Chapter 6

Now—Newport News

We sat in the waiting room at Riverside Hospital; at first, we were not talking, and Naomi would choke up a bit and release a few tears every now and then. After a little while, I began feeling like an asshole. After all, this was her daughter who was in surgery, and she needed a bit or comfort and encouragement.

“Hey,” I said finally, “do you want to take a stroll? And talk?”

Sniffing and wiping her nose on a tissue, she nodded and we both got up and walked from the ER into the area of the hospital called ‘The Pavilion’. The hallways were long, wide, and largely empty. This gave us a chance to talk, pausing only at the approach of the occasional other person, usually a staff member.

“So,” I began, “how did they come to have you and Mara wrapped up so tight tonight, and Ruthanne?”

“You gotta understand,” Naomi answered, “Simonton is a really small town. Everyone there, just about, serves, well, served, I guess, as eyes and ears for Boyd and his gang. Someone had seen more than the usual number of out-of-town cars, mostly dark SUVs, and figured out that some sort of extended police presence was there and that action was either under way or planned.

“Jerry, the manager at the motel, had more than likely either heard or figured out that something involving you and Ruthanne and that big cop was happening,” Naomi recounted, “and then, when more and more activities began to occur in and around the areas near Boyd’s and Dennis’s warehouses starting Friday afternoon, Boyd sent Hamp to come to the house and back up Herman. When Ruthanne showed up to get Mara, Hamp was there and disrupted her plan to get Mara and me away from Herman. Then, Boyd called Hamp; and, I guess that he told him to bring all of us to the high school. Then, well, you know the rest.”

I nodded. “That was some pretty good shooting, by the way,” I said.

Naomi blushed and said, “I was trying for his chest; I guess that hitting him in his balls counts as good a hit as any, and justifiable, considering what he and his daddy have put our family through.”

I just nodded, but I held off on asking Naomi any more details about her ability to shoot; and the fact that this preacher’s wife had a concealed handgun in the first place. She, evidently, felt a need to talk about other things; nervousness about Ruthanne’s unknown status at that moment driving her, I guess.

“Since Ruthanne told me who you are,” said Naomi, “I guess you know about what Boyd, and those monsters he calls ‘friends’, did to my Ruthanne that night five years ago, and for the rest of that whole weekend...” She sort of trailed off at that point, sniffing and gathering her thoughts before she continued.

“What she may not have told you is that he and his thugs put her through another day-and-a-half of rape, a bit after Mara was born. Can you imagine a man doing that to his own wife?” she asked in disgust.

She turned to me and hugged me as she cried. I just held her, trying to comfort her simply with my presence and silence.

When she calmed down a bit, Naomi continued. “Ruthanne was a bit off after that. I mean, Boyd had one of his gang doctors,” here she snorted, “check her out sometime afterward. That so-called ‘doctor’ said that Ruthanne had healed up, but that her body was showing indications of infertility. That may have had an effect on Ruthanne’s ... sexual outlook as well, I don’t know.

“I was just so thankful that...” here she trailed off; so that she did not finish that unusual thought. I frowned, but I did not press.

“Anyway, from that time onward, my sweet daughter became somewhat of a bitter woman; and she became, well ... a loose harlot and the town slut as well. When I found out, I tried to get her to stop, not only for her own well-being, but for Johnson’s and my standing in the community as well.

“She has apologized to me repeatedly over the past couple of years for her increased need for sex and for her escapades in town and at the truck stop, and she has tried to tell me over and over again that she can’t help herself; that she has these... ‘Urges’, she calls them. I don’t know what to think. She is just sex-crazy at times! Maybe she really is a nymphomaniac, I don’t know!” Here, Naomi held on to my arm and cried again for a few minutes. We got a couple of strange looks, but more looks of sympathy—’hospital’ looks, I guess.

“And, Boyd,” Naomi snorted when she began talking again, “That boy acts ... well, acted, as if he could not even care less that she was tramping around on him. He just cavorted with his collection of whores. Or else, he preyed on those poor Hispanic women who pass through town frequently. I guess they are illegals and he just takes advantage of them, knowing that they can’t or won’t report him.”

I broke in here. “My friend tells me that Boyd and his boys have been running women—yes, illegals—from south of the border and holding them here briefly in facilities that his friend, Dennis, owns. His other friend, Hamp, evidently makes arrangements for their movement into and out of there; heading north to become sex workers for some unsavory characters in New York and that area.

“Well,” I amended, “they DID, until tonight. All the activity in and around Simonton was the result of a major multi-agency law enforcement effort, and my friend was part of it. That is how I knew that it was time to get you and Ruthanne and Mara out of there, in order to get you clear of Boyd’s clutches, as well as to get all y’all away from any potential harm if things went wrong tonight.”

“You seem to have an awful lot of friends,” Naomi said, suddenly showing a hint of a smile. “Like that nice boy who flew us out in the helicopter.” The rising lilt as she said that had the implied question.

I gave Naomi the short version of how Sandy Crawford and I had met in ‘The Sandbox’ and how I had met his brother, and then, how Sandy and I had come to work together for the same company and have the same boss: my mother.

“I did not know that he would show up tonight, and with a helicopter, of all things. Given how things turned out with Ruthanne’s needing help, and all of you as well, I am sure glad that he did.” The reference to Ruthanne just reminded us both about the reason we were here and we both grew silent as we walked back over to the seating area to await the results of Ruthanne’s surgery from someone official.

Dr. Bashmira was the surgeon’s name, and he gave us the rundown on the damage Ruthanne had sustained and what steps he and his surgery team had taken to mitigate it all.

Acknowledging that she was Ruthanne’s mother, and nearest relation at this moment, Naomi convinced the doctor to give us—her, technically, with me standing within earshot—the details. We all wanted to know how she was and what the prognosis for her recovery might be.

Dr. Bashmira indicated that the bullet had not fragmented and he had been able to get it out of her intact. There had been some damage to soft tissues, but none of Ruthanne’s organs had been damaged. He stopped and was hesitant for a moment. He was obviously uncomfortable with what he had to say next.

“I apologize if what I say seems a bit odd, but...” the doctor finally took a breath and continued, “Did your daughter appear to have any unusual or strange inclinations involving ... intimate activities, or indicate unusual desires or sudden urges?”

I nodded at Naomi and she said, “There may have been some instances where my daughter indicated that she seemed to need more male attention that some of us in the family may have thought was usual, or advised.” Naomi was blushing now. “Why do you ask, Doctor?”

“Well,” the doctor responded, still a bit sheepishly, “we ran some lab tests and we confirmed abnormal levels of certain neurotransmitters, such as serotonin, norepinephrine, and dopamine in her system; and these have been known to lead to ... uhm ... compulsive behaviors ... uhm ... of a sexual nature?” He turned that last statement into a question; I guess, in order to ensure that we got his unstated meaning. We both just nodded our understanding.

“We also removed an ovarian cyst that we found during the pre-op scans. Due to the growth’s being estrogenic, some ovarian can cause hypersensitivity, also contributing to odd compulsory behaviors; and also associated with markedly increased female sexual inclinations,” he concluded.

From there on, Dr. Bashmira droned on with a litany of all the treatments and medications that she was receiving and gave us rather vague statements to manage our expectations concerning Ruthanne’s chances of complete recovery.

After he turned to go, we were approached by a lady who handled the hospital’s administrative side of things. She was accompanied by a Newport News Police Officer, who waited until she was through before he informed us that he needed some information for his formal report concerning the gunshot wound to Ruthanne; actually, a normal requirement for any patient entering the hospital with a GSW, as the Police called it.

After Naomi and I gave the Officer a rundown of what had happened and mentioned the involvement of so many agencies associated with the joint law enforcement task force operation going on in the Southside counties and towns, he nodded and got on his cell phone. After hanging up, he settled for just the basics, saying that his Department would be able to get more details later from all the Police reports flowing in.

The next time that I saw Darryl Crawford, he was on the evening news a couple of days later, standing behind the head muckety-muck of the law enforcement joint task force. You know how they array the real heroes in the back while the bureaucrat with either a heady ambition to be the next U.S. Attorney General, or at least get a big promotion, gets to brief the press? This press conference was for the purpose of releasing the public version of events.

I found out more of the real, non-public, story over beer a couple of weekends later when Darryl was finally able to come and visit me with his brother, Sandy, and we charred some steaks together.

As it turned out, the criminal enterprise in the Virginia Southside counties and towns took a major hit. Over thirty criminals were arrested for involvement in drug operations involving diversion of opioids and movement of illegal substances, such as cocaine and Fentanyl. Eighteen physicians in the area were at least detained and questioned, if not arrested outright, for contributing to the criminal support to the opioid crisis. Other criminals were either currently under arrest or being pursued on charges related to human trafficking operations, one of the effects being the freeing from the criminal guards, yet the detention by Federal agents for resolving immigration issues, of over forty women between the ages of nineteen and twenty-five from south of the U.S. border. The FBI and DEA were also pursuing ties to drug and other organized crime enterprises farther north.

Dennis Chancey had been arrested without any resistance. He had been coked out of his head in a side room of one of his warehouses; a naked illegal immigrant woman in her mid-twenties at his feet, giving him head, as Sheriff’s Deputies had burst in. Meanwhile, State Police Officers and Agents of the Immigration and Customs Enforcement had taken charge of the other women in the warehouse, ensuring first their safety, then checking their health status, before the inevitable steps required to process them for immigration irregularities.

Hamp Wells had been taken away in the custody of his childhood friend, Deputy Sheriff Sam Chaves, and was awaiting trial.

Boyd Simon, on the night of the beginning of the takedown, had been treated for his gunshot wound on the spot by EMTs from Greensville County Fire Department. Later, he had undergone surgery at the nearest regional hospital. The doctors fixed the moderate flesh tear across the bottom of his dick and saved his right testicle, but Naomi’s bullet had destroyed his left testicle. He was under arrest in the hospital where he was now recuperating. Once he became well enough to stand trial, he was facing over forty years in prison just on the charges being mounted against him by the Commonwealth’s Attorney. The Feds were standing by to hit him with prosecution on Federal charges once the Virginia courts had completed their actions.

As we had waited for our first opportunity to see Ruthanne after her surgery the next morning after the big takedown, Naomi had gotten on the phone to find about Mara and her well-being. With Naomi’s permission and blessing, I got my mom energized to assist in getting the four-year-old out of government custody and care, and across the water to the Peninsula to join Mara’s grandmother and me. Also, so that Mara could be on hand to see her mother, once Ruthanne was allowed to have visitors.

I was surprised when Mom came into the area where Naomi and I were awaiting word concerning our first opportunity to see Ruthanne. Almost running as she pulled on Mom’s hand was my beautiful little darling, Mara.

Yes, I was even more resigned to the fact that Mara was my daughter, conceived out of a passion that had been based on almost-instant love. The little girl’s existence had been hidden from me by circumstances, but now, I was determined that she would have me in her life as her father, in whatever role Ruthanne would allow for me to be, that is.

“Grandma!” shouted Mara as she approached, pulling Mom almost into a trot. “Look who I am with! I gotta ‘nother Grandma!”

I raised my smiling face from Mara to look at my mother with a questioning expression.

“Well,” huffed Mom, “you didn’t expect me to be able to keep it a secret; did you?”

I chuckled and hugged Mom before squatting down to the level of my newly-discovered daughter. She had been hugging Naomi, without letting Mom’s hand go. Now, Mara turned to me as I squatted.

“Hey,” was all she said as she blushed, grinned, and buried her face in Naomi’s thigh for a few seconds. She looked up at Naomi, who turned her toward me with a grin. Then, Mara opened her eyes wide and her mouth took the shape of an ‘O’ for a second and she said, “You gots eyes like me!”

“Mara, Sweetie; this is your daddy, your REAL daddy,” said Naomi, almost sounding triumphant in the process.

Mara hesitated for a moment. All at once, her face lit up and she almost leaped into my arms.

Ruthanne may have looked like shit to the average person seeing her for the first time after she had awakened following emergency surgery and was allowed to receive visitors, but she looked like an angel to me.

Naomi and Mara did not care how she looked, either. Naomi fawned over Ruthanne, asking all sorts of questions, while Mara had to be restrained from leaping from my arms onto the recovering Ruthanne’s bed.

“You...” began Ruthanne; then she coughed until a nurse gave her a sip of water through a straw. Finally able to talk, Ruthanne cleared her throat.

“You saved me,” Ruthanne declared as she gazed at me. “Thank you. And, thank you for getting Mama and Mara out of all of that.”

I was finally able to get Naomi to hold a squirming Mara and I leaned over to give Ruthanne a smile and a squeeze of the hand.

“Actually, Sweetheart,” I said in as loving a tone as possible, “you saved me!”

Ruthanne took that opportunity to pull my head down, after figuring out which arm was not festooned with IVs, and we shared our first real lover’s kiss since this had all started.