You mentioned your values.”

Her mouth fell open.
Values? He was listening to my private conversation?

Her expression reminded him of a red warning sign he had seen often while in the Marine Corps —
Danger: Explosives.
Suddenly, he wished life had come with a “delete entire conversation” button like a smartphone.
Is she always like this, or do I just naturally have this effect on
women?

Now he had nothing to lose. He folded his hands, placed them on the table, and looked into her eyes. His rugged voice was calm and direct.

“I guess I picked a bad time to tell you. I don’t get out much, and I don’t often meet women who share my values. I wanted to introduce myself, but I got nervous and just followed you. Then, I saw those guys grab you, and —” His mouth tightened and he shook his head.

Her eyes softened. She twirled a lock of her dark brown hair around her fingers and cocked her head to one side.

“I took a risk coming back to find you,” he said. “I was afraid you would publish things that could endanger people I work with.”

Her brow wrinkled, her confusion on full display.
Endanger people?
What people is he talking about?

“I knew that even if I didn’t come back, you’d find out who I am anyway, so I’ve come to ask you to please not reveal my name to the media."

She scooted to the edge of her chair.

“My last name’s Musket. I play third base for the Astros.”

All life drained from her face. The deep breath she was holding instantly escaped. How could she have missed it? She had read about him — Medal of Honor and the best story in baseball this season.
Oh please, God! If I collapse right now, he’ll never let me forget.

“I'd like to keep my identity a secret,” he drawled. “If organized crime is involved, it could put my teammates at risk. I took a chance, but I had to find you. I want to believe you'll keep my identity between us.”

Quietly she stared down at her napkin in front of her. Her eyes became misty. “So…you’re a believer? I mean you said you shared my values and…”

They waited a silent moment.

Brandi clenched her fists underneath the table.
No crying. Not
now.
When she awkwardly blotted her eyes with the napkin moments later, Cody looked away.

“I still have issues,” he said. "If word of what happened tonight makes
SportsCenter
, they’re gonna ask me about things that — things I’m tryin’ to get past.”

For a few seconds, she could not look him in the eye. She was a moron. Crying.
Did I really ask him if he knows any professional athletes?
Does he play games? Uggh!

She expected him to leave, but there he sat. She must make amends somehow.