Telemurdering: Chapter 7 - 9

Telemurdering

Chapter 7

       

As the unsettling sensations of corporal and temporal displacement, which frequently accompanied his seizures, subsided momentarily, Nathan tried to open his eyes. As soon as he did, he became nauseated by an intense flood of light that reminded him of his supposedly miraculous awakening, 37 years ago, after two months in a coma. Feeling the advent of what he knew would be another, smaller, seizure - they were like aftershocks, he supposed - he drifted slowly in the darkness and silence. The sounds and smells that crept up on him suggested that he had slipped back in time once again, but not to Vietnam. He was dry and cool. In his experience, Vietnam was never both dry and cool at the same time. The first voice he heard and understood was the lilting voice of a female, saying, “We’re so glad you made it. The Lord was watching over you. It’s so good to have you here, among us.”
    Was he dead? Could this be heaven? Was that the voice of the Virgin Mary? Fearing what he might see, he kept his eyes shut. “Am I dead?” he asked.
    “My child,” came the answer, “you are not yet among the angels in heaven.”
    He didn’t hear angels singing, so maybe he was alive. If that were true, then the whole Vietnam thing must have been some kind of horrific nightmare. There was no way he could have survived if the dream he had experienced had, in fact, been real. Could he be at home in his own bed? He relaxed, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly upward into the beginnings of a smile. Maybe he was back home on a Saturday morning with no urgent reason to get up.
      But, if this was home on a Saturday, where were the smells of coffee and breakfast cooking in the kitchen? Where were the sounds his mother normally made, singing and humming as she prepared her famous bacon and mushroom omelets? Where was the sound of Jeff, making airplane noises as he flew his plastic model planes around the living room, and how about the orchestrated soundtracks from early morning cartoons that Jeff always turned up way too loud?
      Why did everything have a strong, antiseptic, medicinal odor like a hospital? Was he sick? Had he been in an accident? His curiosity overrode the fear that kept him from opening his eyes. He had to find out where he was and what had happened. Ever so slowly, he began to open his eyes. The first rays of light assaulted his long protected, dilated pupils sending shock waves of searing pain through his head. Closing his eyes again, he decided that he must be dead after all, because the blinding white light had to be emanating from a heavenly source; perhaps from the almighty, or his only begotten son, or . . .
    “Mr. Piper...” He heard the soothing voice of the angel that spoke to him a few moments ago. “Mr. Piper, can you hear me?” she asked.
    Nathan turned his head in the direction of the voice, “I hear you,” he answered.  Briefly, he remembered something about the blinding countenance of the Lord from his days in church. Perhaps this was Judgment day. The angel had only said he wasn’t among the angels in heaven, she hadn’t said he wasn’t dead, had she?
    “You have a visitor, Mr. Piper,” the angel said. “She's been coming to see you every day since you arrived here.”
    Nathan wondered if it might be his grandmother who had passed away several years ago. “Nanna” had always been so much fun. 
    “Nathan?”
    It was the sweetest sound he had ever heard in his entire life. He had to be hallucinating, because there was no way...
    “Nathan, are you awake? It’s me, Lindy.”
    There was no way it could be Lindy, his sweet, sweet, Lindy. He knew she was still alive, so it couldn’t be her. He had received her letters, two and sometimes three each week. He had written back at least once every week to let her know how much he loved her and loved getting her letters. Tears began to flow from the corners of his still closed eyes. Was this some cruel joke, or some kind of test with a purpose his mortal mind could not fathom?
    “Nathan, can you hear me, honey? You’re home. You were hurt real bad. You were shot in the head, but you’re home, and you’re going to be okay.”
    As she caressed his cheek, he felt the warmth of her hand and smelled his favorite perfume, the wonderful perfume that he had bought for her just before he had left Tulsa to go to boot camp. He wanted to open his eyes and look, but what if it wasn’t real? What if he was just imagining the whole thing? Sick people sometimes hear, see, and even smell things that aren’t there. If it wasn’t real, and if he wasn’t already dead this would kill him for sure. He tried to talk, but the knot in his throat prevented the words from making it past his lips. He began to cry, instead. He sobbed uncontrollably while Lindy assured him that everything would be all right. He was home. He had come back, and she was there for him.
    She couldn’t understand why he continued to cry, grieving in a way she had never seen before.
    He cried because he was happy, happy beyond belief, and at the same time because he was sad, saddened to the very depths of his soul. Gorilla, Mickey, Alvin, Jake, and the Lieutenant all deserved this kind of happiness. Their families all deserved to have happy reunions like this. He reached out to grasp her hand, which he then brought to his lips. As tears spilled like a Vietnamese monsoon from his still tightly shut eyes, he kissed her hand and delicate fingers as if they were the most precious things mankind had ever possessed, and to Nathan Piper they most certainly were. She leaned forward, as he lay there moaning, trying to justify his good fortune. She softly kissed his lips, and said, “I love you Nathan Piper.” She kissed him harder, and  said, “Don’t you ever go away from me again, you hear me? Not to save the world from Communism, or anything. You’re mine now. You’ve done your duty to your country. From now on there is nothing more important than our love.”
    After being discovered along the banks of the stream by a Lieutenant Sam Stetson who led the very platoon with which he, Little Joe, and Jerry had attempted to rendezvous, he had been taken to a field hospital and had undergone emergency surgery to reduce the swelling in his brain. The bullet had taken the top right portion of his skull clean off, and a small portion of brain tissue with it. It had been considered a miracle when he was still alive twenty-four hours after the surgery. The Injury to his brain and high likelihood of infection, after lying in the germ infested stream, made Nathan’s chances for survival and recovery minimal at best. As the days had gone by, after the initial swelling subsided, he hadn't regained consciousness, which came as no surprise to his doctors, but after being taken off life support, his heart, lungs, kidneys, and all vital organs pulled together and kept working as if he were in tip-top health.
    As Lindy stroked his still bandaged head, two months after he had arrived at the Sisters of Mercy hospital in Tulsa, she thanked God for Nathan’s return. She had been told he would face monumental challenges if he did, indeed, ever regain consciousness. Well, she was up to the task of helping him face those challenges. She believed love was the greatest healer of them all. She couldn’t imagine anybody loving anyone more than the way she loved Nathan Piper.
    Near the end of her visit, as the Sister whom Nathan had thought to be an angel returned, Nathan asked Lindy, “What about Little Joe, and Jerry? Did they make it?”
      As Lindy started to answer, the nurse interrupted, “That’s enough time for today, please, Miss Parsons, we can’t tax him too much, too soon. You can come back and see him again, tomorrow. The doctors are going to be here any minute to run some tests.”
    Lindy leaned down and kissed Nathan one more time. He felt her tears spilling onto his face, and there was a tremble in her voice as she said, “Tomorrow can’t come soon enough.” She squeezed his hand and then turned to leave. He heard the clicking of her heels on the linoleum floor as she crossed the room, followed by the nurse. The door opened and he listened intently as the sound of her footsteps receded and the door closed.
    He still hadn’t opened his eyes. He was afraid he would see it had all been an illusion or a dream. How could he be so fortunate, and how could he face a world he had no right to still be a part of? He began to sob again, crying and praying for the souls of his lost companions and their families. His pitiful lamentations were interrupted by a familiar voice that he never expected to hear again.
    “It’s about time you woke up, you dumb ass!” It was Jerry! He was here! He had made it!
    “Jerry,” Nathan cried out, “Jerry, is it really you?”
    “Well it ain’t the Easter Bunny, you doofus! We’ve been wondering when you would quit playing possum and wake up.”
    Nathan excitedly asked, “Who’s we? Who’s with you?”
    A second familiar voice filled the room, “Hey, General Custer, you look like you’re recovering from your scalping! If you would open your eyes you would know who’s here. We aren’t that hard to look at, are we?”
    Nathan tried again to open his eyes. The searing light hurt just as much as when he tried to open them earlier, but little by little he began to make out the vague images of Jerry and Little Joe, dressed in their Marine combat fatigues. “We’re the reason you’re still alive,” Jerry professed.
    Little Joe agreed to that, and said, “We ducked under the water, and thanks to the strong current and the will of the spirits, we got downstream and met up with that other patrol. There were about 20 of them. We told them you might still be alive, so they came looking for you and found you with the top of your head shot off.
    Jerry interrupted, and said, “You weren’t using very much, if any, of your brain, Nathan, so what are a few missing cells, to a bozo like you, right? Finally, a couple of Hueys showed up and got us all out of there just as another Viet Cong patrol was arriving. It was close, but here we are!”
    Little Joe said, “Hey, they told us downstairs you weren’t supposed to get any more visitors today, so we better get out of here, but we’ll be back.”
    “Yeah,” Jerry said, “we snuck up here. You should have seen Little Joe, tiptoeing as if he was more afraid of the Sisters of Mercy than he was of the Viet Cong. Now behave and do what the doctors say, okay?” They turned and headed for the door.
    Nathan hated to see them go so soon. He said, “Guys?”
    Jerry turned back around, “What, Nathan?”
    “I didn’t think you made it. I thought you were...”
    Jerry stopped Nathan by waving off the comment nonchalantly and said, “Hey only the good die young, you know that,” and with that, he opened the door and was gone. 
    When the two neurosurgeons came in minutes later, they told him it was Christmas Eve and that his awakening had the entire hospital buzzing about a Christmas miracle. They conducted hand to eye coordination tests and checked his visual acuity. They asked him questions to test his long and short term memory and after a while told him that he must be as patient with himself and his loved ones as he might wish for them to be with him.
    “You may very well experience extremely realistic hallucinations, Nathan,” Dr. Tommy Terrill advised. You may feel overwhelming guilt and anxiety, followed by periods of virtual euphoria. We have a number of drugs to treat these symptoms, but finding the right one and the correct dosage takes time. You’ve come further than anyone ever anticipated, Nathan, but I’m afraid you’ll have to be patient with the medical profession and our ability, or rather our inability, to treat you and heal you as quickly as you wish.”
    The other surgeon, Dr. Douglas Langston, said, “We’ll be off tomorrow, but we’ll see you the day after. He handed Nathan a crossword puzzle book and said, “Here, here’s something to pass the time that will help us see how well you focus on tasks that require a particular type of concentration. Work on that for us and let us know of any headaches or nausea you might experience. Don’t try to hide anything from us. Not even the slightest thing, from seizures to gas, we want to hear all about it, understand?”
    Nathan said that he did and thanked the doctors for their concern. They both paused at the door, smiling broadly, and wished him a Merry Christmas before they turned to leave.
    Nathan was happy, but strangely fatigued. What a day this had been. Alone in his room again, he began to piece together the events that had lead up to today. He had evidently...the phone rang, interrupting his thoughts. He leaned over to the nightstand, where the phone sat next to the table lamp and a metal pitcher of ice water, which sat on a folded, green cloth, napkin to soak up the moisture from the pitcher’s condensation. He picked up the phone, suddenly feeling an odd sense of foreboding, and answered, “Nathan Piper.” He heard nothing in return, yet felt for sure that someone was there, listening to him. He waited, but still there was no sound coming from the other end, and again he said, “Nathan Piper,” followed by, “Hello, is anybody there?” There was no answer. Obviously, Nathan thought as he hung up, the hospital operator had misdialed and had reached the wrong room and then realized it. But why did it leave him feeling so uncomfortable? Uncomfortable wasn’t even the right way to explain how he felt. He thought about it for a minute, and decided that a better word was spooked, or maybe chilled. He had actually felt the hair rise on the back of his neck and he had felt a chill. He would have to mention that to Dr. Langston the next time he saw him. He opened the crossword puzzle book and frowned. He and Lindy used to work crossword puzzles together sitting on the concrete steps in front of her house, but this one looked too hard, too time consuming. He closed it and laid it on the nightstand. He would look at it again, later, maybe.
    Christmas day included an emotional reunion with his parents and his little brother. Rather than hugging him, Ralph Piper reached out to shake hands with his son. He seemed ill at ease with the whole situation (since he was a boy he had always hated hospitals). Sitting in the corner of the room, he watched and listened to his son, stunned that his boy had come out of a two month coma. After what his son’s doctors had told the family when he arrived back from Vietnam, he had been more prepared for his son to die, or to remain comatose as a vegetable. At the very best he had expected a drooling candidate for the state’s mental institutions, yet here he was, alive, and not that very much different from the way he had been before he left. He was glad, hell, he was thrilled, but he just hadn’t had time to adjust to this unexpected turn of events. Occasionally, he made insensitive jokes like, “Is that what you have to do to get a hair cut in the Marines,” and, “Didn’t I teach you to duck?” He laughed nervously after each attempt at humor, but his son did not. Ralph noticed that right away. Something was wrong. It wasn’t that Nathan didn’t like the jokes. It was that he didn’t get them. He didn’t understand that they were jokes. 
    Nathan’s mother, Alice, needed no adjustment period and wasn’t paying attention to anything other than the fact that she had her boy back. She cried tears of joy as she hugged her oldest son, saying, “I prayed every day for you, Nathan.” She had brought him a couple of pieces of her homemade apple pie, which Nathan had always loved. He thanked her and told her not to worry about him, because he was going to be just fine.
    Jeff, who was now 13 years old, hugged Nathan, (in spite of his natural teenage boy disdain for hugs) and asked, “How long before you can come home, Nathan? I could use some help with hitting a curve ball.”
    Nathan told him, “Guys your age shouldn’t be throwing too many curves. Bad for the elbow, you know.”
    “Tell that to the guys who are striking me out,” Jeff countered.
    Lindy arrived about the time that Nathan’s family was getting ready to leave. “I’d have gotten here sooner,” she said, “but I couldn’t get my Volkswagen to start. It’s really bad about that in cold weather.” She had brought presents for all of Nathan’s family, a toy airplane glider for Jeff, a pair of mittens for Mrs. Piper, a manicure set for Mr. Piper, and for Nathan a satin pillowcase with embroidered hearts. “I have a matching one on my bed,” she said, smiling, as she slipped it onto the pillow Nathan had been lying on. She gently tucked it back under his head and kissed him. It was a long kiss, longer than what some folks might have considered appropriate with the whole family watching.
    Rolling his eyes, Jeff said, “Get a motel.” His juvenile comment caused Lindy to blush, and drew a playful slap from his mother. 
    “You behave young man,” she said.
    “Well, we’ll leave you two lovebirds alone,” Mr. Piper said, obviously relieved now that they were leaving. “Merry Christmas son, let us know if you need anything.”
    “Thanks Dad, Merry Christmas,” Nathan replied.
    “Merry Christmas, Nathan,” Jeff said, “It’s good to see you awake.”
    “Thanks, Jeff. It’s good to be awake. Merry Christmas.”
    Nathan’s Mom just had to have one more hug and then informed Nathan that she would be back to check in on him tomorrow.
    “Thanks for the pie, Mom... Love you.”
    “And I love you Nathan, you know that. This has made me so happy.” A single tear rolled out of the corner of her right eye and slid down the side of her cheek as she turned and followed the rest of the family out the door.
    With just the two of them in the room now, Lindy said, “At least this time your eyes are open. She pointed towards the trashcan next to his bed, and asked, “Is that a crossword puzzle book in the trash can?”
    “Yeah, but it made me feel weird when I tried to do some of puzzles. It was like, I don’t know, it was confusing and it made me feel uncomfortable.” Lindy reached out, sympathetically, and patted his chest. “Yesterday, I was so afraid the whole thing might be just a hallucination, or a dream,” Nathan said, “I was afraid if I opened my eyes you wouldn’t really be there.”
    “Well, I am here,” Lindy said, as she took off her gray leather coat and laid it over the back of the chair that Nathan’s dad had been sitting in. She sat down on the side of the bed and said, “I’m here, and I’m not going away,” she reached out and slipped her hand into his, “I’m real, see?” She squeezed his hand for emphasis and smiled, producing those dimples that he had loved ever since the first grade. “Nathan,” she asked, with a serious look on her face, “is your sense of touch okay, I mean, can you still feel things like you used to?”
    “I haven’t noticed any numbness, or, hey, what are you doing?” She released his hand and slipped hers under the covers. “What if the nurse walks in? I don’t think the Sisters of Mercy would...” He gasped, as he felt the warmth of her hand and compression of her slender fingers closing on him. The seriousness etched on her face a moment ago gave way to a look of impish mischief, and she was obviously enjoying the look of panic on his.
    “Silly boy, you didn’t really think a silk pillowcase was all I was going to give you, did you? I’ve heard that when you lay in bed for too long your joints get stiff. I just wanted to see if that was true. Oh dear,” she feigned a worried look, “I think it must be true. This joint seems to be getting terribly stiff.” She continued torturing him, saying, “I’ve heard that stiff joints can be terribly painful, Nathan. Is it terribly painful?” she asked.
    “Yes, but Lindy, please, I have to sleep in this bed,” Nathan pleaded. “What if, what if...”
    Paying no attention to his protests, Lindy said, “I’ve heard that the best thing for stiff, painful joints is to massage them.” She released him and leaned over to get something out of her purse, which she had set on the floor next to the bed. When she straightened back up, she held a small blue towel and a little pink bottle of Jergen’s hand lotion. There were those dimples again, as she smiled and then raised one eyebrow, asking, not so innocently, “Now, where were we?”
    No more than thirty minutes after Lindy left, Jerry and Little Joe showed up. Jerry had a red Santa Claus hat perched on his head and a big red sack slung over his shoulder. Little Joe had a pair of antlers and a red nose. “Ho, Ho, Ho, Merry Christmas,” Jerry bellowed in his Oklahoma drawl. He squinted as he looked intently at Nathan, and then nudged Little Joe with his elbow. “Looks like somebody already got what they wanted for Christmas!” Nathan blushed as Jerry asked, “Does Santa have to move you over to the naughty list, little boy?”
    “It wasn’t my fault,” Nathan assured his friends, “she was the one who started it.”
    “Lucky guy,” Little Joe commented, as he sank into the chair Nathan’s Dad had sat in earlier. “Show him what we got for him,” Little Joe said to Jerry.
    Jerry dropped the sack onto the bed, reached down inside, and pulled out a small, blue package with a golden ribbon. He handed it to Nathan and said “Merry Christmas, buddy.”
    Nathan felt ashamed, and didn’t know what to say. “I didn’t have a chance to get anything for you guys. I ...”
      Little Joe interrupted him, saying, “Yes you did. You waded into that stream, firing and attracting the attention of the gooks. We wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t done that, Nathan. You were there for us just like the Marine motto, “Semper Fi.” That’s why we’re here for you today. It almost cost you your life, so don’t tell us you didn’t give us anything.”
    Nathan looked down at the small box wrapped in blue tinsel wrapping paper and began to open it. He pulled off the golden ribbon, tore the paper, and then saw the uncovered box. It said Timex. He opened the box and carefully lifted the watch out. It wasn’t an inordinately expensive watch, but it wasn’t a piece of junk, either. And besides, it was from his best friends. That made it worth more than just about any watch he could imagine.
    “Look on the back,” Jerry instructed.
    Nathan flipped the watch over and saw that there was an inscription. It read, “Welcome back. Christmas 1966, Jerry & Little Joe.” Tears welled up in Nathan’s eyes, and he said, “Guys, this is just the best. You’re the best. Thanks. I’ll wear it every day.” He pulled it on, fastened the buckle, and admired it. His eyes were damp with emotion.
    Little Joe and Jerry both gave him a hug and got up to leave. “Ho, Ho, Ho,” Jerry said, “See you soon.”     
    At ten-thirty A.M., the day after Christmas, Nathan’s doctors were back. “She did what?” Dr. Langston inquired. He seemed shocked at what his patient had just told him.
    Nathan looked at him sheepishly, and replied, “Well, you said you wanted to know everything.”
    “Look, Nathan,” Dr. Terrill put his hand on Nathan’s shoulder, “we aren’t judging you from a moral standpoint. What happened is very understandable, but you have to be careful not to exceed your capabilities.”
    Timidly, Nathan answered, “I didn’t seem to be exceeding them, Dr. Terrill.”
    “Well, we appreciate your honesty, Nathan,” Dr. Langston interjected, “but promise us you’re going to let us know if you’re going out for a ten mile run. You see, when you get your heart rate up, anything can happen.”
    “So you want me to call you if Lindy and I...”
    Dr. Langston looked at Dr. Terrill, and chuckled, “What do you think Tommy? Should we take the two of them down to the lab, turn them lose and hook up the monitors?”
    Dr. Terrill scratched his chin and thought about it for a moment, with Nathan seemingly believing they were being totally serious. He broke into a chuckle and said, “I can’t do this. We’re just kidding with you Nathan, but listen, we’re trying to make a point. We would like to put you on a treadmill, and really check you out a little more before we can give you a clean bill of health. So far, all we know, other than the fact that you’re awake and your “Willie” works, is that you can make it from your bed to the bathroom and back. We have you scheduled for a stress test and a couple of other procedures this afternoon at one. After we look at those results we’ll be able to tell more about how you’re doing.”
    Doctor Langston glanced up at the TV, where the three stooges were poking each other in the eyes and knocking each other’s heads around in one of their traditional slapstick routines. The two doctors stood, watching with professional interest, as Nathan’s attention became totally focused on the TV. Noticing that he was being observed, he said, “You know I used to think these guys were too silly, but I’ve been laughing my ass off at them ever since this show came on this morning.”
    Dr. Terrill said, “Brain injuries of the type you sustained, Nathan, are sometimes responsible for a change in a person’s sense of humor. I’d like to schedule a written test that might tell us a little more about other changes you might experience. By the way, have you finished your crossword puzzle book?”
    Nathan looked down at the floor, like a little kid who has been caught doing something he knew was wrong. “I threw it in the trash,” he said.
    “Why did you do that Nathan?” Dr. Terrill asked. We aren’t mad or disappointed that you threw it away, but we are curious. What made you feel like throwing it in the trash?”
    Still looking guiltily down, at the floor, Nathan replied, “It was just too, too, I don’t know. The words were all over the place instead of being in a line like they’re supposed to be. You know, from left to right. It made me feel strange. Is that bad?”
    Dr. Terrill shook his head, “No Nathan, there is no bad at this point. We’re just learning about what you can or can’t do, but I must say that doing that kind of puzzle is something you might want to try again. It might be good exercise for your brain. Good therapy, you know?” The doctor smiled, and asked, “Are you doing anything around four today?”
    “I don’t think so,” Nathan answered, completely missing the doctor’s attempt at levity.
    The doctor looked at Nathan inquisitively for a moment, and said, “Nathan, if you were answering me lightheartedly, you might have answered by saying, ‘I’ll check my schedule.’ Can you see how that might be considered humorous?”
    Nathan looked confused, and said, “I don’t have anything on my schedule, Dr. Terrill. Why would I say that?”
    Dr. Terrill shot a concerned side-glance at Dr. Langston, and then patted Nathan’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it son. Don’t give it a second thought. Just worry about getting well. Have you got anything else to report?”
    “Could you say something to the operator about ringing my room and then hanging up? I must have had fifteen calls overnight, and each time there was nobody on the other end. It made me feel kind of, well, kind of chilled. It was like I could tell there was someone on the other end, but they wouldn’t speak up. I’m beginning to feel more uncomfortable each time the phone rings.”
    As he stood up to leave, Dr. Langston said, “We’ll look into it son.”
    In an out of body experience, which was not uncommon when Nathan was caught up in the hallucinations that accompanied his seizures, he floated above and behind the two physicians as they walked down the hall. Dr Terrill asked Dr. Langston, “Did you notice his sense of humor?”
    “You mean the lack of it?” Dr. Langston replied.
    “He was loving the Three Stooges, but didn’t seem to have a clue when it came to subtle humor.”
    Langston nodded in agreement, “Consistent with frontal lobe injuries, but his ability to function sexually makes me think his injuries aren’t as severe as we were led to believe. What about the phone thing?”
    “Don’t know,” Dr. Terrill shook his head, “Could be just a screw up in the phone lines or something, but it could also be a precursor to mild hallucinations. No overly aggressive behavior yet, but he’ll probably experience seizures. We should put him on something to help him deal with the frustration he’s going to encounter, but I wouldn’t recommend prescribing Thorazine, unless we have to, what with the potential side effects. No sense in making the guy drowsy and impotent unless we have to.” As they reached the elevator at the end of the hall, Dr. Terrill asked, “You playing golf today?”
    “No time,” Langston grumbled, “I probably will tomorrow. Dr. Ortega has an 8 A.M. tee time reserved at Municipal. You wanna play?” 
    “Let me check my schedule for tomorrow,” Terrill replied. “If I can talk someone into covering my rounds tomorrow morning, I’ll play. I’ll let you know within the hour.”
    Dr. Terrill turned and headed down the hall, while Dr. Langston pushed the down button for the elevator and waited. “Vietnam was pure Hell, I’m sure,” with no one else around Langston spoke out loud, “but unless I’m wrong, and I really hope I am, the remainder of that young man’s life is likely to be just as tough.” He shook his head as the elevator doors slid open. He got on and pushed the button for the third floor. In the empty elevator he thanked his lucky stars for the life he had and asked for God’s help in treating Nathan and other unfortunate veterans returning from Vietnam.
    Nathan floated back to where his body lay in his hospital bed, satisfied that his doctors cared about him and would do their best to help him recover from his wounds. If he had to live the rest of his life without the enjoyment of crossword puzzles he guessed he could handle that. And as for the subtle humor comments, he didn’t understand what they meant, but didn’t figure that it was all that important or they would have been a lot more concerned.
                                                                                    “Telemurdering”
                                                                                        Chapter 8
    Before mustering the nerve to open his bleary eyes, Nathan sniffed the air, checking for the medicinal odors of a hospital. He liked what he didn’t smell or hear. There were no antiseptic hospital odors and no squeaking gurneys being pushed down a long corridor, also absent was the smell of fishcakes cooking over an open flame accompanied by the voices of Vietnamese villagers. Opening his eyes, Nathan scanned the living room, checking to see that he was back, not only in the right place, but also in the proper time period. Satisfied with what he saw, he got up slowly, making sure his wobbly legs would support him, and went to the kitchen to get a cold glass of iced tea and a couple of Motrin. Seated once again, he looked up at the 25th anniversary picture of his Mom and Dad on the mantle and at the beautiful portrait of Lindy, which hung on the wall above the fireplace. This room held so many important memories. He missed his Mother and Father, but he missed Lindy even more. After surviving Vietnam, he had always
thought they would grow old together. Feeling exhausted and thirsty, as he always did after a seizure, he took another large swallow of tea, rubbed the cold glass across his forehead and then set the glass down on a coaster before leaning back on the couch to reminisce about Mom, Dad, and this house. He didn’t know why, but it seemed like the clarity of his memories always improved after one of his “episodes.”
    Nathan, Lindy, and Jeff had moved to the quiet community of Richburg, Texas back in 1968, when, at the age of 48, Dad quit Texaco over Mom’s protests and moved away from Tulsa to go into the pipe fitting and oil well drilling business. Richburg was 25 miles southwest of Houston, in Fort Bend county, and although it added a half hour to his commute time, traveling to his office near Houston’s ship channel, Dad had said the lower housing costs, taxes, and crime rates made it all seem worth it. Besides, he had often said that he liked being out in the country. Nathan vividly remembered him dangling a Marlboro in his left hand, flicking the ashes out through the partially opened window as he drove. He had said there was something soothing and intrinsically right and proper about driving through the countryside, populated with horses and cows, on his way to work each day. At night, before getting up off this very same couch, Dad would lean over to extinguish his last smoke in the Michelin ashtray that used to sit on the very coffee table where Nathan’s glass of tea now sat. He would smile, listening to the bleating whistles of trains in the distance as they rumbled across the Texas landscape which was still, at that time, liberally dotted with working, pumping, oil wells. Financially, starting up the new business had turned out to be a good decision, as “Piper Pipes and Drilling” became extremely successful, but it kept Ralph away from home far more than he, his wife, or his family would have preferred.
    Before they left Tulsa, so that their friends could attend the happy event, Nathan and Lindy were married. It was a touching ceremony as the childhood sweethearts declared their eternal love in vows which they had personally written. Nathan looked at her portrait and repeated the words as if somehow she could hear him.
    “I will love you and be true to you forever,” he said, “Nothing can ever change my love for you, not even death. Through sickness and through health, through all time, forever, I will always love you.” Lindy, whose countenance was like that of an angel in her white, beaded gown literally beamed as she nervously repeated the vows. The minister pronounced them man and wife, and as Nathan pulled the veil back to kiss his dimpled beauty, he felt he must have been the luckiest man on earth. He had survived Vietnam and had married the woman of his dreams.
    As Nathan lifted back the veil, Lindy briefly caught sight of her father and mother in the front pew of the church. Her Mom was dabbing at her eyes with an already soaked handkerchief. The sight produced a mountain of emotion that welled up within her, leaving her fighting to control the potential waterfall of tears that threatened to spill forth. She ducked her head and momentarily looked down. Then, struggling to maintain her composure she
looked up into Nathan’s eyes, reminding him so much of the adorable little girl he had kissed in the cloakroom back in the first grade.
    “I don’t think Mrs. Brophy can get us in trouble for this one,” Lindy had whispered. “Besides, she won’t have to call our parents, they’re already here.” In that magical moment, as she stood on tiptoe, her chin still tilted upward after kissing him for the first time as Mrs. Linda Piper, Nathan saw all the love he could ever dream for or would ever need, a whole lifetime of it, being expressed right there in those twinkling, trusting, blue eyes.
    Later, as they danced during the reception with their arms wrapped around each other, Lindy commented that she had never seen a more perfect wedding. Nathan sighed and agreed except for one thing, which he kept to himself, he had felt a strange emptiness because Jerry and Little Joe had not been there. Nathan had personally mailed invitations to both of them, and understood that they were still in the Marines, probably in Vietnam, but they had not even responded. He understood that wartime mail was not the most reliable thing in the world and wondered if they had ever received his invitations. Jerry’s Mom, Shirley, who had moved to Florida after divorcing Jerry’s Dad, sent an Osterizer blender, a really nice one, but she never
mentioned in her note how Jerry was doing. Nathan had always thought that was odd.
    In 1976, as “Piper Pipes and Drilling” prospered, the family moved again, into the much larger and more opulent two-story home where he and Jeff now lived. Jeff and Lindy went to work in the family business, Jeff in the field, as a foreman, and Lindy as a draftsman, which left Nathan at home during the day with his Mom. He had tried, but hadn’t been able to handle the pressures of working in the oil fields where quick decisions frequently had to be made that could mean the difference in a financial success or catastrophic failure, and sometimes even life or death. Because of his injury, his attention span was usually insufficient to allow him to perform tedious tasks such as bookwork, or taking customer service calls. Even the training sessions for the majority of the simple jobs he did manage to land were too intense and made him feel uncomfortable. As a matter of fact, over the years he had tried time and again, and found himself unable to do much of anything for long that would be considered gainful employment. His mother would bring him his lunch while he sat on the couch in the living room watching reruns of Laurel and Hardy, Spanky and Our Gang, or his old favorites, the Three Stooges. She would make sure he took his pills and would sit with him while he ate, telling him she was sure everything was going to be all right.
    Smoothing his hair back away from his forehead as she had done ever since he was a child, she had said, “Your Dad and I love you, Nathan, You know that. So do Lindy and Jeff. Don’t you worry about finding some high paying job. We love having you and Lindy here with us.”
    “I know you do,” Nathan remembered saying, “but Mom, Lindy wants to have her own house. She wants to have a family. How can I be a good father, if we do ever have a baby, when I can’t even keep a job?”
    “Sometimes we just have to put our faith in the Lord,Nathan,” she said. “If he spared you and brought you back to us, I just have to feel he has a purpose for you, son. If he can provide for the sparrow...”
    Nathan sighed, remembering how full of good, biblical, advice his mother had always been. But in this case, he clearly recalled how he had responded. He had told her, “Mom, Lindy isn’t a sparrow. She’s a woman who wants to have children, children who are brought up in her own house, filled with her own furniture that reflects her own personal tastes. I could lose her if I can’t give her those things, Mom. My disability checks just aren’t big enough. I could lose her.”
    Shocked, Mrs. Piper had pressed a hand against her chest, and asked, “Has she said anything about leaving you, son?”
    Nathan had told her, no, but it had been eight years, and he didn’t know if Lindy would wait forever. His mother stood up, bent over and kissed the top of her son’s head, picked up his TV tray, and went back into the kitchen to wash the dishes. Standing at the sink she had told Nathan in spite of his brain injury and all the challenges that went with it, She just couldn’t imagine Lindy ever leaving him. Lindy was patient and so very sweet, still, Nathan understood every woman had a right to her own home with her own things in it. He understood that; and if she wanted to have children, well, he thought he understood that too. They had even gone to a fertility doctor in downtown Houston, and after extensive testing had been told that while it might be difficult, there was no reason they absolutely could not have children. Nathan’s sperm count was below normal, but not to the point that he could be considered totally impotent. Nathan’s Dad had once insensitively confided to Jeff, who passed the secret along to Nathan, that judging by the sounds he and Alice heard at night, two and sometimes three times a week coming from the upstairs bedroom, they were certain that their son and his wife were still physically attracted to each other, and were still trying to conceive. Dad had chuckled, about the “Love Bunnies” that lived above him, and occasionally admitted to the entire family, under the influence of alcohol, to his wife’s utter mortification, that the sounds filtering down from the squeaking bed frame would inspire him to do what Alice’s brother, Uncle Bob, called, “Chasin’ Momma around the house.” About the absence of grandchildren in the Piper household, Nathan remembered his Mother standing in the kitchen, saying, “We have to put our faith in the Lord, son. We’ve got to trust in his will.” Then, as she dried the dishes, she had hummed one of her favorite church hymns, “Leaning on the Everlasting Arms.”
    In July of 1977, Nathan’s father had a heart attack. Shortly after dinner, around 7pm on a warm Tuesday evening he had been outside, under the shade of the old pecan trees in the back yard with Nathan, pitching horseshoes, when he grabbed his chest and keeled over. Nathan’s screams quickly brought the rest of the family outside, and since the hospital was less than 2 miles from the house Mom decided they could get medical attention to
Ralph quicker if they took him, rather than waiting for an ambulance. The two boys picked their father up and put him in the back seat of the big, black Cadillac he had recently bought. Mom peeled out of the driveway while the boys and Lindy ran to Jeff’s Truck. It would be the last time they would ever see their father or mother alive.
    As Alice Piper turned left onto highway 90, the Cadillac was struck broadside by an 18 wheeler traveling at about 55 miles an hour. Neither she, nor her stricken husband had been wearing seatbelts, and in all likelihood they were both killed instantly by the impact. As Jeff, Nathan, and Lindy arrived at the scene only three minutes after the crash occurred, the police had not yet arrived. The Cadillac had been crushed, twisting the passenger compartment into a grotesque shape and leaving little doubt as to the condition of the automobile’s occupants.
      Nathan and Jeff frantically pulled on the driver’s side doors which refused to budge because of the twisted frame, but they could both clearly see that neither one of their parents were moving. When the police arrived, they had to pull the two young men away from the accident. The air was thick with the malodorous scent of gasoline as it gushed from the big Caddy’s ruptured tank. Still struggling with one of the officers, Nathan screamed antically, “Those are my parents! My father’s had a heart attack! My mother was taking him to the hospital!” He was still pushing and shoving, trying to return to the wreck, when the hot engine ignited the fumes from the pool of oil and gas that had collected under the vehicle. The fire and explosion that followed ended the futile efforts to rescue Mom or Dad. Nathan stood there numbly, watching, as Lindy leaned against him, sobbing. Jeff sat on the curb with his head in his hands as the Cadillac became a funeral pyre for his parents.
    Hundreds of friends attended the memorial service, the majority from the church which they attended and the employees of “Piper Pipes and Drilling.” It was all a blur to Nathan. He found it difficult to understand how his Mom and Dad could have been there one minute and gone the next. This was home, but it was almost like war. It was like the driver of that 18 wheeler was the enemy that came out of nowhere, just the way it happened in Vietnam.
    The driver of the 18 wheeler, a dark, Hispanic man in his late forties named Rudolpho Hernandez came up to Nathan after the memorial service and offered his most sincere condolences. “If there is anything I can do to ease the burden for your family...”
    Nathan wasn’t sure what the man was talking about. How could he do anything? He had killed Ralph and Alice Piper. What could he do to fix that?  It had been several days since Nathan had taken his medication, because Mom hadn’t been there to bring it to him and Lindy believed Nathan took it on his own. Without his medication for the first time since waking up in the hospital, he had felt different. He felt more alert, more alive, but at the same time more nervous and much more agitated. The night before the service he hadn’t slept well at all, awakened four or five times by the telephone, just as had happened in the Sisters of Mercy hospital in Tulsa. Each time it seemed as if someone, or something, evil was on the other end, yet it, or they would not speak. During the services, Nathan had tuned out much of what was being said, thinking about the previous evening’s calls. He considered the fact that they might have come from the man who killed his parents. The man who claimed he could not stop his 18-wheeler in time to avoid the collision. That short, dark skinned, man who now reached towards him unexpectedly, putting his hand on his shoulder...
    Nathan threw a punch without so much as thinking about it; a hard right hand, with no warning whatsoever. It connected cleanly to Mr. Hernandez’s jaw and sent him sprawling to the floor right there in front of God, the minister, and the whole flabbergasted congregation. Pouncing upon the stunned truck driver, Nathan had drawn his right arm back to strike again and was stopped by Jeff, who firmly grabbed his right arm and held on.
    “No, Nathan! Don’t do it!” Jeff had shouted. “Nathan, get a grip on yourself, you can’t attack people in church! My God!”
    Nathan had struggled to free his arm, but Jeff was joined by several others who forced Nathan to the floor. He had looked up, bewildered, saying, “Jeff, he was going to attack me! I thought he had a knife and was going to attack me and then, when I was out of the way he would attack you and Lindy. I couldn’t let that happen!”
    Mr. Hernandez got up off the floor, rubbing his jaw, saying “I wasn’t trying to hurt anybody! I was trying to tell him how sorry I was, and out of the clear blue he just belted me! What’s wrong with him, anyway?” he had asked.
    Lindy didn’t like that one bit. She always got steamed when someone accused her husband of being “not right.” She charged right up to Mr. Hernandez and shouted, “You killed his parents, you stupid bastard, that’s what’s wrong with him! Can’t you understand that?” She turned and helped
Jeff get Nathan up off the floor, “C’mon honey,” she had said, “let’s get out of here before I have to kick his...”
    “Now Lindy, shame on you,” a voice behind her had rung out. It was the minister, Reverend Taylor, who’s phony, condescending tones had always rubbed her the wrong way. “Please! Let’s show a little compassion for this man. Your husband attacked him and he was only...”
    As Nathan remembered, while Lindy and Jeff escorted him through the exit, she turned her head and shouted over her shoulder, “I don’t want to hear it, Reverend, just keep it up and I’ll come back and kick your ass too!”
    In the parking lot, Nathan seemed to have calmed down, and Lindy, with her arms crossed, looked up at him with love, concern, and a touch of frustration. “That went well,” she said in a sarcastic tone. She uncrossed her arms and reached out to her husband. “Are you okay, honey?” she asked. “Are you feeling alright? Did he say something that made you do what you did? What did he say, Nathan? Tell me.”
    Nathan had replied, “I don’t know what he said. I never really heard him, something about if there’s anything I can do. Blah, blah, blah...”
    “Well, yeah, that’s a good reason to cold cock someone,” Jeff had interjected. “God sakes, Nathan right there in church! Wouldn’t Mom be proud?”
    “I’m sorry,” Nathan shrugged, “I really thought he was going to hurt us, I don’t know why I felt that way, but I did.” He opened the door to Jeff’s truck and got in. He sat there pouting like a little boy, his lower lip stuck out, while his wife and brother looked at him and then at each other.
    Lindy’s shoulders drooped, and she sighed as she got in the truck next to Nathan, closed the door and buckled her seat belt. She had turned to Jeff, and asked, “Do you think the Reverend heard what I said, about kicking...”
    “Oh, yes,” Jeff replied, turning the ignition key and shaking his head in amazement and disbelief, “every word.”
    She looked down at the floorboard silently for a moment, and then began to snicker. The snicker evolved into a hearty chuckle, which escalated into a full-blown episode of healthy, body shaking, laughter. It was an infectious laugh that Jeff contracted the very first time he glanced sideways in Lindy’s direction. Nathan was the last to succumb. He began to laugh partially because he didn’t want to be left out. He never was quite sure why Lindy and Jeff were laughing so hard, but it was such a relief to say goodbye to that sullen, somber mood that had prevailed just moments earlier.
    The distinct feeling of being watched caused Nathan to open his eyes, and when he did he was startled to see Jerry and Little Joe standing there looking at him. They had evidently let themselves in without his knowing it. “Just what the hell are you doing, Nathan?” Jerry asked.
    “Well, actually, I had one of my spells a little while ago, and I was just sitting here on the couch, resting and thinking about the past.”
    “Have you been taking your medicine?” Little Joe asked.
    “Evidently not as often as I should,” Nathan admitted, “but I feel better now that you guys are here. What’s up? Can you stick around for a while?”
    “Sure,” Little Joe replied, flopping down on the couch next to Nathan, “This is your day, buddy.”
    Jerry plopped down on the loveseat and asked, “Played any football lately, Nathan?”
    "It's been years since I've even thrown one, or had one thrown to me. Gee, that's awful isn't it?" Nathan mused.
    "And you call yourself a Razorback?" Jerry wondered. "Get up off your ass, boy. Go get your football and let's have some fun!"
    Nathan and his friends went out to the garage and found a half deflated football. "Uh-oh," Nathan said, holding it up for the others to see, "looks like this little piggy has seen its better days, guys."
    "Let me see," Jerry asked, and Nathan flipped the half-squashed football to him. "Looks like we could invent a new sport that might just replace football, Nathan."
    "What's that?" Nathan asked.
    "Flatball," Jerry answered, fading back in the empty three-car garage as if to pass.
    Little Joe chuckled, and asked, "Do you throw it like a frisbee, or do you try to make it spiral, like a real football?"
    "Good question," Jerry said, striking a pose imitating the famous Heisman trophy, "let's go to the back yard and find out."
    Cutting through the house on their way to the back yard the phone rang. Nathan stopped whistling the Arkansas Razorback fight song and said, "I better get this guys, it's probably Jeff. Ya'll go ahead, I'll be there in a second." He picked up the phone and cheerfully answered, "Birthday boy here, who's calling?"
    What he heard in response was not Jeff, instead, he heard, "Mr. Henderson, is that you?"
    Nathan had heard the voice before. It was the voice of the telemarketer from the previous night. It was immediately familiar to him and had the effect of instantly changing his mood from one of a happy, carefree guy, celebrating his birthday with good friends, to that of an angry, pressured and somewhat confused individual. What should he do, he wondered? Blow his top? Why in the world was this asshole calling him again? Then he remembered his new friend, Jim Patton. He would ask to speak to Jim, that was it. Jim was the boss of that telemarketing operation. This idiot telemarketer would surely back off when he realized he was talking to one of Jim's friends.
    "Come on, Nathan," Little Joe shouted, holding the back door open and leaning in. "Get rid of whoever that is, man. It's kickoff time!"
    Nathan held a hand over the phone to block his voice from being heard, and said, "It's some stupid telemarketer. He thinks I'm a Mr. Henderson. I've told him he has the wrong guy, but he won't let it go, he keeps calling."
    "Well, hang up on him man," Little Joe implored, "you're holding up the game! This is nationwide Network TV! The crowd wants to see the next Jim Thorpe in action!"
    Nathan had heard of Jim Thorpe, he was a Native American who had been one of the first stars of the NFL in its early days, and had gone on in 1920 to become the first president of the NFL. Holding up one finger, he assured his Cherokee friend he'd be there in a minute. Little Joe nodded in a way that said, "Don't take all day," and closed the door, after which he could be heard shouting to Jerry like a ten year old in the back yard, "I'm open, I'm open, throw me the ball!"
    Lifting the phone back to his mouth, Nathan said, "Look, I'm a friend of Jim Patton's, and I'm busy right now," his voice escalated in volume considerably as he said, "so either hang up, or put Jim on the phone right now! And, by the way, this time don't try to gain my sympathy by telling me you're in a wheelchair, I happen to know you aren't handicapped!"
    He didn't expect the answer he got. "Mr. Patton won't be c-coming to the phone, Mr. Henderson..."
    "I'm not Mr. Henderson I keep telling you. If I can remember your name, Mr. Paul Grand, you sure ought to remember mine, I'm Nathan Piper, at 12355 Old South drive…"
    "Mr. Patton isn't here tonight. He d-didn't come to work today and we haven't heard from him. Something b-b-bad may have happened to him. That's why I try so hard to get people to set an ap-ap-ap-ap..."
    "Appointment!" Impatiently, Nathan finished the word, tired of listening to the stuttering. He wondered how this guy kept his job.
    "Yeah," Paul said, "appointment. I have a stuttering p-problem."
    "No shit,” Nathan exclaimed, reaching the end of his rope. “Look, we don't need a security system. I'm an ex-marine and a Vietnam veteran. If someone breaks into this house, they're gonna be damned sorry they did. They aren't gonna leave without some serious damage!"
    "Mr. Hender... err, Mr. Piper, would you rather see one of my people on the weekend? We could come by on Saturday, between ten and two."
    "Look!” Nathan shouted, "Even if we wanted to see one of your people, which we don't, we aren’t even going to be here this weekend, we’re going out of town! So stop calling!" The back door opened again and both Jerry and Little Joe stood there, looking in.
    "Look, I have to go," Nathan said. "I have company. I'm not Mr. Henderson and we don't need a security system. So don't call here anymore!" He slammed the phone down hard and looked up, making sure his friends had seen the way he had handled the situation with such authority.
    "It's almost halftime," Jerry said. "We need our star player."
    "Put me in coach," Nathan shot back. He trotted towards the door whistling the Razorback fight song again, raising his right hand as he ran out into the back yard in the universal "We're number one" gesture used by every football player that made a big play. After making a lap around the back yard, Nathan shouted, "Who's got the ball?"
    "We do," Little Joe yelled. "Get over here and let's have a huddle." Nathan hustled over and bent down, listening to Little Joe, while on the other side of the line of scrimmage Jerry waited to defend against whoever went out for a pass. It was the same rules Jerry and Nathan had always used. The quarterback had to pass. Running plays were boring, and besides with just one man on defense it wasn't fair if he had to cover two players instead of being able to concentrate on just one. Nathan figured his Mom would have a fit if she saw him playing football. After he was wounded she was always so protective of him, even going so far as to ask him to wear a hat wherever he went and demanding that he wear a helmet if he was going bicycling. He had always done his best to humor her, but she was gone, and right now he was going to have some fun.
    "Okay," Little Joe said, "Listen up team! Let's do a little razzle-dazzle. You hike the ball to me, then run back and I'll lateral the ball to you and act like I'm going out for the pass, but then you run in front of me and lateral the ball back to me, and I'll throw you a touchdown!"
    This was great, Nathan thought. He could almost hear the crowd chanting, "Whooooo, Pig Sooey!" He walked up to the ball, bent over and then said, "Wait a minute, time out!" He stood up, imitated the sound of a whistle, and placed his left palm on the tips of the upraised fingers on his right hand to signal a pause in the action.
    "What is it?" Little Joe asked.
    "He saw we were gonna blitz!" Jerry shouted, "He wants to call a different play! You guys ain't gonna score against me!"
    Nathan glanced over his shoulder at Jerry, as he walked back to Little Joe and whispered, "You forgot to tell me when to hike the ball! Do you want me to hike it on one, or two, or what?"
    Little Joe looked stunned. "You wasted a time-out because of that? Man! All right, I guess the networks have to get their commercials in. I'll say hut one, hut two, and then when I say hut a third time you hike it."
    "Are you gonna say hut three, or just hut?" Nathan asked.
    "No, I'm not gonna say hut three, Nathan. Hike the ball when I say hut, after you hear me say hut two, okay?"
    "Okay, so after you say hut two, but before you say hut three, right?"
    Little Joe looked frustrated.”You're killing me! Whose team are you on anyway? Get back up there and snap the ball the third time you hear me say the word hut! The commercial's over, and I don't want a delay of game penalty!" Nathan turned around, headed back to the line of scrimmage and bent down, getting a grip on the squishy, almost airless ball with his right hand, preparing to hike it back to Little Joe. He listened for the snap count.
    "Hut one."
    From the other side, Jerry shouted, "I'm gonna intercept this pass!"
    "Hut two."
    "You're meat, Piper" Jerry yelled. "You're meat, and I'm the grinder! Grrrrrr," he growled, fiercely, and did his best to sound menacing.
    "Hut!"
    Nothing happened. Little Joe stood there, with his arms outstretched, waiting. "Nathan," Little Joe shouted, "what are you doing? I said, "Hut!"
    Turning around, while Jerry put his hand over his mouth and started to laugh, Nathan said, "I thought you said we were gonna hike it the third time you said hut."
    Throwing his hands up in the air, Little Joe shouted, "Nathan... that was the third time!"
    "Tweeeeet" Jerry made the sound of a whistle blowing, and made the signal for delay of game. He picked up the ball and stepped off five yards. He then turned, and while his friends watched with their hands on their hips, he looked towards the imaginary sidelines, announcing loudly, "Delay of game against the offense, five yards! Still first down and fifteen yards to go! Tweeeeet." He made two large, circles with his right arm, indicating time on the field was starting up again and went back to his side of the line of scrimmage, giggling, to wait for Little Joe and Nathan to run their play. Just as Nathan approached the ball, he heard the phone ringing in the house.
    "Oh, man, I have to answer it guys. It's probably Jeff this time, for sure." Nathan ran to the back door and burst inside, grabbing the phone on what must have been the sixth or seventh ring. Slightly out of breath, he answered, "Hello? Piper residence."
    "Mr. P-Piper?"
    "Yes, who is this?" He had a pretty good idea, but he couldn't believe it.
    "Oh, this is Paul, Paul Grand. I was c-calling back to see if you, or Mr. Henderson, would like to see us about a security system for your home, we had a cancellation, so we could be there tonight, or would t-t-tomorrow be better?"
    This was the last straw. "Listen, you moron, I told you to quit calling here and I meant it. Last night I called and spoke to Jim Patton about you, and he assured me that you wouldn't be bothering me anymore. Well, when he gets back to work, I'm going to talk to him again and I'm pretty sure you aren't going to have a job after that!"
    Paul didn't seem the least bit scared of Nathan's threat, and replied, "Well, you m-m-might be right, if Mr. Patton was coming b-back, but I'm not so sure he is. You sound pretty t-t-tough on the phone, but I b-bet you're j-just like the rest of the American cow-cowards that threw in the towel and retreated from Vietnam. My wife is half Vietnamese, and you sh-should hear the horror st-stories her parents told about what happened after you guys turned t-tail and ran! You j-just abandoned them, man!"
    Nathan slammed the phone down. He wasn't going to listen to anyone that spoke that way about him and the men he fought with. Little Joe and Jerry came back in at that point and asked what he was doing.
    "It's that telemarketer, again," Nathan said. He called us cowards, guys. Can you believe that? He called us cowards, and said his wife is half Vietnamese. He said her Mother and Father were harassed because we turned tail and ran!"
    Jerry got a sour look on his face and said, "Sounds to me like one of those Commie Gook lovin' bastards that sits on his butt and whines about the rights of his poor defenseless people. He lives here and takes all the good things this country has to offer, and then points his finger of blame at the very people that died tryin' to help the South Vietnamese. No other country gave a damn about those rice eatin' vermin. You ought’a go pay him a visit, Nathan. I think you ought’a go square him up!”
    Nathan considered what Jerry was suggesting, but felt it was little too extreme. "Jerry,” he said, "if I cornered him, that guy would probably either piss his pants or pull a knife. Or, if I had to really get tough with him he might try to get me arrested! You know how those things always boomerang on you. I think I ought to just see if the whole thing will simmer down. Besides, how am I going to get into Houston? Because of my seizures, I don't have a driver's license. I mean, what would happen if I was going 60 miles an hour and had a seizure? I could get killed, or I could hurt someone.”
    Little Joe put his hand on Nathan's shoulder and asked, "Does that mean you can't drive in an emergency, Nathan?"
    "Well, I don't know," Nathan replied, thinking about it, "I guess I could. No, I definitely could, yeah, sure, if I had to. But, Jeff would have a fit if I were to go rough someone up over something as silly as a few phone calls!"
    The phone rang again. They all looked at each other, and then Nathan bent down and picked up the phone. Picking up the phone he remembered how he had felt in Vietnam, when he looked under a rock that he had just seen a snake crawl under. You knew what was coming and you didn't like it, not one bit, but you still had to look. "Hello?" 
    "Nathan, I've been trying to reach you, but the line has been busy. Have you been on the phone?" This time it was Jeff. Nathan breathed a sigh of relief.
    "Jeff, yeah, I've been on the phone. Some stupid Viet Cong loving telemarketer keeps buggin' me to set an appointment to look into getting a security system, and before that I had a mild seizure. Now, don't get upset. It was just a little one. You know, where I'm floating downstream and I see the monkeys. It didn't leave me feeling hung over or anything. I woke up just in time to find Jerry and Little Joe coming in. I forgot to tell you
they dropped by for a few minutes yesterday and said they would be back today if they got a chance, and guess what, Lindy called and I got to talk to her for about ten minutes."
    "Nathan," Jeff sounded extremely concerned, "you mentioned you had a mild seizure. Are you all right?"
    "I'm fine, Jeff. I told you it was just a mild one."
    "Are you remembering to take your medicine every day?" Jeff asked.
    "I'm not going to lie to you Jeff. I don't take it every day. I forget sometimes, and then sometimes I don't take it because I don't like the way I feel when I do. I don't like being Nathan the zombie. And I don't plan to go to the football game this weekend not caring about who scores or who wins."
    "C'mon Nathan, it isn't that bad. You used to take it everyday for Mom. Don't make me have to nag you about it. Look, I'm running late and I wanted to see if you were doing okay. I'm sorry about being late on your birthday, but I'll be home in about an hour and a half and then we can go hit the Swinging Gate, how about it?"
    The Swinging Gate was Nathan's favorite barbecue place. It had been doing a booming business, not far from Maple Grove subdivision since the early '70's, and he loved their barbecued chicken and ribs. His mouth started to water at the very mention of the place.
    "That's my baby brother! Now you're talkin', man! I'm gonna get me a combo plate and go to town!"
    Satisfied with the way Nathan sounded, (there was no slurring of speech, and he didn't sound spacey) Jeff said, "I thought that would make you happy. Now do me a favor, buddy, and go take your medicine. Do it right now, please, and I'll be home as soon as I can."
    Nathan sounded pretty enthusiastic, as he exclaimed, "For a combo plate at the Swinging Gate, you could ask me to take a double dose and I wouldn't complain!" After hanging up he admitted to himself, "I might not do it, either, but at least I wouldn't complain."
    After hanging up he turned around to where he expected Jerry and Little Joe to be, but they were evidently back outside again, as the door was slightly ajar. He walked through the back door again and spied them sitting on the grass, under one of the old pecan trees near the back of the yard, against the fence. Sitting down on the grass with them he said, "What gives guys? What about the game?"
    Little Joe held up the limp, airless remains of the pigskin. "Jerry tried to kick a field goal and that was all she wrote. We gotta go anyway, Nathan."
    "Yeah, we gotta go,” Jerry said, "but before we do, we wanted to give you a little something for your birthday. It ain't much, but we hope you like it." Jerry reached down into his right pants pocket of his jeans and retrieved a slim, flat package, wrapped in green and brown marine camouflage styled paper. He handed it to Nathan, who took it and began opening it immediately.
    "You guys are the best," Nathan said, as he tore the paper back to reveal a brand new, brown leather watchband. "Wow, that's nice, guys. Thanks."
    "There's an inscription on the band, Nathan," Little Joe pointed out.
    Nathan looked closer, and saw the famous marine motto "Semper Fi."
    "We're just like it says," Jerry said, pointing to the burned in inscription, "Semper Fi, Nathan: Always faithful. When you wear that watch, always remember your friends from the corps." Nathan was fumbling badly with taking off the old watchband and trying to put on the new one. Little Joe reached out to help.
    "Here, give it to me, Nathan. Let me put it on for you." Nathan handed it to him and watched silently as Little Joe's nimble fingers quickly and easily attached the new band. He handed it back and said, "Now, put it on and let's see how it looks."
    Nathan strapped it on and buckled it, holding it out for all to see. "Wow, that's a perfect band for the watch, guys. Thanks again." There were hugs all around, and then the phone rang again.
    "Oh, no," Nathan protested, "I hope that's not Jeff saying he isn't going to be able to make it home in time to take me to the Swinging Gate!" He picked up the phone, and answered, saying, "Barbecue express!"
    "M-M-Mr. Henderson, or is this that other guy that lives there?"
    Nathan couldn't believe it. Jerry and Little Joe could tell who was on the other end of the phone by the look of horror on his face. Supportive friends that they were, they were immediately full of suggestions.
    "Tell him you'd like to meet him, Nathan," Little Joe eagerly advised.
    "Yeah, Jerry agreed, "tell him you'd like to take him to dinner, to make up for giving him a hard time."
    While his friends whispered their suggestions, Nathan had been pushed past the point of being reasonable. With his face turning red he blurted out, "Listen here you little gook lovin' puke, I told you to leave me alone and I meant it. I know where you work and I know your boss, so quit fuckin’ with me before I have to get in your face!"
    Out of the corner of his eye Nathan could see Little Joe and Jerry waving and saying, "No, Nathan, no, no, noooo," trying to stop him from being so hostile. They were wanting to get the Gook lover's trust and then teach him a lesson when he wasn't expecting it.
    Nathan slammed the phone down again, sure that his tirade had created the desired level of fear in the idiot on the other end of the phone. He paused, staring down at the phone, trying to will it to keep that stupid son of a bitch off of it, huffing and puffing like an old man that had just been forced to climb a flight of stairs. He rubbed the back of his neck, and as the normal coloration returned to his face he looked up at his friends.
    At the Alarm Company, Paul Grand was hunched forward in his cubicle, speaking in a low voice so that he wouldn't be overheard. "I'm telling you Gi-Giselle, this guy lives in a big house out in Richburg. It's in that Maple G-Grove subdivision where we got that washer and dryer last year from that house that was still under c-c-construction."
    Holding the cordless phone to her ear by leaning her head over and pinning it against her shoulder, Giselle was attempting to pull her pantyhose back up after taking care of an old and unusually obese regular customer at the modeling studio. He had tipped her an extra fifty bucks, after she had charged him $180.00 for her "standard show," which included a little nude dancing followed by some old fashioned cock-sucking and the grand finale, a splash in her gash. The fat fuck wore a toupee that looked like it was ripped off a mangy dog, and must have tilted the scales at around three hundred and sixty pounds. He damn near suffocated her while he was on top of her and reeked of Old Spice after-shave, which he must have liberally applied to his chest and balls shortly before walking in the door. The after-shave, mixed with the stench of at least two or three days worth of sweat trapped between the cascading folds of flesh, created a sickeningly sweet, musky bouquet that would have had any normal girl launching her lunch, but Giselle wasn't any normal girl. And, not to unnecessarily belabor the point, but if you thought the smell was the worst of it, it was only because you didn't get a good look at the inflamed, puss filled, cysts and raw skin caused by poor hygiene and old-age induced poor circulation. At the age of 26, she was a 12-year veteran of escort services, stress relief spas, and traditional whore houses. She had seen and done it all with men, women, children, and yes, even a few friendly farm animals and pets. The word, revolted, had been deleted from her unabashed dictionary a long time ago, but if you looked in your own dictionary under the word revolting, there was a good chance it would say, "See Giselle."
    "Are you positive he doesn't have a security system?" she asked, after which she coughed and made a couple of spitting noises.
    "He bragged about it," Paul replied. "He's an ex-Marine and a Vietnam vet, all full of that macho b-b-bullshit. You know the type, like that one we k-killed over in the Heights. Hey, are you okay?"
    There was a pause on the other end, during which the sound of gagging and throat clearing was plainly heard, followed shortly by Giselle, who sounded relieved, saying, "Finally, I got it."
    "Got what?" Paul asked.
    "A pubic hair, a gray one. Oh, pick up some milk on your way home, and be sure and pay Sally tonight or we'll have to look for a new baby sitter. Did you want to hit this Marine's house this weekend?"
    Paul took a quick look around just to be sure nobody was trying to listen to him before he continued, "I g-g-got his address. He g-gave it to me when he got m-m-mad at me for calling him the wrong name. He figured when I found out I had the wrong address I would stop c-c-calling. I thought we m-m-might drive out there and check the place out this weekend. He even told me he was g-going out of town." 
                                                                        "Telemurdering"
                                                                              Chapter 9
         Turning from Plantation onto Old South drive around eight o'clock Sunday night, after the long drive back from the big game in Arkansas, (which the Razorbacks had won) Jeff had to swerve to avoid a white Mustang dragging a U-Haul trailer. "Fuckin' idiot," Jeff shouted, leaning on the horn as the Mustang turned too sharply, almost causing the trailer to clip the front of Jeff's Ford pickup. Even before pulling into the driveway Jeff knew something was wrong. The lights were off throughout the house, and he was sure they had left several lights on to make it look like someone was home. Either someone had been in the house or the electricity had gone off, and a quick glance towards his next door neighbor's house told Jeff  that their lights were on and it wasn't an area wide problem. Rather than driving into the garage Jeff stopped in the driveway, reaching out and putting his hand on his brother's leg, saying, "Nathan, we've got a problem, buddy."
    Nathan was busy looking at the souvenir program from the game as they were pulling into the driveway and didn't have any idea that something was wrong. He had spent the majority of the return trip dozing, bugging Jeff to stop so he could use the restroom and get something to eat, or going over the roster in the program guide attempting to memorize each Razorback player's name and number. Closing the guide as he felt his brother's hand, Nathan asked, "What's wrong Jeff?"
    "Somebody's been in the house!"
    Nathan's eyes got wide as his gaze turned from Jeff to the house. "How can you tell?"
    "I left one light on upstairs and one in the dining room so that it would look like someone was home, and they're both off now."
    Nathan opened the pickup's door and stepped out, still staring at the house. "Let me go in first, Jeff, I've done a little hand to hand combat in my time."
    Jeff shook his head and said, "Nathan, get real. If anyone is still in there, what you learned thirty-odd years ago in combat training isn't going to make much difference." Jeff walked slowly down the driveway towards the back gate, noticing that it was not completely closed. He inspected the latch and turning back towards Nathan, who carried his pillow under one arm and his suitcase under the other, he said, "I remember closing this gate before we left. Someone has definitely been here." He swung the gate open and headed for the back door with his brother following closely behind. At the back door Jeff turned the knob, hoping that it would be locked, hoping that he might find some kind of explanation inside, other than a burglary, for the two lights being out that he knew he had left on.

    "What a haul!” Giselle exclaimed, as she rummaged around in her purse looking for her pipe and the last of her cocaine stash wrapped in aluminum foil. The passenger side window was down and her long black hair fluttered about her face as she threw her head back and laughed, "Whoooweeee, No more crumbs for me. We can buy some good shit with the money Antonio will give us tonight."
    "Yeah," Paul agreed, "wait 'til that stupid Marine gets home. He's g-g-gonna wish he had a security system. I c-c-can't wait to call him tomorrow night."
    Giselle had found the pipe and the cocaine, and after rolling her window back up, was in the process of unwrapping the foil, but as much as the drug called to her she had to stop and look at Paul in amazement. "What did you say?" She asked.
    Paul flicked the ashes from his Marlboro out the window and glanced up at the rear view mirror, which displayed the trailer they pulled, filled with the belongings of the Piper family. "I said I can't wait to c-call that arrogant asshole up and see how s-secure he feels now," he chuckled, feeling pretty pleased with himself. He knew they could get close to a thousand dollars for the jewelry,  the big screen TV, the bronze ware and the stereo equipment, but that wasn't why he felt so satisfied, so downright righteous. And it wasn't the really fine weed, laced with PCP, he had smoked while they were tending to business. He was feeling especially good because of the unusually fine job they had done, vandalizing the place after they had robbed it. Tonight he had felt particularly motivated, and had been exceptionally creative, as he had destroyed a number of  precious, irreplaceable keepsakes, which belonged to a man named Nathan Piper. Yes, indeed, when he called him up, tomorrow night, he would start out by calling him Mr. Henderson, just to fuck with him, and then…
    "Paul, God damn it, listen to me," Giselle shouted, bringing him back to reality just in time to avoid running the light at the corner of Highway 6 and U. S. 90. He had meant to take the curve that exited off of 90, onto highway 6, without having to go through Sugar Land, but he had been lost in another world and had missed his chance to do that now, barely managing to come to a halt without jack-knifing the trailer. He turned, and with an accusatory look on his face, yelled, "What are you screaming about? Look what you almost made me do!"
    Looking past Giselle's face, to the car, which had pulled up next to them, he saw a state trooper in a black and white, eyeing them both suspiciously. Paul smiled, and turned to look straight ahead. "Cop on the right," he said.
    Giselle never turned to look, that would be the worst thing she could do, keeping her attention focused instead on Paul. "The way you're driving, it's a wonder he hasn't arrested you, you moron! And what the hell are you thinking, calling up the guy on Monday night whose house we just robbed? Are you completely stupid? No, don't answer that, I already know you are, but Paul, surely you can see how dumb that would be!"
    "We wore gloves," Paul exclaimed, attempting to defend himself. "The houses are so f-far apart, n-n-none of the neighbors would have n-n-noticed anything." The light turned green, and the state trooper gave them one more critical glance before speeding away. Accelerating through the intersection slowly, Paul turned to Giselle again and said, "Piper doesn't have any p-proof that I was there. He wouldn't have any way to know we d-d-did this. He wouldn't have a fucking c-c-clue! Not a ffffucking clue!"
    With his voice trembling, Nathan said, "I'll bet I know who did this." Looking around at the sickening sight of their ruined den, Jeff winced in anguish as each nightmarish aspect of  the break-in and burglary became evident. They found long rips in the fabric of the overturned couch that dad had loved, and a primitive mural of wide, black, still wet, strokes of paint, in the shape of a dripping penis on one wall, and a gaping vagina between widely spread legs on another. The curtains, which the boys' mother had made, were torn, covered with red paint and hanging at odd angles from the curtain rods, which had been partially ripped from their mounts on the wall. On the backside of the house, the glass in virtually every window was knocked out, while over the fireplace where the once beautiful oil portrait of Nathan's beloved Lindy hung, the glass in the frame was broken out, and painted across her chest in bright red was the word, "whore."
    Nathan's face went pale as he saw the portrait and tears of rage began to roll out of the corners of his eyes. Had they not been bitten off, the nails of his palms would have been digging into his clinched fists, as he reconsidered the idea his friends had planted in his brain. Yes, he could drive, if he had to.
    "Who do you think could have done this, Nathan?" Jeff asked.
    Nathan just stood there, seemingly hypnotized, unable to respond, looking at the ruined oil painting of the only woman he had ever loved. A disappointed Lindy seemed to be looking down at him, saying, "Why didn't you defend me, Nathan? How could you let me down? Why didn't you take care of that guy before he could do this to me?"
    "Nathan," Jeff spoke louder now. Shaking his head sadly, holding a paint splattered and now barely recognizable eight by ten photograph of their mom and dad, which had been their 25th wedding anniversary portrait, Jeff asked again, "Nathan, you said you thought you knew who might have done this. Who do you think it was?"
    Slowly and painfully, Nathan turned away from the painting and faced his brother. He wiped his nose with the sleeve of his shirt and opened his mouth to try to speak, but at first all he could manage was an unintelligible moan, as the words he formed in his stunned mind failed to find a way to climb over or around the knot in his throat so that it could spring from his mouth. Finally, he was able to marshal enough control over his emotions to say, "It was… that telemarketer, Jeff, I just know it was. I should have listened to Jerry and Little Joe." The tone of his voice grew cold, condemning, and filled with resolve. "It was Paul Grand, and he's gonna pay!"
    Reeling emotionally, in the midst of this horrible home invasion, burglary, and vandalism incident, Jeff reached out for Nathan's hand and squeezed it, saying, "Nathan, we have to figure out everything that's missing." Jeff led Nathan to the kitchen table, where a bright red "X" had been spray painted in the middle. He sat down and motioned for Nathan to do the same before he continued. "Now, Nathan, we have to catalog, and estimate the value of all the missing and damaged items, as well as the damage to the house. Then we have to report it to the police tonight and let them handle it. Did you
hear me, Nathan? I said, let them handle it. We can't try to take the law into our own hands."
    "But Jeff," Nathan protested, "You know how these things go. They never catch the people responsible, and if they do you can bet they won't serve any time."
    Jeff nodded, and replied, "And you can start trying to put an end to that just as soon as you get appointed to the Supreme Court, but until then you're gonna have to abide by the laws of the very same country you fought for, whether you agree with them or not."
    "But Jeff…"
    Jeff shook his head violently and raised his voice, "Don't, 'but Jeff,' me, Nathan, I mean it. Now we could get in some serious trouble if we try to take the law into our own hands, and you tell me if I'm wrong buddy, do we need any more trouble?"   
    In a barely audible murmur, Nathan answered, "No."
    Jeff leaned forward, cupping a hand to his ear and said, "Pardon me, I couldn't hear you, Nathan. What did you say?"
    A little louder this time, Nathan grudgingly said, "No. I said no, Jeff, but Jerry and Little Joe…"
    "Nathan, I know you're under a lot of stress right now, and guess what, so am I, but we need to talk about Jerry and Little Joe, and come to an understanding."
    "What about them?" Nathan asked. "They're my friends, Jeff. You don't think they had anything to do with this do you, because if you do…"
    "I don't think they had anything at all to do with this, Nathan. But I want you to listen to me very carefully." The look on Jeff's face was one that told Nathan his brother was deadly serious and furthermore was pained to have to talk about whatever he was about to say. Jeff cleared his throat and said, "Nathan, after you came out of your coma back in Tulsa, one of your doctors, I think his name was Langston, told us that you would have seizures and possibly hallucinations if you didn't stay up with your medication regimen. He said the hallucinations could seem extremely realistic to you. So real, in fact, that at times you wouldn't be able to tell the difference between fact and fiction. He also told us that we shouldn't challenge you about the things you might see or hear, because it could possibly trigger a severe psychotic episode, severe enough to land you in a mental hospital; Maybe severe enough to keep you there. Well, Nathan, you haven't been taking your medicine, and you've been talking about Jerry and Little Joe as if they were still alive. Nathan… God, I hate to have to say this right now, but, you’ve been told before, many times,  they both…"
    Nathan's eyes grew wide, and his mouth fell open as Jeff spoke.  He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Surely he must be hallucinating right this very minute. What in the world would make his brother say something like this? He interrupted Jeff, saying, "I don't have any idea what is motivating you to make such a …"
    "Nathan, wait a minute, listen to me," Jeff reached across the table and grabbed his brother's hand again. "They both died in Viet Nam. Jerry lived long enough to tell the story of how you waded out into that stream, trying to save him and Little Joe, but he died while you were still in a coma, before you were shipped back to the states. You weren't expected to live, either, you know. Jerry told his story to the leader of the platoon you guys were trying to reach. That was how you got the Silver Star for valor. It was Jerry's description of your deeds, reported by the Lieutenant that was leading that patrol.
    "But, but, what about when they came to me at the hospital and gave me my watch?"
    Jeff shook his head. "That was before you started taking your medicine, Nathan. Doctor Langston said you would start to have problems…"
    "But, what about the new watchband they just gave me, Jeff? Look! It says Semper Fi, the Marine motto! Look! Look!" Emphatically, Nathan pointed to his wrist.
    Jeff shook his head, and said, "There isn't any watch on your wrist, Nathan. There never was. Jerry and Little Joe are dead. Think about it, Nathan. Did they ever visit you when you were regularly taking your medication?"
    "That's just too weird, Jeff. I don't buy it. Look at this watch!" He stretched his arm out across the table. "That's real!" Drawing his arm back, Nathan held his wrist up to his ear. "I can hear it ticking, Jeff. I can feel it on my wrist!" He ran his right hand over his wrist, feeling the watch's shape and texture. "I can feel and smell the leather band. I can see it! Why can't you?" Again, he held his arm out across the table, and pleaded with his brother, "Here Jeff, listen to it ticking!"
      Jeff looked down, regretting what he had done, but at the same time feeling that it had been necessary. Doctor Langston had warned Mom and Dad while he was with them, just a couple of days after Nathan's awakening in the Sisters of Mercy hospital. He felt so guilty now, but the Genie was out of the lamp; he couldn't take back what he had said. Maybe he shouldn't have done it, but still, there was more that needed to be said. As much as he wanted to, he wasn't about to further disturb his brother tonight. He hadn't meant to hurt him. He had done it out of frustration: Frustration born from years of caring for a man he had at one time, and still in many ways admired, loved, and yes, idolized. Nathan was in so many ways the same old Nathan that it made it hard to deal with the fact that he was actually incapable of caring for himself. There were just three, or four, things that were different about him now. His attention span and sense of humor was that of a ten year old. He couldn't remember to take his medication, which he hated anyway, and bless his heart, like a diabetic with  Hypoglycemic unawareness, whose blood sugar was dipping too low, he couldn't tell when he was crossing over, slipping away from the real world into the world of fantasy. For Nathan, the two worlds evidently coexisted, and blended together seamlessly. Ever since Mom and Dad had died, even while Lindy was still around, Jeff had felt responsible for Nathan, and it was the constant weight of that self-imposed responsibility that threatened to emotionally wear him out. He still loved his brother as much as ever, but he was tired of coming home and hearing about visits from dead soldiers, and because of the stress he was feeling tonight, he had reacted, no, make that overreacted, without thinking. He prayed he hadn't caused his brother further harm. Nathan had experienced enough pain in his 55 years. Silently Jeff resolved not to make
this mistake again. He had said enough, maybe too much, tonight, even though there was more that he wanted to say. And what if he did confront Nathan with the other issues he was so tempted to address? What good would it do? According to Doctor Langston, he just needed to be sure Nathan took his medicine twice daily and the hallucinations would stop.
    "Nathan, have you ever known me to lie to you before?"
    Nathan thought about it for a moment and answered, "No, Jeff, that's why I can't understand what your trying to prove with this cockamamie story about Little Joe and Jerry."
    Jeff got up from the table and said, "If you'd take your medicine, brother, I wouldn't have to tell you things that you think aren't true. Tomorrow, I'm going to personally give you your medicine before I leave for work, and then when I get home I'll give you your night time dose. No more trusting Nathan to remember it all by himself. Come on, let's take a pill right now."  Jeff went to the cabinet where they kept their medicines, and damned if the thing hadn't been emptied out! "Well, let's try not to get any more stressed out tonight, Nathan. We can't afford to get a big headache; they got all our drugs, too, right down to the aspirin. I'll get refills tomorrow in Houston and bring them home with me tomorrow night. C'mon, let's go upstairs and see what else is missing."
    Antonio stroked his bearded chin and watched as Julio and Ramiro unloaded the U-Haul. He whistled a long, loud, wolf-whistle and shouted, “A Sony! Hey, I might just keep that bad boy for myself. Hope you remembered the remote. Looks like a 57 incher, to me. Not bad hombre, what else you got here?"
    Julio came out of the trailer with a nice Onkyo receiver and a pair of big JBL speakers and asked Antonio, "Hey boss, did they bring anyone for me to chop up, this time?"
    Giselle shouted back, "Sorry Julio, nobody was home this time or we would have. What did you end up doing with that last bastard you chopped up?"
    Antonio answered, saying, "I have a farm, west of Katy. I took him home with me, and fed him to my hogs. Kinda funny, huh? Like the old saying, some days you eat the bear, and some days the bear eats you, only this time it's pigs. Boy they sure enjoyed that fat motherfucker. You should have heard them squealing!"
    Ramiro called to Julio, "Hey, help me with this washer and dryer!"
    "Damn, Giselle," Antonio exclaimed, nodding his approval, "you did pretty good this time. You must have had a couple of hours or more to get all this shit! Paul, she's gonna work your ass off. How'd you get all this shit in the trailer? I know she didn't help."
    "They had a couple of big d-d-dollies in the garage. We took them, too.”
    After everything had been unloaded and a little haggling had been done, Paul and Giselle rode away with eleven hundred dollars. With the Mustang's windows up, the smoke from the glass crack pipe which curled around Giselle’s face gave her the appearance of a contented fire breathing dragon whose hot breath was slowly escaping from her nose. It rose in delicate, spiraling, wisps above the only visible clue, other than her dark complexion, to her Asian heritage, her slightly slanted eyes, which were dramatically accented by long, heavily mascara-coated eyelashes.
    Paul glanced over at his wife. Her head lay back against the Mustang’s dried out and split headrest. Yellow foam bulged through a crack where the stitching had separated.
    "You happy, baby?" he asked.
    She exhaled a long plume of smoke and coughed. Opening her bloodshot eyes, she smiled and said, "Fuckin' awesome. You did good today, Paul." While they cruised along at sixty miles an hour on I-10, she stole a sizable portion of his attention away from the road as she ran her silver-studded tongue seductively around the perimeter of her full, glossy, lips and leaned over to unzip his pants.

ID: 1481278   (Rated: GC) Telemurdering: Chapter 10 - 12  Paul and Giselle are pursued by Sam by George R. Lasher