The Paladin (6 page)

"Now is not the time for this, Zack."

"At least we can agree on that. Have a good life, Brenda, bye."

"Wait, don't hang up!"

"So, Brenda, why are you calling me?"

"It's about Will."

"I told you, I don't want to hear about you and your rich boyfriend."

"Don't you know?"

"Know what?"

"Will is dead," she blurted out.

"What?"

"Didn't Sara tell you?"

"I haven't talked to Sara since I left."

"Run out on everyone, didn't you?"

"What about Will," he said softly. Zack ran a grimy hand through his damp hair.

"Two months ago, Will took Betty's ashes out to California to spread them over—"

"Betty is gone too?"

"Yeah, and that lowlife husband of hers, Owen. Murder-suicide."

"Shit."

"Two sorry bastards killed Will and some hitchhiker he picked up. Anne…something. She was some kind of actress, I think."

"Mr. Trust Fund must have been rolling in the dough."

"Will was flat broke. Owen squandered everything, even Will's trust fund. All he had was Owen's old green car."

"You're kidding me. The Green Hornet; that was it?"

"Yeah."

"Why didn't you go with him?"

"When Daddy found out that Will was broke, he made me break up with him."

"Brenda, last I checked you were over twenty-one. If you loved Will so damn much, why didn't you stand up to the right reverend?"

"Let's just say it's complicated and leave it at that. Zack, Will didn't have anybody but us. I am giving him a memorial and it would be nice if you came."

"I don't know," he said as conflicting emotions fought within him.

"Regardless of what happened, you were his best friend. His only friend. It is only right that you should come to his memorial service and say goodbye."

Zack took a deep breath and let it out noisily.

"OK. I'll be in Bryson City…sometime tomorrow."

"Thanks, Zack. While you're in town, maybe we could get together and—"

Zack clicked off his phone while Brenda was in mid sentence. He hit a speed button on his phone and called a number that was long overdue.

After a couple of rings, he heard a familiar voice ask, "Hello?"

"Sara? It's Zack."

"Zack? It's about damn time! Have you any idea how I worry about your sorry ass! You don't even have the decency to call me!"

"Yeah, I love you, too, Sara. I will be back to town sometime tomorrow. Can I crash with you?"

"Whether you know it or not, you big idiot, this is your home, too."

"Thanks, doll. I'll see you sometime tomorrow, Sara."

Zack flipped his phone shut and climbed down the ladder.

"I don't pay you to talk on the phone, dummy," Bill said. "Get back to work or you're fired."

"I quit. Pay me for time served, you fat little dwarf. I need to go."

***

"Zack is still sore at me, Daddy," Brenda said. "But he is coming back."

"Excellent," said pastor John Mills as inwardly he breathed a sigh of relief.

John Mills and his daughter Brenda sat in what was left of his church office. The room was in complete shambles, as if it had faced the brunt of a tornado.

"Why can't I just explain the situation to Zack?"

"Are you insane?" he spat. "You yourself said that Zack was still mad at you. Do think for one minute he would want to help a two-timing ex-girlfriend?"

"But I—"

"We can't take the chance, you idiot! Zack turns us down and your mother is dead."

"Why do I have to seduce him like a whore?"

"Because that is the kind of man he is," said Mills. "We both know that Zack has left his mark on half the women in this town."

"It makes me feel…dirty."

"Listen to me," Mills said. "You
will
make him like you. You
will
give him what he wants, and I mean anything.  Nothing is out of line, Brenda, do you hear me? You have to have him eating out of your hand so he will leave no stone unturned and find us that damn jar!"

"I'm scared! Daddy, are you sure we shouldn’t go to the police?"

"The kidnappers said that they were watching and one wrong move on our part, they would start mailing body parts," he said. "They made it clear to me they were serious."

Mills tenderly touched his badly swollen eye and winced in pain.
Damn, all I wanted was a black eye. That nigger nearly gave me a concussion.

Brenda began to cry. "What if we do find that stupid jar and they still won't let her go?"

"Quit the boohooing and focus, you stupid bitch! They have nothing to gain by killing her. You listen to me, Brenda; it is all on your shoulders."

"Don't you mean my back?"

"Like I said, whatever it takes." Mills took out a credit card and tossed it at his daughter. "Here is some plastic. Go buy something…appropriate. You look
tasty
in black lace."

"Whoopee," she said dryly. "It's damn sad that my own father should think that way about me."

"Watch the smart mouth and be glad I left the twins alone."

Brenda glared at him, her red-rimmed eyes radiating raw hatred. "Touch either of them, you bastard, and I swear to God, I will—"

"Blah, blah, blah, whatever," he said. "Tell you what, Brenda. You play your part, and once we have your mother back, I swear I won't go near Mary and Grace, and this time I mean it. Deal?"

Brenda gave her father a long, hard look. She knew his word meant less than nothing, but for the first time in her memory, he seemed sincere. "OK, Daddy, we have a deal."

"Now you run along and get prepared. Remember, whether your mother lives or dies is up to you, Brenda."

"Great, no pressure," she said wiping the tears from her swollen eyes. Taking his credit card, Brenda rose from her chair and left the office.

John Mills carefully moved through the mess he had created and retrieved a bottle of vodka. He poured himself a drink and sat back in his chair. With shaking hands, he drained half the glass. He was walking a tightrope, and if he wasn't careful, he would slip and his well ordered life would resemble the chaos around him.

"I think Brenda would relish the fact of me being blackmailed over my sexual appetites. While that ungrateful bitch doesn't give a damn about me, she dearly loves her mother." Mills took a sip of soothing vodka and chuckled. "If Brenda only knew that her ‘kidnapped’ mother is actually on her way to a resort in the Catskills, I think she would kill me herself."

5

Zack glumly drove down the sun-dappled, tree-lined street that looked as if it had been the inspiration for a Norman Rockwell painting.

"Yah know," Zack mumbled to himself, "the only thing that would make the town perfect would be a trainload of gasoline and a match. God, I hate this place!"

Zack still bore the wounds from growing up in a town that loved to hold a grudge. Memories flashed through his mind, reminding him of the cruel abuse—both subtle and overt—he’d endured simply because his last name was Cole.

"I didn't have any say in picking my great grandfather," he shouted out the window. "You self-righteous idiots!"

Zack's blue Ford Ranger pulled into the steep driveway that led to a large two-story white frame house with green shutters.

The big wraparound porch held three ladder-back rocking chairs, a gently swaying swing, and an entire childhood of memories. To the locals, the neat, well-maintained home was simply known as the Butcher's House.

Zack got out of the truck, and the irresistible aroma of sausage and frying bacon placated his bitterness for the moment. No doubt in the oven there was a big pan of buttermilk biscuits with his name on it. He was home.

"Too bad it wasn't in a town that had never heard of Silas Cole," Zack said.

Closing the door of his truck he paused a moment and stretched his stiff back. Urged on by his rumbling stomach, he walked to the front porch and took the creaking steps two at a time. He pushed the worn doorbell several times until he saw someone coming through the beveled glass door.

The door opened, revealing the diminutive Sara Johnson. She was dressed in a loose flower print muumuu. Her giant, incredibly thick glasses made her weak eyes seem too large for her face. Zack gathered her in his arms and hugged the frail looking woman.

"I’m so glad you're home," she said. "Put your things away in your old room. Breakfast is almost ready. When you've eaten, I'm going to ream you out for staying gone two damn years without so much as a phone call!"

"Yep, good to be home," he said.

***

"That was the best breakfast I have had in years," Zack said leaning back in his chair. I think I gained five pounds."

"You look so thin, Zack, you haven’t been eating right have you?"

"I'm a college student; of course I'm not eating right," he said with a grin.

"More coffee?" she asked, as she got up from her chair.

"You sit, I'll get the coffee," he said tossing his napkin on the kitchen table.

Zack rose, and after retrieving two cups, filled them with aromatic coffee from an ancient percolator.

"It's so good to have you home. How long are you going to stay?" she asked as he placed the steaming china cup before her.

"Just for the memorial," he said as he sat down. "Then I have to get back; I have a test that I haven't studied for."

"What memorial would that be?" she asked in mid-sip.

Zack looked confused, "Why, Will's of course."

"Will Carlson? Who's giving Will a memorial?"

"Oh, I can't think of the name…something, something for Christ, you know, the Mills’ church."

"Are you joking? Zack, that son of a bitch John Mills got a restraining order to keep Will away!" she said, her eyes cartoon-like behind her huge glasses.

"Restraining order? But Brenda called me—"

"Brenda Mills? Oh, don't get me started on that gold digging tramp! You and Will were like brothers before she came along shaking her ass. Not to mention she's the reason why I haven't seen you for two years. Why, after you ran off with your tail between your legs—"

"Hey!" he exclaimed.

"Poor Will followed her around like a puppy till he lost everything, then that sorry bitch kicked him in the teeth. Memorial my ass! Something's fishy if you ask me."

"Does sound funny," he said. "I can't wrap my head around the fact that Will is gone. You are right, Sara; I should never have let that bitch come between us."

Zack sat back and smiled.

"Remember the time when me and Will were convinced that a panther roamed around the house at night? And we dug that hole to trap it?"

"How could I ever forget that?" Sara said ruefully. "I went out to hang up laundry and fell in."

"Now
that
was funny."

"Darn near broke my neck," she said with a laugh.

The ancient telephone on the wall rang.

"Bet that's Ruth," Sara said getting up from the table. "She probably wants a ride to prayer meeting."

Zack began to stack the empty plates and glasses as Sara picked up the receiver from the wall phone. After a few moments Sara announced, "Zack, it's for you. It’s the Bitch." In disgust, she dropped the phone to the hardwood floor.

"Brenda?" he sat the plates on the table and wiped his hands on a dishtowel.

Retrieving the dangling handset, Zack gave Sara a sour look.

"Hello?"

"Hi Zack, um, did Sara call me a bitch?" asked Brenda.

"Oh, no, she was taking about an itch she had," he said, "an itch she won't have to worry about in the old folks’ home."

Sara stuck her tongue out at him.

"Um, OK, I was wondering if you could come over. I really need to talk to you."

"There is no way in hell I'm going to your daddy's house."

"I have an apartment now."

"Oh, well that’s different. Sure, I'll be there."

"Could you come now? It's really important."

"OK, give me the address."

Sara Johnson stood a few feet away, a sour expression on her face. Hanging up the receiver, Zack ripped the address from the pad and folded and shoved the note into his pocket.

"I can't believe that you're going to see that hussy. What happened to her coming between you and Will?"

"Might as well hear her out. Won't hurt anything."

"Well be careful; she's up to something."

"Oh, don't worry, my heart will always belong to you," he said with a smile.

"Smart ass."

Zack wrapped his arms around Sara and gave her a big wet kiss.

6

Zack arrived at a red painted door, its shiny brass doorknocker emblazoned with the markings 6C. Ignoring the knocker, he rapped his knuckles against the thick door.

The door opened almost instantly, revealing a smiling Brenda Mills.

Brenda has grown up!
He thought as he beheld the gorgeous woman before him. In a mere two years, the pretty girl he remembered had blossomed into a beautiful, breathtaking woman. She wore a white clingy silk blouse and dark slacks that emphasized her trim figure. Her shoulder length blond hair was freshly coiffed and her makeup and nails were done to perfection. Zack looked into her blue eyes and his heart skipped a beat.

"I'm here," he said, trying in vain to ignore the vision before him. "What do you want?"

"Zack, come on in. It's really good to see you," she said.

Brenda gave him a lingering hug and gently kissed him on the cheek. Zack enjoyed the feel of her body against his.
Damn, Brenda smells good and she feels even better.

"Sit and we'll catch up," she said softly, motioning toward the sofa.

Zack, trying to stay focused, ignored her direction and instead sat in a brown overstuffed chair. The apartment wasn't at all what he expected. Zack figured Brenda's place would be a pink, feminine nightmare.

The Brenda he remembered had an almost pathological love of pink, frilly things. This place was almost bare. There was a mismatched sofa and chair and a table supporting a cheap TV. The white walls had a couple of paintings that made motel art look sophisticated.