Chapter 4

As I pulled out of the motel parking lot to begin my little journey, I noted that the Z/28 was now gone and, along with it, I assumed that Ruthanne was gone as well, probably back to wherever she resided from day to day when she wasn’t fucking truckers, or living with Boyd Simon.

As much as my heart was tugging at me to locate and interact with Ruthanne; to try and learn just what was, and had been, going on with her—and what could possibly have driven her to her apparent current lifestyle—I had other things that were pressing. I knew just how to pry the money that Darryl’s task force members needed out of the hands of the politicians in Richmond.

Well, let me correct that. I knew the MAN who knew how to do that—Dear Old Dad.

After driving north for a while, I called my father’s offices from a rest stop on I-85 just outside of Petersburg to check on his schedule. Patsy, the lady who kept track of things for the Delegates with offices in her section of the Pocahontas Building near the Capitol, had known me since I was a teenager. She let me know that Dad had a working dinner that evening at the Boar’s Head with a new intern—right, another one, I thought.

The Boar’s Head Inn, just outside of Charlottesville, Virginia, is an almost-600-acre resort that is owned by the University of Virginia Foundation. It sits in a beautiful, romantic setting in the rising terrain just east of, and within view of, that portion of the scenic Blue Ridge Mountains east of the Shenandoah Valley.

It was just after dark when I parked and walked into the resort. If I knew the way that the mind of Delegate Donald Holloway—my dad—functioned, then he would be working on his most recent attempt at conjugal conquest in the Mill Room.

The Mill Room is described by restaurant critics as ‘a 4-diamond treasure’. As the resort’s web site indicates, the Mill Room is ‘always elegant, yet never pretentious’. The Mill Room is the perfect atmosphere for any occasion, whether a special celebration or ‘just because’—or pursuing nookie, in my dad’s case.

The hostess nodded when I indicated that I was here to join my dad, Delegate Holloway. “Oh, you are his son?” she asked. When I nodded, she smiled and said, “They only just got here a short while ago. Delegate Holloway is dining with his niece this evening.”

For those of the general public who are not aware, for those in power in the State government in Richmond, the use of the term ‘niece’ is the by-now-standard, but polite, way of saying ‘mistress’.

Glancing around, I noted three or more tables occupied by couples consisting of apparently well-off gentlemen—usually middle age or older—each with a much younger lady friend. A goodly number of ‘nieces’ were staying over that the Boar’s Head this weekend, it would seem.

I spotted them exactly where I expected to find them: at a table that had a beautiful evening view of the mountains with the sun setting behind them. The table was off the main area a bit to afford a bit of privacy, what little could be had. A pretty young intern was with him, evidently enthralled with her surroundings and doting on everything that my father was saying.

She really was a stunner. Blonde, stacked, dressed to the nines for her ‘evening with the Delegate’. She appeared to be early-to-mid-twenties, just slightly younger than I was, probably graduated UVA and either already in, or attempting to get into, UVA Law School.

They did not see me approach, but I alerted them with my greeting.

“Hey, Cuz,” I said with a smile, now attempting to settle her down after she jumped in her seat, being startled by my statement. Dad just turned to me in annoyance, but appeared to be otherwise unruffled by my appearance. I guess Good Old Patsy must have given him the head’s-up after my call earlier, so that he was expecting me. “Hi, Dad. You are looking good.”

“I’m ... I’m sorry,” stammered the young woman, attempting to buy herself a second or two to regain her composure. “But, what did you say just now?”

“I said, ‘Hey, Cuz’,” I answered, while keeping my ‘winning’ smile in place. “After all, since you are my father’s ‘niece’, then you are, by default, a cousin of mine. And it is always nice to meet new kinfolks.”

“Russ,” said Dad, “be nice. And allow me to present Ms. Sarah Forrest. Sarah, my son, Russell.”

A waitress appeared with another setup of water glass, menu, utensils, and napkin. I would not be dining with Dad and his date, but I figured that I would be here long enough to have a dessert and a drink. I turned to her and said, “Carrot cake, please, and Alewerks, seasonal.” The waitress nodded and went to get me the dessert and a craft beer from one of the area’s breweries.

Their salads and entrées arrived shortly, followed by my cake and my beer.

I vowed internally to be on my best behavior, and I would like to believe that I succeeded. The table talk was a very nice and Sarah grew more comfortable as their meal progressed. She confirmed that she actually WAS enrolled in UVA Law School, and was just interning at the Capitol for the summer.

Once their dinner had been concluded, I just looked at my dad and gave a lift to one eyebrow.

“Sarah, Sweetie,” said Dad in his pre-MeToo-Movement way of speaking to younger women, “could you give Russ and me about half an hour to speak about family matters? Then, he will be on his way and we can continue our ... discussion ... over the rest of the evening.”

I smiled at Sarah and she sighed and nodded. She picked up the shoulder bag that she was using for a purse, gave me a, “Nice-ta-meet-cha,” and left the main room, headed for the lobby, and the complementary Wi-Fi, no doubt. I had seen the bulge of what must have been a laptop in that massive bag of hers.

“How many more ‘cousins’ have I acquired this year?” I asked him with a grin.

“Don’t be a smartass,” he replied as he lifted his wineglass to take another sip. “Now, what is REALLY on your mind? And don’t give me any-a-that transshipment point bullshit. Yeah, we really would like to obtain one; but, you and I, and your mother, know that the cash flow is not gonna be positioned to take on that task for another coupla years. So, what is going on with you in that shithole town you been in? And, yes, I remember that little dust-up that you had there several years ago, back when I had to haul your ass back home in an ambulance.”

I had been contemplating not telling him everything, but he had a politician’s knack for knowing that you were not being totally up front. I leveled with him about finding Mara, linking up with Darryl, spotting Ruthanne, and seeing one of the culprits from the night of my beating at his place of business; and another one serving as a Sheriff’s Deputy.

“Hell, Dad. The really ironic thing is that there probably ARE several properties in that town that we would lease or buy for a transshipment point,” I finally told him with a grin and a shake of my head. “But, there is something else going down there; and that is where YOU come in.”

As I drained by beer, he gave me that politician’s ‘ah-ha’ smirk, probably already mentally calculating what favor that I might owe him for his assistance. He said, “I understand why you held off on telling your mother. And I agree. But you need to get to the bottom of things with this child; then, if she is your daughter, and my granddaughter, you just be sure you tell Althea and me right away. You hear?” At this, I nodded.

“So, what do you need from the Old Man?” he asked.

I told him about my discussion with Darryl and my learning about the joint law enforcement task force closing in on Simonton and its ugly activities; as well as the bureaucratic holdup they were experiencing.

“The money that the State Police boys need freed up...” I began, “do you know who, or what is holding it up?”

Before answering, he took another sip of wine and then calmly said, “Well, yeah; I should. It’s ME! I am the one holding it up.”

Before I could get in his face about it, he held up a hand and looked around to ensure that no one was eavesdropping on us. Then he told me the story.

“That pissant Attorney General of ours double-crossed me on a deal that we had going on in the House. So, I am now slow-walking his precious drug task force budget item for a couple of extra weeks just to make him sweat and to show him who the boss is when it comes to fiscal matters,” he confided in me.

“Dad,” I said in exasperation, “if that money doesn’t get released right away, then the State and local boys will get left out of the operation that the Feds are mounting. Would you want those Feds to go all ‘Ruby Ridge’ or ‘Branch Davidian’ on that place without some local law enforcement presence that actually cares about Virginians and their well-being?”

He thought about it as I tried one last personal probe. “And what if that little girl DOES turn out to be your granddaughter? Would you want anything to happen to her, or her mother?” Then I added, “Or me? Because I plan to be there to get them out if I can.”

“Okay, okay. Your mother would have me spit-roasted over hot coals if she thought that I had anything to do with putting or leaving you in any real danger. Tell your friend, Darryl, to tell his bosses that the money is on the way.

“Now, it has been good to see you, but Sarah and I have some legislative matters to discuss,” he said with another smirk. “So, you drive safely on your way back now, you hear?” he directed as he stood to shake my hand.

It had been his typical dismissal style for as long as I could remember. I was not really offended. In fact, it was sort of amusing. I really shocked him by moving in and giving him a brief hug, then I pulled back with a grin and bade him a good evening.

I waved to Sarah as I passed her in the lobby, working away on her laptop, and with her Smartphone propped between her ear and her shoulder. I exited and crossed the parking lot to my rental car and drove to the family home north of Williamsburg, about an hour away, for the rest of the night. I would head back to Simonton in the morning.

The next morning, on my way out of Williamsburg, I stopped to get my breakfast sugar fix at Emily’s Donuts, and savored every delicious bit of the two specialty donuts that I bought. Believe me, with the size of these pastries, two was plenty.

I stopped in to see Mom in her offices in Norfolk before the day’s formal schedule of meetings and teleconferences began for her. I still felt the need to withhold the information about her potential status as a grandmother, but I gave her the rundown on my property search.

You can bet your sweet ass that I did NOT tell her anything about my putting myself in potential danger with the events that Darryl and his folks had planned.

By mid-morning, I was on my way out of town, headed west, back to Simonton—and, hopefully, to a rendezvous with a significant piece of my recent past.

I had held onto the motel room—”Nah, ya don’t get a discount for being away for the night, Mister”— and when I pulled into the space where I had parked before, I noted that the Z/28 was back. Getting out of the car with my overnight stuff, I looked around, but I didn’t see any other cars parked nearby, just three others parked up near the Manager’s office. Neither did I see anyone walking around.

I had set my stuff down on the bed and gone to do my business in the bathroom. Returning to the main area, I heard a soft, but deliberate knock on my door. Checking the peephole, and with a quick glance at the wall mirror to see that my blue contacts were doing their job in my eyes, I took a deep breath and opened the door to potential trouble.

Ruthanne!

My breathing stopped for a moment as I again beheld the woman who had taken and then broken my heart just five years earlier.

She was still just a beautiful as I remembered. Yeah, her hips may have been a tiny bit wider, as I noted their firm roundness in her skin-tight yoga pants, but I attributed that to having birthed a child—my child, maybe? She frowned at my momentary silence and direct gaze—having seen me giving her the once-over.

“Hey. I just came by to talk a bit, but if you’re busy or anything...” Her words sounded as if she meant them, but her eyes and facial expression were hard. This was not the sweet girl whom I had met when she and I had had that beautiful short intimate time together.

“No,” I said after briefly clearing my throat. “I’m not busy. In fact, I just got back from an overnight in Williamsburg.”

“Oh!” she said, with a look that showed a bit of relief. “Then I would not have disturbed you with all the noise we made last night, then.” Here, she gave off a rather naughty, but guarded look, and blurted out, “We really raised hell and fucked ourselves silly last night; and you missed it all by not being here. You probably wouldn’t have been able to get any sleep, even if you HAD been here.”

Wow! She didn’t even know this version of me; and she was reverting to potty-mouth this quickly? I thought that was odd, if not just downright rude.

“Pretty wild, was it?” I asked with what I hoped was the horny look of a stranger in town standing in front of a woman who everyone in town probably had more than likely branded as ‘that slut’, to the worldly, and that ‘fallen woman’, to the more spiritually minded.

Then, I remembered my manners. “I’m Russ Holloway, by the way.” I extended my hand to shake hers.

“Ruthanne ... Simon,” she said coolly as she reached out and took my hand in hers.

She jumped a bit, as did I, as we felt the slight shock of static electricity that passed between us right as our hands connected.

She drew back her hand and crossed her arms, looking a bit annoyed.

“Oh,” I said, realizing that we were still in the threshold of the doorway. “Won’t you please come in?”

“Don’t you know that a proper lady does not enter a strange gentleman’s motel room?” she asked in an over-emphasized Southern accent, and now giving me a smirk. She chuckled and continued.

“I guess it’s a good thing that I am NOT a proper lady, then,” she threw at me as she brushed past me and entered my motel room. She did not even ask; she just sat down on the bed and leaned back; evidently, intent on letting me get a good look at the whole package.

Man! She was hot! Not in the way of the formerly virginal girl whom I had met and made sweet love to years before, but ‘hot’ in a much more mature and worldly, and yes, slutty, form.

I could detect in her hotness a very noticeable hardness, now. Also, she appeared to have a somewhat frantic needful attitude, most notably reflected in her heavily made-up hazel eyes.

“Do I know you?” she asked out of the blue, now sitting up and leaning forward; giving me a look down the V-neck of the light knit top that she wore, evidently without anything underneath, from both the clear view and the notable jiggle of her chest. “You look ... I don’t know. Just familiar, I guess.”

“I don’t know. I rarely travel through these parts,” I hedged. “Is that your Camaro out front?” I asked, hoping to change the subject.

“Yeah,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “My husband got that for me three years ago. I don’t know why, because he knows that I am not going anywhere with it, anyway.”

“Husband?” I asked blandly.

Her face hardened as she hissed, “Yesssss. My. Husband!”

“I mean ... well...”
“You mean; why am I fucking so many guys in a motel out near the truck stop when I have a husband?” she asked with an obvious, and surprising, bold challenge.

“Hey, look. I didn’t...” and I let it trail off, surprised by her brashness; and suddenly embarrassed, for some reason.

“I know that you must have heard what was going on two and three nights ago. But they were nothing compared to last night’s party.” Here, she got a wistful look, as if reminiscing about it.

“With as thin as the walls and floors are in this dump, and the way that Jerry, the owner and manager, refuses to upgrade anything, like for sound insulation, I know that you can hear just about everything there is to hear in any of the adjacent or downstairs rooms. As for room security, HA! Anyone can get past those ancient locks on these doors! I just...” Here, she suddenly stopped talking and got a faraway look in her eyes.

“You married?” she asked, startling me, since I had been waiting in silence for her to continue, and she had caught me by surprise by her sudden change of focus.

“Uh, no,” I said.

Then, she got a flirty look on her face and said, “Well, then; a single man on business in a strange town may just be looking for some companionship for these lonely nights, then. Right?”

“Uhm, I don’t know. Maybe.” ‘Come on, Russ. What is with you?’ I asked myself. “But, what does your husband think about ... you know ... everything...” I let it trail off here, more in a way of getting the question out in order to put off answering her obvious proposition.

“That asshole? He thinks that he is Mister High-And-Mighty around here; but he evidently doesn’t need me, it seems. Anyway, he is shacked up all the time with some chippies from Honduras, or Mexico, or Viet Nam, or East Egypt, I don’t really know, in a house on the north side of town. Asshole doesn’t even come home to our own house, anymore.” She had risen and begun pacing as she had disclosed this last bit of information.

Then, she turned abruptly toward the door and opened it before turning back toward me.

“Well, I just wanted to apologize for the noise. I will try to keep it down if I have any more ... guests.” Then, she got that naughty, flirty look on her face again and, in a throaty, sultry tone, said, “And don’t hesitate to be a guest yourself, if you are of a mind to, that is.”

Then she threw me a kiss, in the same manner as a schoolgirl, turned, and left the room, letting the door slam and lock behind her.

To say that I was disturbed would be an understatement. I took a breath and began to try to formulate a way to get past the hard crust that I had perceived that Ruthanne had built around herself. I needed to find a way to try to reconnect with her, and do so as the man with whom she had given herself to years before. This would be a really delicate matter to work out.

This woman had problems, and I mean in a big way!

Just in the short period of conversation that we had had, I could detect several aspects to her persona that indicated that Ruthanne more than likely needed some real professional help. She appeared to have difficulty concentrating—shifting topics suddenly. She also seemed obsessed with activities of a sexual nature; and had tried to entice me into them with her. She did not seem to believe that there were any consequences to her actions, especially possible repercussions from her husband, whom I remembered as having been a psychotic asshole.

Add to all this her tendency to have sexual relations with multiple partners—and, well, who knew what risky behaviors she was participating in? Or even if she were requiring condoms during sex? And then, there were some signs from the way she dressed and presented her body that indicated that she was, at least mildly, into exhibitionism.

Yeah; she was definitely in need of professional help; and soon.

I also had to remember the primary and secondary priorities. One: find out if the little girl, Mara, was actually my offspring, and two, get Mara and any of her innocent family members—and Ruthanne, of course—away from here before all hell broke loose from Darryl and the other authorities.

After having Martha Harley show me potential lease or purchase properties most of the next day, which had included a lot of walking around the large places, I was pretty bushed when I returned to my motel room. I was also getting tired of fast food At least the truck stop’s in-house restaurant was a Waffle House, serving good ole southern comfort food 24/7, or, as they advertised, ‘Good Food Fast’. After a shower and a check of email, I turned in early.

It was definitely a quieter night. I guess Ruthanne had decided to give it a rest for the night. When I had come back from supper, I had seen the Z/28 in the lot, so I knew she was around.

I had been able to sleep better, until I had rolled over and a unique confluence of geometry caused me to rouse. A business down the highway, slightly back from the road, evidently had a motion-sensing light that came on when something triggered its sensor. That light had a direct bead on the one mangled slat in the blinds covering my window and the ever-so-slight separation of the cheap curtains over the blinds. This allowed one pinhole of light to direct the luminary disturbance right to where my left eye was as I lay on my left side on the pillow.