Rory followed Levi Edwards out of the house.
“You enjoy beating on people who can’t fight back, don’t you?” Rory asked in a provocative voice. “That tells me you’re a coward. You’re a fucking coward.”
Mr. Edwards turned to face him, seething. Rory contemptuously scanned him, top to bottom to top. “It’s only fair to tell you, I’m better at this than you are. I know how. And I didn’t learn how by hitting people unable to hit me back or by drinking beer.”
Then he spat on the ground near Mr. Edwards’s feet and nodded. “There. My moral obligation is satisfied: you’ve been warned. Let’s do this.”
Rory stared at him. Mr. Edwards was accustomed to seeing fear and intimidation. Yet here was a guy who had to be thirty or forty pounds lighter than he was and several inches shorter, and he was showing no fear at all.
While this was filtering through Mr. Edwards’ mind, Rory was doing as he’d been taught. ‘In the time you have, assess your opponent. Fighting is both mental and physical, and forgetting to use your head will cost you an important advantage.’ That lesson had been drummed into him. ‘Don’t only look for weaknesses; look for what an opponent is probably good at; that’s what you need to be ready for, and that skill is what you need to decommission as soon as possible.’
Looking at Mr. Edwards, Rory saw a large man with a significant beer belly, broad shoulders, mitt-sized hands and muscular arms. He appeared to be in his fifties and, though he may have gone to pot as he’d aged, he still looked solid: there was no doubt the guy was powerful. He was wearing a tee shirt stretched to capacity over his stomach, just as his biceps were straining the sleeve ends. His shirt had a pocket which was holding a pack of cigarettes. So, with nothing else apparent, Rory saw that his opponent was older, overweight and a smoker. He was probably good at using his size in fights, getting in close, overwhelming his opponent. His methodology could well be to charge his foes, take a punch if he had to, then simply overwhelm them with his size and fists, maybe fall on them, but certainly hit them, and do so again and again. He wouldn’t be a technical boxer. He’d be a mauler.
Rory wasn’t about to play to Levi’s strengths. His experience told him that everyone in a fight is full of adrenaline. Even when you expect to win, there’s adrenaline. Adrenaline causes a faster heartbeat, quicker breathing. Both those expend energy. Most likely, making Levi Edwards move more than he wanted would expend that energy. He’d tire quickly. Levi appeared to be a guy who would like to end things quickly, a guy who probably began fights with an initial bull rush. So, Rory decided, he’d extend the fight, let Levi do all the rushing he wanted and simply avoid him as he’d practiced and then employed in all those football games he’d played. High school receivers didn’t get selected onto honorary all-county teams by being easy to tackle.
Best to let Levi try to attack, and if he had to do it over and over, he’d exhaust himself quickly. It was very unlikely he’d have the energy to try that more than two times, three at the most. After that, he’d be panting, wanting to take five. If the man could instead keep going and still be full of energy, then he was certainly in better shape than he looked.
Rory stood well away from Levi and put up his fists. He held them up in a sort of how-am-I-supposed-to-do-this sort of manner, like he’d never been in a fight before. Levi smiled, then rushed him. Rory waited, watched, and when the man was within arm’s reach, feinted to the right and juked to the left. Levi missed him completely and, expecting contact, stumbled when he missed. As he passed by, Rory put a heavy fist with his weight behind it into Levi’s kidney.
Rory preferred hitting soft parts of his opponents. He hated dealing with busted knuckles.
Mr. Edwards stumbled enough to drop to one knee, and he grunted, feeling the punch, but he got up quickly. He scowled at Rory. “What the fuck kind of fighting is that?”
“The kind I’m good at and you’re not. The kind you’re going to get very tired of very quickly. The smart thing for you to do is give up, but I doubt you’re smart. You sure don’t look like you’re smart. Dumb as a pile of dog shit, that’s you. Yeah, you should give up. You could end this with only a loss of face. Of course, your family will have witnessed you being put down by a smaller man, seen you give up like a little girl. Naw, you’re not smart enough to do that. Come on. Let’s get this over with. Let your hurting begin.”
Mr. Edwards charged him again. Rory dodged. Then again, and Rory dodged. Each time, he landed a blow to Levi’s kidneys. Mr. Edwards was panting heavily now, and he felt the pain in his lower back and the disorienting nausea a blow to the kidneys causes. His tee shirt was now dark with sweat, and the smell of old beer leaking from his pores was strong. His face was red, and the arrogant confidence he’d worn was now gone. So had his smirk. But he hadn’t yet quit.
After taking the time to catch his breath, he screamed invectives and came again, this time not quite so fast and watching for Rory’s juke. As he neared Rory, rather than dodging as Mr. Edwards had expected, Rory dived at his knees and executed a glorious tackle, one he’d perfected in high school. He hit him with a shoulder at the knees, wrapped his arms around them, pulled them together and drove forward, digging in with his feet and lifting as he did so. Instead of falling forward, with his knees being brought upwards, Levi fell onto his back.
Rory rose, then dropped to a knee. That knee fell hard into the middle of Levi’s gut, and it had Rory’s full weight behind it. It knocked all the air from the man, and he gasped, no longer thinking about fighting; his only thought was about breathing. Rory followed his knee drop with a karate chop to Mr. Edwards’s throat, then got up. Mr. Edwards’s hands came to his neck, and his eyes showed panic. He couldn’t breathe.
Rory watched him. He felt proud of himself: he’d put the man away, only having to hit him a few times with his fists, and that was to the soft spots on his back. He himself had basically been untouched, and Levi was down for the count. Rory’s only casualty from the fight was a grass stain on his knee.
Rory turned to Maud and Trace. “He’ll pass out in a few seconds. At that point, his breathing will return as his panic subsides. I didn’t hit him hard enough to do any lasting damage. Could have. Didn’t. Do you have any rope, either clothesline or wrapping twine? Duct tape would work, too. Best if I hogtie him so you both have time to pack.”
“Where are we going?” Maud asked. “I’m not sure—”
“We’ll talk it over in the car. Not here, not now. First, we need to get him secured.”
He rolled Mr. Edwards onto his stomach and taped his hands behind his back with several layers of duct tape. Then he taped his ankles together. To seal the deal, Rory folded Levi’s legs back at his knees and fastened his secured ankles and wrists together.
Leaving Levi on the lawn, he helped get the suitcases Trace and his mother had filled, along with two huge garbage bags stuffed with miscellaneous items, into the car. Lastly, he asked for a felt-tipped pen. He rolled Mr. Edwards back onto his side. The man was regaining consciousness. Rory ignored it. He raised the man’s tee shirt and used the pen to write, I’m a coward who hits women and children. I’m pathetic and need a spanking.
Then, putting the cap back on the marker, in Mr. Edwards’s hearing, he asked his aunt, “Which is faster, getting to Indianapolis or Louisville? I know safe houses in both. You can stay there as long as necessary.” He then motioned to Maud not to reply.
As they drove away, the sound of Levi’s cursing faded and then disappeared completely. His voice hadn’t been very loud. He was finding it difficult to get enough air into his lungs to make much noise at all.
« »
They got a second room for the night at their motel in town. Kenny was gone, and the owner was behind the desk when they arrived. He was happy to rent them another room and made no remarks about Morris staying there. Rory asked Trace if he wanted a private room, but he said he was happy to share with his mother.
Rory turned to Maud. “I know you have lots of questions, Aunt Maud, and I have answers, but let’s do it over dinner. I’ll give you a half hour to settle in, relax, unwind, and then I’ll take you both to dinner. I have a traveling companion—two, actually—and I’ll introduce you, and we’ll all go eat. You’ll have to tell me where the best place is. What I’d like is a place with a patio. See if you can think of a place like that. Okay? Half an hour.”
When they were all back in the car and introductions had been made, Maud told Rory that there wasn’t a place for dinner in Briston with outdoor eating other than a few fast-food places. “We need to go to Landale. They have one decent dinner place, and one with a patio.”
“That’s where we’ll go, then.”
It was only a twenty-minute drive, and they used it to get better acquainted. Trace and Cary were in the backseat with Morris; Maud was in the front. Trace seemed fidgety, smiling one moment, looking frightened the next. He had one hand on Morris, seeming to take comfort from the dog. Morris, as was his wont, had sensed Trace’s vulnerability and had licked his face till he’d giggled, then sat next to him. The one thing Trace showed no interest in at all was talking to Cary.
Cary, never wanting people to know who he was—especially since his fame had grown because the movie had been so popular—had asked Rory to use his now-approved pseudonym, Wyatt. Rory was still Roy to the Edwards pair; no reason to confuse the issue with another name. Cary remained shy and distant and didn’t mind that Trace didn’t want to talk. Cary stared at the scenery. Southwestern Indiana is hilly with lots of trees and caves and mines, and there was much to see out the window. Too, having his eyes trained outward also meant the silence in the back seat wasn’t quite as uncomfortable as it might have been. Neither boy was inclined to talk; both were happy with the silence.
Maud started in with questions, but Rory told her it might be better to wait till they were all seated and he could give her his full attention and they’d be able to look at each other. It would only be a few more minutes.
Rory was slightly uncomfortable, as much as he ever was. Normally he was a very self-contained person, very confident, and very few things made him feel as he did right then. But he was returning to his old stomping grounds, and while he felt it unlikely he’d be recognized, it could happen, and then what? It could be awkward. He really didn’t want it known that Roy Thornton was back in town. He’d been a person that was well-known in the town when he was seventeen and a football player. He’d been in his last year there, and then he’d suddenly left. He didn’t want to have to discuss that with anyone, and he didn’t want his parents to know he was back till he revealed it himself.
He doubted recognition would happen. He hadn’t been back till now, fifteen years later. He didn’t look the same now. He was an adult. He’d left as a gawky teenager. And who knew how many of the people who would have known him back then were still in Landale?
The restaurant was very pleasant, and there were several patio tables in use. Rory asked for a table for four as far as possible from where other people were sitting. “The dog will be completely innocuous, but some people are frightened of dogs, and I don’t want anyone to be uncomfortable,” he explained.
They got what Rory wanted, a table off in one corner of the patio with no one else nearby to overhear them. He didn’t recognize any of the other patrons or any of the restaurant staff. So far, so good.
They ordered. Rory told them to get whatever they wanted and then ordered a couple of appetizers for the table. “It’ll be easier to talk if we can occupy ourselves with eating while doing so. I feel this is very awkward. We don’t know each other. And just this afternoon we were part of a violent encounter, and that’s always upsetting. Anyway, Aunt Maud, why don’t you start us off? You must have many questions, and I’m all about answers.” He grinned.
“Okay,” she said. “I’m just going to talk, and I hope I don’t offend you, but, well . . .” She stopped for a moment to gather her thoughts. “I’m worried because I don’t know what’s going to happen now. You’ve beaten up Levi and taken us from the house. What’s next? I’m in a fog. Trace wrote to you, I talked to you, and my idea was you were going to move Trace away from here. You were going to come get him. I hated losing him, and, frankly, not knowing you at all, other than my sister telling me your father kicked you out of the house because you were gay, I didn’t know if Trace would be any safer with you than with my husband. But I knew he was bad and that Briston was bad, and I didn’t know anything about you, but I’ve heard it said that because a man is gay, he’s no more likely to interfere with boys than straight men. I had to do something because . . . well, you saw how it was at home.”
She glanced at Trace, who was looking down at the table. Then she sat up a little straighter, and her eyes showed determination. “I didn’t know you would beat up my husband. I didn’t know you would do that in front of me. When he gets loose, he’s going to . . .” She stopped to take a deep breath. “He’ll hurt me because I saw that. That’s the only reason I packed when you asked me to. But I don’t know what’s to become of me. I can’t go to L.A. if that’s where you’re taking Trace. My life is here. All the people I know. My sister. But . . . there’s Levi, too. And I’m here with you. So, I need to know what’s happening.”
Rory nodded and took a sip of his iced tea. “I understand. And I can’t promise you anything, which I’m sure doesn’t relieve your mind any. I do have a plan, though, and I’m fairly certain it’ll work. But I can’t guarantee it will right now, tonight. I can tell you what it is, though.”
The waiter brought their appetizers at that point. He had a plate of battered, deep-fried calamari and a plate of bruschetta on small toast squares.
Trace was looking at the food with puzzlement. Rory suppressed a grin. “You know what this stuff is?” he asked. Trace immediately dropped his eyes and didn’t answer.
“Trace? Look at me, please,” Rory asked softly.
Trace raised his eyes.
“We’re friends. Everyone here. Well, maybe not Wyatt so much, but all the rest of us, including Morris.”
“Hey!” Cary said, sounding pissed, but then laughed. “That’s how he is,” he said to Trace, forgetting to be shy for a moment. “You’ll get used to him. What I usually do is threaten to set Morris on him.”
Morris, lying under the table but with his head on Trace’s foot, made a rumbling noise for a moment, hearing his name. Trace almost smiled.
“That’s better,” Rory said encouragingly. “Trace, please, don’t fret about anything. Be open to this new adventure and to people who are all on your side. For once, everyone here, everyone around you, likes you and isn’t judging or disparaging you. Now, this food. The tomato dish is garlic, chopped tomatoes, basil and olive oil on toast. If you don’t hate garlic and tomatoes, you’ll like it, unless you hate toast—” he stopped to chuckle “—but in any case, take one and taste it. Then you’ll know forevermore if you like it. It’s called bruschetta. The other appetizer is one of Wyatt’s favorites. It’s calamari, which is the Italian name for squid. That might sound icky, but it isn’t. It doesn’t have much taste, but cooked this way and with a squeeze of lemon on it and dipped in ranch dressing—that’s what that little cup of white dipping sauce is for—you’ll most likely love it. I got three sauces. You can dip one of these little beauties in each one and see what you like best. There’s tartar sauce, marinara sauce and ranch dressing. Wyatt, show him how it’s done.”
“Roy says I’m a heathen,” Cary said, speaking to Trace again and this time without the hesitation or restraint that was normal for him. He was aware that he was doing so, and surprised. He’d have to think about this later. “I like tartar sauce. He likes ranch dressing or lemon butter. Some people swear by marinara sauce; that’s an Italian tomato sauce used on pasta. I suppose you could use ketchup if you wanted.” He paused to shudder. “You’ll have to see for yourself. But here’s how to do it.”
He picked up one of the pieces of calamari with his fingers, dipped it in the bowl of tartar sauce and ate it. “It’s good,” he said. “I’m a tartar-sauce man because I’m a gourmet—” he had to pause to wait for Rory to stop snickering “—but see what you like best for yourself. You can’t go wrong with tartar sauce, though. It goes on anything.”
“Ice cream?” Rory asked. “Cantaloupe?”
“Morris,” Cary said in a threatening voice, and Morris was up from under the
table almost before the last ‘s’ was pronounced. He looked around, saw no problems,
looked at Cary and shook his head, then stretched before going back under.
“You were lucky this time. I was too busy swallowing to set him on you,” Cary stated. Then he turned to Trace. “Are you going to try one?”
Trace looked at his mother, who grinned at him and nodded. “You only live once,” she said soothingly. “And it’s possible you’ll find something you like as much as a book.”
Rory watched him for a moment as he took two pieces and used tartar sauce on one, ranch on the other, then hesitated about lifting one to his mouth. Meanwhile, Cary was steadily making the pile grow smaller.
Rory spoke to Maud. “All right. This is what I have in mind. You can’t continue living with your husband. That should be clear to you. He’s a bully, a wife beater, and a child beater, and you know he’s not going to stop. You have to leave him. One reason you haven’t done that already—well, two reasons—are, one, Trace, and two, you don’t have anywhere to go. My plan is built on that being true. Tell me it isn’t, that you want to live with your husband knowing he’ll beat you, and I’ll shut up and take you back home.”
Maud looked at him, then away. When she spoke, there was defeat in her voice. “That’s what I should do, but you’re leaving. Taking Trace if he wants to go. I’ll be alone. I have no place to go.”
“I didn’t ask you that, Aunt Maud. I told you that. I want you to tell me that you’re willing to change if I have a way to make things better.”
She looked down, but Rory could see tears. Then she nodded.
“Okay. You’ll have to trust me. And as I said, no guarantees yet. But the plan is for you to divorce Mr. Edwards and then live where it’s safe. Go on with your life. What would you say to living with your sister?”
She looked up. “I wish I could. But my husband wouldn’t let me go, he’d hunt me down, and her husband wouldn’t let me move in. There’s nothing anyone can do about my husband. He’s a bigwig in the KKK in town. And he’s friends with the police.”
“You’re looking at why nothing will work. I’m looking at how to solve your problems. They are solvable. Start believing that. First, are you willing to move here to Landale?”
A pause, then: “I don’t know that she’d want me.”
“I don’t know that, either, which is one of the things I need to find out. But, again, forgetting all other things, would you be okay with living in Landale?”
Maud nodded.
“Okay, then. I’ve got to bounce this off my mother. But even if she says no, that won’t be the end of this. Don’t give up hope. But, for now, I have things to do. You’ll have to stay in that motel till I’ve done them. Maybe one day, maybe two, but it won’t take longer than that. We’ll know what’s what by then. Trace can stay with you at the motel. I made your husband think I’ve taken you to Indianapolis or Louisville. I’ll have the motel people keep your presence a secret. There is one really bad piece of news, I’m afraid. It’s that Wyatt will have to play host while I’m away. I don’t envy you that, but to quote Mr. Longfellow, into each life some rain must fall. But, if the worst for you is having Wyatt around, I’d say you have it pretty good. I may kid around with him, but he tends to grow on you.”
« »
When they returned to the motel, everyone said good night and went to their rooms. Everyone but Rory who visited the front office. The owner was there, and his son was just leaving.
“Good, glad you’re here, Kenny. I need to speak to both of you. Maybe we could sit down?”
They ended up in the office. They left the door open so they’d know if any customers came in. None did.
“I’ve got a situation,” Rory said, “and you can help if you’re willing. It concerns the woman you checked in earlier with her kid. You may know the kid, Kenny. He’s a little younger than you, but probably at your school. His name is Trace Edwards. Do you know him?”
“I know who he is. Don’t know him at all.”
“Okay. The fact is, both Trace and his mother have been, are being, abused by Mr. Edwards. I’m trying to save them. He hits them, and Trace is really hurting from that and incessant bullying; he’s considering doing something to himself to end his misery. I’m working on a permanent solution to the problem, but their location needs to be kept private for tomorrow and maybe the next day. Mr. Edwards thinks they left town. The only people who know they haven’t are you two. Can we keep it that way? No maid service, no one knowing their room is occupied. Is that possible?”
“Sure.” Mr. Masterson sounded angry. “I hate abusers. You four are our only guests. If you don’t mind foregoing maid service, I can have the maid take a couple days off, not come in at all. We do that all the time. We’re not overrun with business, as you can see.”
“That’s great. Uh, I mean the privacy bit is. And neither of you will mention them? This is really important.”
“Mum’s the word,” Mr. Masterson said, and Kenny nodded.
“Good. Now the boys might want to use the pool. Is it visible from the street or neighbors?”
“Nope.” Mr. Masterson shook his head. “That’s one of our attractions. Some guests like to, well, forget their bathing suits, and we don’t mind. We get some business that way. We need the customers. Why, if you can believe it, we even have some who bring dogs, and we work that out, too.” He winked at Rory. “And,” he grinned, “I’ve even seen Kenny in that pool not wearing anything once or twice himself.”
“All right then. Thanks. You’ve been a big help. There should be a satisfactory tip in it when we leave.”
“That isn’t necessary. I do hate abusers. And I’ve seen that Edwards guy around and heard things. He’s hard to miss. Small town, you know? He’s bad news. Glad to help.”
« »
“What’s the agenda for tomorrow?” Cary asked as they were getting ready for bed.
“Ah. It’s what I’ve been thinking about the entire time since we left L.A.”
“You sound serious. Not like you. What is it?”
“Well, for you, it’s staying here and keeping Trace and my aunt out of sight, though you can swim with Trace, assuming he swims and wants to. There’s no maid coming, and no one knows they’re here. That fact has to continue being true. I’d worry some, but Morris will be with you later on, and Mr. Edwards thinks we left town. I’ll leave some money. You can order pizza or whatever you want for lunch. Just don’t let the guy who delivers it be aware there’s more than you here.”
“Okaaay.” Sounding leery. “And what’ll you be doing?”
“What I really don’t want to do, but it’s what I came for, and I’ll do it.”
“What’s that?”
“Confront my father.”