Buck gave as good as he got. Bodies were thrown backwards and to the side. Wherever he tossed a punch, Buck hit a body. A few cries of pain were heard, as fists, knees and elbows pummeled malleable targets.
Unfortunately numbers were not on Buck's side. He soon found himself in a similar position as the undercover agent…. bleeding on a dusty floor in a no name bar in a back water town. Buck did notice that he was within a few inches of Standish. Both men stared at one another for a brief second.
Chris was going to kill them.
Standish's one open eye closed and blood continued to run from his nose. Buck was here he would take care of things.
The bar door opened and closed again. The fist and feet had paused in their torrent of abuse just moments before as people caught their breath. Buck uncurled just enough to try and understand the sudden change in his current position.
"Good Lord boys what 'ave you done?" The same aged woman from the graveside strode into the bar.
Buck painfully pushed himself to all fours and struggled to unsteady feet using a nearby table for balance. The old lady grabbed his upper arm and with strength that did not match her stature, helped him to his feet.
Wilmington groaned and swayed slightly. A petite but firm hand steadied him at the small of his back.
"I'm a Federal Agent ma'am," Buck whispered, trying to keep his eyes on the now eight men that stood somewhat together. Even in dim light of the smoky bar, Buck could make out the familiar characteristics. The 'boys' could have been sets of twins. "I'm just here to get my partner we'll be gone from here by morning."
"Ain't good enough…" someone snarled from the shadows.
"Seamus, you keep that trap of yers shut, what would yer father think?" the old woman's voice cracked at the mention of her husband. "He's not even cold in his grave and you're already disgracing his memory."
Tension went up a notch.
"Don't do this ma," Another pleaded from the shadows, the sound of grief heavy in the words.
"Ma'am I just want to git Ezra and git'im back to the motel…we'll be gone by sun up." Buck tried again, never taking his eyes off the eight shadows that seemed to stretch into the dark reaches of the room. He wasn't sure if he could let go of the table just yet to reach Standish, let alone some how get him to the motel just across the parking lot.
"Ezra?" The shocked whisper from the old woman had Buck furrowing his brow. "Little Ezra Standish?" There was silence and then a soft weeping, "my God he came?….the boy came?" Tears could be heard in her voice.
"He don't have no right to come back here ma, none at all….he left us remember? Run out on us and never once contacted us again….ain't once called or wrote to let you and Dad know iffen he was alright or not…."
"You stop it Tommy, stop it this instant," anger washed away the old woman's tears as she stepped forward past Buck. She stared at the semi conscious man laying partially on his midsection on the sand marred wood floor.
"My God is that him?" She brought her hand to her mouth and then knelt slowly beside the crumpled agent. "Lord has he grown."
"He don't deserve none of yer time ma."
"One more word out of you Patrick and I'll tan yer hide, that isn't any way to talk about yer brother."
"He ain't our brother ma."
"Never was." Another voice chimed from the dark shadows.
"Peter and Christopher, so help me God, as I live and breathe I'll wash yer mouths out till your eyes bubble…He might not be blood kin but we raised him as if he were."
"He run out on you and Dad…and us too, he took off and never said a word as to why…"
The old lady hesitantly reached out a gnarled hand to rest on the side of Standish's head. "I know he did Jimmy, I know he ran off, but it had to be for a good reason, ya father never stopped lovin' him even after all these years, and neither 'ave I."
"Ma'am, if you don't mind I'll just git Ezra back to the motel," Buck stepped forward holding onto his midsection, hoping he could rouse Standish to enough of a conscious state to get him on his feet and out the door.
"You next door, young man?"
"Yes Ma'am."
"Steven, you and Jimmy give him a hand," The old woman brushed a few bloody strands of hair from a cut about Standish's eyes.
"Ohh ma," one of the 'boys' started to complain.
"It's ok Ma'am I can handle him."
"Jimmy, you shut your whining mouth and help this gentleman or I'll give you something to whine about."
Snickers were heard around the room.
The door to the bar opened yet again. A sheriff and two deputies strode through the door. Buck swore under his breath.
Ezra did not need any more negative attention from law enforcement.
"Katie?" The big sheriff spoke as he walked deeper into the room, "you and the boys alright?"
"Hello Kenneth," the old woman climbed to her feet with the aid of one of her sons. "Thank you so much for coming to John's funeral…he would have appreciated it."
"Nothin' he wouldn't have done for me," The sheriff stepped up next to Buck. The big man looked Wilmington up and down and then gazed down at the prone agent on the floor. He let out a low whistle. "You boys don't waste any time do ya?"
Buck couldn't help but think the Sheriff was speaking of him and Ezra and not the seven or eight shadows of over grown beef and corn fed replicas that populated the bar.
Wilmington could feel the deputies close in behind him. He sighed. Just what he needed, a small time sheriff with a big attitude.
"There a problem here boys?"
Though he spoke in the plural, Buck had the distinct impression he was being singled out.
"Nope Sheriff, just here to pick up a friend and head back to the motel…we'll be gone by sun up."
"You Wilmington?" The Sheriff hooked his thumbs in his gun belt and stood hipshot as if anticipating a creative answer.
Buck did a double take and stared hard at the sheriff, "How'd you know?"
"Someone named Larabee just got done chewin' my ass about some shit I don't understand. But he said to tell ya that they figured it out and to take yer time but be damn sure to get that rebel son of a bitch home."
"Yeah that would be Chris." Buck couldn't help but chuckle. It burned his ribs. "How'd he know we were here?"
"Well son, in case you haven't notice Eimida isn't the biggest thing on the map."
"Hell Sheriff we ain't even on the map," This came from the silhouette that sat on the bar swinging his legs and sipping from a long neck.
"Pete, ya best watch yer Gawd damn language around ya mother and shut the hell up when I'm talkin' business."
"Weren't me Sheriff it was Tommy."
"Shut up, Tommy." Another voice rang out.
The sheriff ignored the voices in the shadows and faced Wilmington, "When a black Jaguar pulls up in front of Maise's Motel it's hard not to notice it. I ran the plates." The sheriff paused and stepped forward and scrutinized the man still curled on the floor. "So he really came back…too bad it had to take this to get him here." The big man pulled his gaze from the now groaning undercover agent to the shadowed faces that surrounded him.
"He git a chance to say why he left, or did you boys decide to give'im his welcome home present first?"
Silence met the statement.
Standish moaned again and rolled onto his hands and knees.
The sheriff sighed and shook his head. He bent down and with one hand lifted the undercover agent to wobbly feet. "On yer feet son… can't have ya layin' on the floor of Bobbie's like old Dimmer, ya been raised better than that." Standish sagged in his grasp.
"You in there son?" He gave Ezra's arm a shake, jostling the undercover agent. "You know boy, you and I have unfinished business about some broken windows and an outstanding debt."
Ezra merely groaned as he tripped and staggered, falling into a booth under the guidance of the sheriff.
Buck limped behind them aided by Katie.
"Cindy bring us a bottle of Jack if you would please and some ice in a pair of towels." The Sheriff pushed Ezra all the way into the booth and sat on the outside. Buck let Katie in his side and then sat on the edge facing the sheriff.
A bottle of whiskey, three glasses and two hand towels full of chopped ice suddenly appeared on the table.
"Here son put this against ya eye," The Sheriff fit the bundled ice into Standish's hand and then raised it to his swelling eye. "I would have thought that after all this time you would learn to quit walking into trouble." The sheriff shook his head in mock disappointment and then looked across the table at Buck, "been causing trouble since the first day he turned up here…boy just attracts it I guess."
Buck dabbed at his bloody lip and squinted his eyes trying to focus. "Guess somethings don't change…you think he's bad you see two of our buddies…they're trouble waiting to happen."
Ezra grumbled out something but the sheriff just pushed a shot of whisky at him.
The sheriff then did the same for Buck. "Could explain Larabee's temper. Was in the Marine Corps myself for Fifteen years and I've never heard anything like him before."
"Yeah well Chris's bin under a lot of pressure lately. He say anything else?"
"Nope just that they got it figured and the Judge is cooling off some…. and to git yer asses back home...He'd take care of the rest."
"We'll be heading back first thing in the morning."
"How long have you known'im Mr. Wilmington?" Katie spoke softly. She tentatively reach forward and rested an arthritic hand on Standish's arm. Ezra merely laid his head on the table uncaring of the dried bottle rings and the build up tacky residue.
"Few years ma'am."
"He ran away one night, we never heard from him again until tonight…" Katie sighed closing her eyes. "John always thought there was a reason for why he just up and ran away….he had seemed so happy with us," She gripped Standish's forearm, "I just never saw it coming," She paused and looked up at Buck, "he should have at least called or maybe wrote… anything to let us know he was alright."
The sheriff spoke giving the older lady a chance to regain her composure, " John and the boys crawled all over this area lookin' for'im. They feared the worst of course. They spent, I don't know how many days, hell Months looking for him. Put posters up, ads in the newspaper, hell they stopped just short of going on the TV…but seein' that the boy weren't really theirs, they were afraid that the Authorities would send him back to that bastard of an Uncle of his..." The sheriff paused sipping from his shot glass and then rubbed a hand tiredly across his face. "They got a letter from his mother 'bout 6 or 7 months after he had disappeared," The Sheriff looked to John's wife. She seemed frail for the first time since he had known her. " The boy's mother had sent them a check as compensation for caring for the kid." The sheriff inclined his head to the older woman in a show of respect, "Katie and John didn't have the heart to take it. They coulda used it, but they burned it." The sheriff poured another round of whiskey, "A few years after that Maude wrote again searching for the boy…she had heard he had run away again from where ever it was she had left him." The sheriff stared hard at the man he knew as a boy and then back to the ATF agent who sat across from him, "John and Katie and the rest of us feared it might've been the same bastard that had originally driven the boy to them…us…always held out hope he'd come back…" The sheriff tossed back a second whisky, "Hell, John never really stopped looking for'im, he criss-crossed this country in that old Peter Built of his, long hauling always keepin' his eye out for the boy." Ken shook his head, it seemed such a tragic waste.
Buck furrowed his brow and leaned back in the naugher hide seat. Holding his own ice towel to his swelling lip, he asked, "Don't know nothing about any uncle, but I do know Maude, thing is, he turned out ok, really wasn't any reason to explain how that happened...that is until coming here."
Katie smiled and patted Buck's upper arm as if to say thank you.
"Katie, I think its best if we get these boys back to their motel room and let them get some rest."
"Surely Ezra and Mr. Wilmington can stay with us."
"I think Katie it might be easier on everyone if they go back to their motel." The sheriff stared at the new widow hoping to make her understand.
With a resigned sigh, she nodded her agreement.
The sheriff offered a small smile in gratitude and nodded to his two deputies. The three walked the two ATF agents across the parking lot to Maize's Motel and 'free Air onditioning and HBO'.
"I'll stop by in the morning and take you out to John and Katie's for breakfast."
Buck was about to protest when the Sheriff held up his hand, "It's the least you can do," the big man stared at the unconscious agent sprawled across the bed, "Right or wrong, he opened some deep wounds coming back here."
Buck sat on the corner of his bed and stared at Ezra and then the sheriff, he simply nodded agreeing with just about everything the big man had to say.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~`
Everyone I know, Everywhere I go
People need some reason to believe…
Buck drove the Jag. Occasionally he stole a glance at Standish who slept reclining in the passenger seat. The back seat was loaded with casseroles and bake good items left over and overflow from well wishers for Katie O'Donahue and her family. Apparently John O'Donahue was a hard working man that was loved by his friends and respected by his enemies.
Buck watched the signs for the exit that would lead him to Interstate 70. He glanced back down to Standish.
Ezra had lost a father figure again. Buck knew it had hurt.
~~~~~~~~`
Running on- running blind
He had seen it in the Southerner's eyes when Katie pulled out the photo album to show Buck the few precious years that a little boy, had stowed away in their old barn and stole pies to 'subsist on'. She showed pictures of a mischievous child who had originally thought someone would blame one of the many children that lived within the walls of their small modified double wide trailer, for the thievery. As Buck watched Katie flip through the years when nine children had lived in her home, Ezra had cautiously followed the other eight now grown children through the woods to an old swimming hole, down to the old tire swing, and the infamous Love Shack. Grandchildren and daughter-in-laws filtered in and out of the house leaving the stranger and 'mum' to sit alone on the sagging couch with a picture book before them.
By the time the 'boys' had all returned, Buck stared at his battered and bruised friend and felt some of Katie's and her family's anger and frustration. Why had Ezra run away from them? Why had he disappeared from their lives after living with them for so long?
When the 'boys' sat down in the living room to toast their father and remember the things they loved about him most, they shared a bottle of whiskey and then two. Nine grown boys and whisky relived the years they spent together under one roof and the protection of their father.
Buck and Katie had moved, listening from the comfort of the tiny kitchen. Near the end of the day and toward the bottom of the second bottle someone had asked the inevitable question.
Why had Ezra run away? What was so bad about living with them that he had left behind everything they had given him and run off?
In the stretch of silence that ensued, Buck had the urge to interrupt, to protect his friend from the memories he had not been shared with anyone until this point. Wilmington was stayed by the simple shattered look of an old lady who had dedicated her life to her husband and sons. She had one son leave her, a boy not even hers, though she loved him as if he was one of her own.
Buck figured she deserved something.
The silence had stretched until the dense honey drawl voice of his team mate started speaking. The alcohol had thickened his accent to the point that the heavy drawl matched the men that sat with him in the other room, whisky had slowed his speech until it drew itself out like hot gum stuck to a metal seat. In the end, he answered the question that a family had asked for more than a decade if not two.
He described the night with very few words but somehow conveyed a young boy's terror. He described a man that had haunted his short life, saw him standing in the very kitchen in which Buck and Katie now sat. He described how this man, his guardian, appointed to him by a relative, had threatened the family, the boys, the parents and even the dogs of this tiny household.
In a quiet, shame filled voice, Standish spoke of a broken glass milk bottle that he had dropped when faced with this shadow of a man in the home that had promised him safety. He remember the glass mingling with milk and worrying about Ruger, the family's yellow hunting lab, cutting his feet and tongue on the glass in his haste to lap up the milk when he snuck into the house in the mornings. Ezra spoke of the rendezvous that he had promised the man he would make the next morning in order to spare the family this man's monstrous brutality.
In the end Ezra had run. An eleven year old had run from a living nightmare into the night to protect a family. He had run, had waited at the rendezvous sight and hid in the bushes. Waiting…waiting for the man to arrive. He waited past the appointed time and then he ran. Ran. And ran. And ran. He made his way to the Mississippi and then up North. In the bustling town of Memphis, he had lived until he found his mother.
They moved to England to live with her new husband. In the end, mother and son had stayed in Europe for three years and two step fathers before returning to the states.
He had wanted to come back home, back to this place, had even packed a bag once and ran away from his mother. But he feared the man in the shadows would return and seek vengeance on the family so each time he unpacked his meager belongings and stayed away.
Katie had held her hand over her mouth as tears streamed down her face. Buck rose from his chair and held her tightly, rocking her back and forth as she grieved for her husband and for the fear that had gripped the soul of one so young while in the protection of her home. She cried great silent sobs shaking her head in denial, wishing she could turn back the clock, wishing she could have her husband by her side, wishing she could have stood in her darkened kitchen so long ago and protected a frightened child.
She cried because that fateful night, her husband and the Sheriff had run into that monster, that man in the shadows, and had pursued him into the swamp. They had chased him into the twisted thick maze of a bayou and had watched silently as he fell violently to one of nature's greatest predators. The man had never reached the parking lot behind the old Baptist church because he had no longer lived.
Buck held her tight and quietly, promised her it would be alright. He closed his eyes as his chest tightened in grief for this family.
~~~~~~~'
I don't know about anyone but me,
If it takes all night, that'll be all right
If I can get you to smile before I leave.
Wilmington pulled himself out of the reverie and hit the blinker as he made the switch to I-70 North, they would be home tonight if they pushed hard.
Buck eyed the sleeping man beside him. The whisky, sleepless nights and hard earned bruises had taken their toll. Buck would stop in a few hours. Chris and the others would understand. They would not know the details but they would understand the need to cover and protect wounds from prying eyes, even eyes of friends and family.
They would understand because all of them one time or another had suffered losses alone.
Buck leaned back in the leather seat and eyed the road. This time maybe he and the others would break the pattern that seemed to haunt him and his teammates. Maybe this time no one would mourn alone or be allowed to isolate themselves. Buck shifted his gaze to Standish. He had not moved for the past hour. Wilmington vowed to stick with Ezra just as he had done with Chris. Buck chuckled and reached forward turning up the volume on the radio. Ezra didn't stand a chance of hiding, there were at least four or perhaps five other men who would be willing to help Buck.
The black Jaguar with light tan leather anterior sped down the interstate disappearing into the pink glare of a setting sun.
The end.
Looking out at the road rushing under my wheels
I don't know how to tell you all just how crazy
this life feels….
I look around for the friends that I used to turn to
Pull me through
Looking into their eyes I see them running too…
Running on…..running on empty
Running on…..Running blind
Running on…..Running into the sun
But I'm running behind.
Jackson Browne "Running on Empty"
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