The Grey Man: Payback, page 24
Beverly laughed. “After the past couple of weeks, I’m surprised you’re still upright, much less awake. See you in the morning Mister Cronin.”
“Night, Trey, Beverly. Coffee will be on by five in the morning.” Trey just groaned as they went down the hall. The old man thought for a minute, then flipped off the light and followed them.
In Jesse’s room, Aaron and Jesse were curled in bed: Jesse, trying to get comfortable, went to roll over and hit Aaron’s leg. “I’m sorry honey, I didn’t mean to do that. I just can’t find a comfortable spot.”
Aaron replied, “Oh yeah, I know the feeling, when they had my leg in a cast after the shooting, I couldn’t do shit. Couldn’t get comfortable, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t do shit. You want me to get you a pill?”
“No! For better or worse, well worse in this case, this the one and only wedding night I’m planning on having, and drugging myself to sleep through it is not going to happen,” Jesse said, then started crying. “I wanted this night to be special, and here I lay, like a lump… No, like a damn log…”
Burying her head in Aaron’s shoulder, she continued to cry as Aaron held her; until he finally said, “Hey, Mrs. Miller, Gawd that sounds strange… We’re going to have a lot more nights where we can have some fun, and it’s not like we haven’t already cos… con…”
Jesse raised her head with a hiccupping laugh. “Consummated. That the word you’re trying to say? And, yes, we have consummated this union once or twice, haven’t we Mr. Miller.”
Aaron grinned at her in the dark. “Yes, we have and I love you Jesse Miller. Oh God, I love you. I was so scared…”
Jesse hugged him back. “I love you too Aaron, and right now I don’t know which one scares me more, being shot at or being married.”
“Why?”
“Well, getting shot at is over pretty quick, getting married, not so much. Now shut up and hold me,” Jesse demanded.
“Yes, dear.”
“You’re learning,” Jesse mumbled as she nodded off to sleep.
On the Range
Jesse came out of her room with her spare Python in the holster thrown over her shoulder and stumped into the kitchen. “Papa, I want my damn gun back, what is the hold up?”
The old man looked up from his coffee. “I’ll check with the sheriff tomorrow. Honestly, I hadn’t thought about it. Where do you think you’re going?”
“It’s Sunday, so that’s range day, right? Besides, I want to shoot something; I need to get rid of some frustrations and you always said shooting was like Zen, to shoot well one actually has to concentrate and all that right?” Jesse asked with an arched eyebrow.
Aaron coughed to cover his laugh as the old man shook his head. “Er… Okay fine. But you’ll need the cross draw holster, ‘cause that one is going to bang into the top of the cast, and dig into your ribs. Did you think about that?”
Aaron got up. “I’ll get it. Where is it, hon?”
Jesse thought for a minute then said, “Um… Top of the closet, big box on the right I think. Oh hell, just bring the box and I’ll find it.”
The old man said, “You’re not going to walk, so we’ll have to take you down the back way in the back of the Gator. I think there are some blankets in the barn I can throw in the back so you’re not sitting flat on the bed.” Curious, he asked, “Anything else you want to shoot?”
Jesse looked up from clearing the Python and set it on the table pointing away from everyone. “I think I can shoot the AR, not sure I want to try the thirty-thirty right now. Maybe some IPDA targets and if I can hit those, maybe a run or two on the calliope. I know I’m gonna suck,” she said with a sigh.
Aaron came back with a big cardboard box, and plopped it on the table. “Damn girl, you’ve got more holsters than Carter’s got liver pills in there. What did you do, buy one of everything in every catalog?”
Jesse shuffled through the box saying, “Well, it’s not easy to find a holster that actually works for a woman. Unless you go to a custom maker, you end up with a box of cast offs, but for all the money spent, I can’t afford to throw them away… Ah ha… There you are you little sucker.” She smiled as she extracted a cross draw holster from the box, holding it up in triumph.
Diving back into the box again, she mumbled, “Belt, belt, I know it’s in here somewhere.”
Aaron and the old man both laughed, and left her to her devices. Aaron went to get his pistol and holster, and the old man heading toward the office and the safe. The old man slung his gunbelt on, spun the dial on the safe and pulled out two of the ARs from the front of the rack. Making sure they were safe, he leaned them against the desk and rummaged in the file cabinet for some boxes of ammo. He yelled down the hall, “Aaron, you’ve got a G seventeen, right?”
Aaron yelled back an affirmative, and the old man pulled a backpack out of the top drawer, checked that the blowout kit was still in the top pocket and started loading it up with boxes. Slinging the backpack on one shoulder, he closed the cabinet, locked the safe and picked up the two rifles. Lugging them back into the kitchen, he saw Jesse had finally found her belt and was in the process of transferring the speed loader pouches from one belt to the other. Setting the holster, she finally pointed the Python at the floor, reloaded it and snugged it into the holster.
Aaron came back with his G-17 strapped on his belt, and two mags on the offside in a double carrier. He proceeded to strip the mags, setting the bullets on the paper sitting on the side of the table saying, “I can’t afford to shoot all my self-defense ammo, remind me when we get down there to swap mags and save the loaded mag of ammo please.”
Jesse said, “I will.” As the old man stripped the hollow points out of his two spare mags too. Jesse finally said, “Well, doh!” and pulled both speed loaders out their pouches and dumped the shells out of them. “I really want all of my memory back. This missing little shit stuff is getting old.”
The old man said, “It’s just going to take a while, just means you’ll have to work a little harder up front. Y’all can stay here while I go get the Gator and find the blankets. Aaron, if you would, could you throw together a thermos of coffee?”
“Will do, sir,” Aaron replied, rummaging through the cabinet for the thermos until Jesse said, “Bottom left. And throw some of the sugar packets in your pocket will you?”
The old man went into the barn and found Ricky repairing a bridle on the tack room bench. “Problem, Ricky?” the old man asked, looking down at the bridle.
Ricky looked up with a start. “No, sir, just trying to stay ahead of the work. A couple of the holes were rounding out, and I figured better to replace the whole strap rather than try to cobble it together.”
The old man nodded. “That’s good. Are you doing okay? Are you happy living out here? I know all your friends are in town and living out here isn’t conducive to a teenager’s life. The truck’s not a convertible, but at least you’re not locked down out here.”
Ricky scuffed a boot on the floor. “Actually, Senor, it’s not bad. I mean I have a TV, there’s air conditioning, and mama isn’t yelling at me to pick up my clothes all the time. I just have to remember to wash my stuff before I run out.”
The old man said, “Yeah, I can believe that,” sensing things unsaid he asked, “Things okay with your dad?”
Ricky sighed. “Actually, he’s probably happy I’m out here. He’s been saying I was falling in with the wrong crowd, and I think the work he keeps loading me with is to run my ass in the ground so I won’t have time or feel like going to town. What he doesn’t realize, is I’m finally seeing what he was saying now that I’m away from them. And this is the first time I’ve ever really had responsibility without him or mama over my shoulder telling me what to do. I’ve been reading some of the husbanding books and range maintenance books that you left in the bunkhouse, and I’m starting to see how it all makes sense, and why we have to keep moving the cows around. I didn’t realize how fragile the grazing is, and how hard you have to work to maintain the balance, much less all the real work that goes into just equipment maintenance,” he said, holding up the bridle.
“Yeah, it’s an all day, every day seven day a week job. If it’s too much I can look at bringing somebody else on to help you. I keep forgetting you’re not Toby, he really didn’t want to go anywhere else; and really didn’t have much of a life, now that I think of it.”
Ricky smiled ruefully. “Oh, it’s not that Mister Cronin. I’m saving money out here, and dad and I get the work done, no problem.”
The old man nodded. “Okay, we’re going to go down to the pump house and shoot, you want to join us?”
“No sir, I’ll stay up here. What channel on the radio?”
The old man said, “We’ll be up on five.”
Ricky picked up the bridle and hung it back on the wall. “Okay, I’ll be monitoring,” he said as he headed back to the bunkhouse to get a radio.
The old man grabbed three of the cleaner horse blankets and lugged them out to the Gator, flopped them in the back and drove back to the house after he opened the gate. He opened the back door. “Okay, mount up,” he said, as he stepped in and picked up the rifles, backpack and a radio from the rack by the door. Getting a radio check with Ricky, he dumped the backpack on the seat and lay the rifles on the far side of the Gator’s bed.
Jesse stumped out the back door and Aaron carried her down the steps and set her in the back of the Gator with a smile. “Don’t get used to that.”
Jesse stuck her tongue out at Aaron. “Well, you were supposed to do that on our wedding night, but…”
Aaron said, “I would have but your cast wouldn’t fit through the door.” Prompting a coughing spell from the old man. Aaron said, “Go ahead, I’ll follow and close the gates as we go.”
The old man eased through both gates as Aaron opened then closed them behind him, then jumped into the front seat as the old man started down the old wagon track to the creek. “Are those wagon ruts?” Aaron asked, pointing to the sharp depressions in the track.
The old man nodded. “For years, a wagon was how they got water up from the creek, before the pump house was put in. Also there used to be a little bridge across the creek there too, so lots of wagons went this way for probably thirty-forty years. If you go further west, there are still wagon ruts in the prairie from the Conestoga’s wheels on the Santa Fe trail.”
At the pump house, Aaron helped Jesse out of the Gator and over to the picnic table, then went to help the old man set targets. The old man brought the spotting scope out and set it up behind the line while Aaron loaded his mags with practice ammo. While the old man was loading his mags and Jesse’s speed loaders he said, “Okay, eyes and ears.” Looking at Jesse, he asked, “You want to shoot standing or sitting?”
Jesse said, “Standing. I need to know if I can keep my balance. Aaron, if you’ll guard me, I’d like to start at seven and try to work out from there.” She put the two speed loaders in their pouches and loaded the Python with six rounds, then with Aaron’s help, stood up and stumped over to the seven yard line.
The old man looked around making sure the area was clear and everybody had eye protection and hearing protection. Raising his voice, he said, “Range is hot, ready on the right, ready on the left, ready on the firing line. You may fire when ready.”
Jesse, with Aaron behind her, drew her Python, assumed her grip and the old man could see her take a couple of deep breaths. Raising the pistol she brought it on target, her finger slipped into the trigger guard and her first round went downrange. The old man glanced through the spotting scope, noting a center mass hit. The second and third shots followed closely and were within an inch of the first. He saw Jesse drop the pistol back to a low ready, and got up, preparing to shoot on the target next to hers.
Stepping up, the old man drew his 1911 and put three downrange in short order. All were head shots and he smiled at that, then realized he hadn’t heard Jesse shoot again. Looking over, he saw Jesse in Aaron’s arms, and immediately holstered his pistol.
“What happened? Are you hurt?”
Jesse shook her head. “No but I went to do a head shot, and your shot went off and… and… Papa I saw a face on the target,” she sobbed.
“A face? What kind of face?” He asked.
Bewildered she answered, “I dunno, not somebody I ever remember knowing. He had a bushy mustache, and dark heavy eyebrows…”
The old man asked, “And long hair parted in the middle?”
Jesse look at him incredulously, “How… Yes, long black hair.”
“Could you tell what he was wearing?”
“No, I just saw that face.”
“Okay, I want you to turn around and try shooting a head shot again,” the old man said. “I think I might know, but just humor me.”
Jesse turned around and with Aaron right behind her, fired four rounds into the head. Turning she said, “Okay no face that time. What the hell, Papa?”
“Reload and let’s try it with me shooting next to you. Then I’ll tell you what I think happened.”
Jesse dumped the spent shells, used one of the speed loaders and stepped back onto the line. Drawing a deep breath she said, “Okay, go ahead.”
The old man fired four rapid shots, did a quick mag change and fired another seven rounds down range as Jesse finished her six rounds. He looked over and she shook her head. “No face that time.”
Both reloaded and the old man said, “Okay, cold range. Let’s go sit.”
Pouring cups of coffee for everyone, the old man took a sip as Jesse shook a packet of sugar into hers, “What I think happened is your subconscious took over there for a minute. Once we get back to the house I’ll show you a picture, but I believe the face you saw was the killer that you shot in the moustache.”
“Oh lovely,” Jesse muttered, “another damn nightmare waiting to happen.”
Aaron asked, “What has your counsellor said?”
“That it’s doubtful I’ll ever remember anything; she goes back and forth between post-traumatic amnesia, and dissociative amnesia. With the other little stuff I keep forgetting, or not remembering I guess is the better term,” Jesse said. “She thinks the short term stuff will get better once my head heals completely.”
Finishing her coffee, Jesse said, “Okay, I came here to shoot, so let’s shoot!” Reloading her speed loaders, she stepped back to ten yards, and waited while the old man and Aaron caught up. The old man gave the range commands, and she fired all three loads into the head without a miss. After a couple of more rounds of pistol against the calliope, they moved back to the table and shot ARs for a half hour, until Jesse finally admitted her shoulder was starting to hurt. The old man and Aaron tore everything down and put the gear back up as Jesse sat drinking the last of the coffee.
Aaron loaded Jesse in the back of the Gator and they made their way back slowly up to the house. Unloading everything, the old man took the Gator back to the barn, and walked slowly back to the house, trying to decide which pictures to show Jesse. He finally thought of one that was actually pretty clean, taken just before the autopsy. When he got back to the house, Jesse and Aaron were busy cleaning pistols and chatting happily.
Walking through, the old man went to the office pulled the file and came back to the kitchen. “Okay, Jesse,” handing her the picture face down. “When you’re ready, you can look at it.”
Jesse flipped the picture over and put a hand to her mouth. “Oh, that is him. How can I possibly see him?” Jesse asked.
The old man took the picture back, “Dunno, but you obviously have some stuff stuck in your subconscious. Matter of fact, Trey told me you were actually pulling a trigger when the shots were fired at the hospital, even though you were in a coma.”
Jesse looked down at her hands. “So the subconscious was willing and the body was willing, but I wasn’t there huh?”
The old man replied, “Depends on what your definition of there is. Consciously you might not have been aware, but your body was. It is always that core strength that people don’t understand, and a lot of that comes from the subconscious. It is the will to live, just like the competitiveness we all seem to have. Honestly, I’m just thankful you inherited that; if you hadn’t we probably wouldn’t be having this conversation today.”
Jesse said, “Well, for better or worse, I’m still here. And Aaron has to put up with me from now on.”
A Gift
A little after noon, the chime sounded indicating someone had come in the front gate of the ranch. The old man moved to the front window and saw a small motor home built on a truck chassis pull into the driveway. He hurried back to the office and flipped his gunbelt on grabbing his hat, and yelling down the hall to Jesse and Aaron to standby and cover. Walking onto the porch, he realized there was lettering on the side of the motor home, and it was some kennel. He stayed on the porch, not realizing the picture of malice he was radiating to the couple in the vehicle. The female in the passenger’s seat got out and stood by the door until the man driving came around the front of the vehicle. Holding hands, the walked very tentatively to the base of the steps, with the female saying, “Excuse me sir, we’re looking for Miss Cronin?”
Bluntly the old man asked, “Why do you want to see her?” He heard dogs yapping in the motor home, and was starting to wonder what the hell was going on.
“Sir, we heard through the LEO grapevine that… Well, her dog was killed by… Well, the people that attacked her. We raise dogs over in New Mexico primarily for law enforcement and guard service…”
Jesse interrupted from the door. “Papa, stop that! Miss Dreeson?”
The woman looked up. “Yes, I’m Amber Dreeson and this is my husband, Mike.”
Jesse stumped out on the porch. “Just ignore the grumpy old man here and please come in. I’m sorry for the reception you’ve received.”
Bewildered, the old man stepped to the side as the couple sidled up the steps, staying well clear of him. Jesse hissed, “I told you they were coming today, I talked to her and gave her directions. You be nice, dammit.”
