Chapter 106

Saturday, Aug. 4

I was on time to pick up Morgan and proceeded to the club to wait for the rest of the Robinson clan and however many would be dining with us. We were soon joined by the expected crowd except for Jed, Keri and Erin. One of the girls was still competing in a tournament with her club team and my friend was off watching that.

I thought it was kind of funny how Kinsey and Kirsten muscled their way to sit on either side of me, forcing Kacie, Morgan, Bethany and Staci to sit outside them or across the table. Aunt Patty told the girls to behave. Grandma said it was cute, but gave me a warning look.

Grandpa was again holding court with the men, while Aunt Patty and Aunt Karen fielded questions from the women. I thought Kacie and Morgan did a good job of including the younger girls in our conversation. Kirsten went from shy 11-year-old to equal standing with the teenagers in a matter of minutes. Kinsey pumped Staci for all the information necessary on getting into the cheerleader pipeline next year in high school. My cousin would have to be content with being just another eighth-grader this year because of the timing of their move.

I was more than ready when the server came to take orders. I went with the chicken fried steak and mashed potatoes. I needed something that would stick to my ribs after missing out on a real lunch today.

I don’t know what spice blend Chef Maurice used in the batter of his CFS, but it was almost addictive. The only place I’d ever eaten that could compete was a little cafe in a tiny cowtown a little more than 100 miles out west on the interstate. Grandpa insisted we eat there at least once every time we visited the farm, which was another hour’s drive beyond the place.

One feature that had me hooked on the joint was the little cafe’s list of specials. Monday night was all-you-can-eat chicken fried steak. I’d like to see what kind of damage Jed and the other linemen on the cabana crew could do under those circumstances. I’d have to rent a bus and find out once football season was over.

After our meal, we broke up to head our separate ways. The men were heading to the men’s lounge to continue talking about golf, the women were bound for the ladies lounge to discuss kids and decorating while I was to escort the girls to the teen lounge. Kirsten was stoked to be included with the “big kids.”

Before we could all get moving, my grandmother pulled me aside.

“Be careful with Kirsten,” Grandma said. “She’s crushing pretty hard on you. That’s the way Karen used to act around your father.”

“Grandma, I’m not going to fool around with an 11-year-old,” I said. “She’s my cousin, for cryin’ out loud.”

“There was a time not that long ago when you would have said you’d never fool around with your sister,” she said. “Look how that turned out.”

I had to admit she had a point.

The point was reinforced when my younger cousin horned in to take my hand for the walk to the teen lounge. She had certainly begun to assert herself with the older girls. Some might even say she was marking her territory.

I was tasked with getting sodas for all six girls as they commandeered a table and began dragging up chairs. I had just delivered the drinks when my phone pinged with a text from Dad summoning me to the men’s lounge.

All six girls pouted prettily when I made my excuse to go. My ears burned all the way to the men’s lounge.

I was surprised that our little group was the only one in the place. Usually, the lounges were pretty busy on weekend nights. The only other people in the room were the bartender and a cocktail waitress.

My grandfather indicated that I should take a seat at their table and waved the waitress over. Everyone ordered a round — I was the only one who didn’t get Jack Daniel’s — and waited patiently for the drinks to be delivered.

“Thank you, young lady,” Grandpa said when the waitress returned with six glasses on a tray. “I’d appreciate if you’d see to it that we have some privacy for a little while.”

The bill he dropped on her tray helped ensure that we would. It would have taken her at least an hour on a normal Saturday night to make that much. She told the bartender she needed his help in the stockroom and the two disappeared through a doorway as Grandpa took charge the discussion. Meaning he talked, I listened.

“I wanted to talk to you about what’s happening with the Fairchild woman,” he told me. “George and your father have filled me in on what happened last month. You were smart to seek George’s help, but that’s not always going to be an option as you move forward in life.

“One thing I want you to understand is there will always be people looking to take advantage of you — con artists, scammers, swindlers, people always looking for a handout, those too lazy or too incompetent to make it on their own. It’s only going to get worse when people realize you have money. That’s one reason Dougie’s been content to live modestly all these years.”

I wasn’t quite sure where my grandfather was going with this, but I was confident I was going to find out.

“A hard lesson I had to learn when I wasn’t much older than you are now is how to handle things when these people won’t take no for an answer,” he said, causing me to think of some of the salespeople I’d recently encountered. “If they perceive you as being weaker than they are, they’ll pick you clean and then dispose of you when you’re no longer any use to them. I’ve seen it happen too many times to some good folks.

“The way you deal with those predators is to render them totally incapable of such behavior. Sometimes, that means destroying their reputation or ruining them financially. Sometimes, it means seeing them put behind bars. Sometimes, it means putting them down like a rabid dog.”

Grandpa paused to take a sip of his drink.

“This Fairchild woman thought she could just use you however she wanted and leave you in the dust when she was done with you,” Grandpa said. “You wouldn’t have been the first she treated that way. The thing is, people like that always have something to hide, some dirt, skeletons in their closet. All you have to do is dig deep enough. George has connections to people who are very good at digging. They didn’t have to go very deep with this gal.

“It’s not nice and it’s not pretty. It’s not something you feel good about if you’ve got a scrap of human decency within you, but you’ve got to be willing to hurt anyone who is trying to hurt you or the ones you love. You don’t try to bargain with them. You take them out with one blow and, if they’re still alive, make sure they know who did it and why and that it will be magnitudes worse if they ever try anything again.”

Mr. Richards broke in at that point.

“A motion to deny bail has been filed,” he said. “With her European connections, she could be deemed a flight risk.”

Grandpa took another sip and sat his glass on the table.

“Your grandmother, Meredith Metzger and George are willing to bankroll this Shoffner fellow so he can buy the agency,” Grandpa said. “Julia Fairchild isn’t in a position to haggle. She needs money for her defense and it seems a good chunk of her ready cash has disappeared.

“What you’ve got to understand is this isn’t an act of revenge. It’s a show of strength against someone who was looking to use you for their own gain to your detriment. You can’t be cruel about how you use power, but you do have to be ruthless in such cases.”

“What’s the difference?” I asked.

“Cruelty is when someone does it for their own enjoyment,” Grandpa said, “a sadist, if you will. Ruthlessness is doing what needs to be done, even when it’s unpleasant, and not worrying about it. I know that sounds callous, but that’s the way you’ve got to be.”

“It sounds like you have to break the rules sometimes,” I said. “How do you stay out of trouble?”

“Sometimes, you don’t,” Grandpa said. “I never said there weren’t consequences. Remember, every action, even a good one, has consequences. You have to decide if the result is worth the consequences you’re going to face.

“It’s like the Japanese yakuza, if you’ve ever seen some of those movies. I’m not suggesting you cut off a finger as a sign of your commitment, but it’s the same kind of mindset. Oftentimes, showing you’re willing to accept those consequences to get the job done sends a stronger message than the act itself.”

“So breaking the rules is OK?” I asked.

“If rules worked with these people,” Grandpa said, “we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Rules are designed by the people in power to keep themselves in power. Rules tell you you must be subordinate to your parents, your teachers and coaches, your employers. That’s all well and good as far as it goes. But you’ve got to stand up for yourself in those instances where someone is blatantly taking advantage of you.”

“And your parents still know best,” Dad jumped in. “If you run into something like this again, I expect you to talk to me first. If I think it’s necessary, then we can call in the big guns.”

“I’m not saying you should go out and wreck someone’s life just because they cut you off in traffic,” Grandpa said. “What I am saying is you have to be willing to wreck their life to keep them from wrecking yours. Think of it as hitting the school bully between the eyes with a two-by-four when he tries to take your lunch money.

“Just make sure you hit him hard enough he doesn’t try it again. And if he does try it again, you hit him even harder and keep hitting him until he either gets the message or can’t get up to try it a third time.”

“So much for violence will not be tolerated,” I said.

“That’s for people who know they’re about to get their ass handed to them,” Grandpa said. “It goes back to being willing to accept the consequences to send a message. Do it right the first time and there won’t be a second. Your father can attest to that.”

I and three very curious golf partners looked at Dad, who just hung his head.

“I got into one fight when I was 14 and you won’t let me forget it,” he said.

“I won’t let the shitkickers who witnessed it forget it, either,” Grandpa said. “That boy’s family eventually moved halfway across the state to get away from the ridicule. I understand the punk never did make anything of himself.”

“I’ve got to hear this one,” Mr. Patterson said with a malevolent grin.

Dad just stared at his contemporaries before finally giving in.

“This guy just felt he had to put me in my place,” he said. “He was two years ahead of me, a junior when I was a freshman, and was a lineman on the varsity. He didn’t think it was right that I was dating prettier girls than he was, girls who wouldn’t even give him the time of day. It wasn’t like I was trying to steal his girlfriend or anything.

“He finally pushed me too far and I called him out in front of the whole school. I didn’t care that he had more than 40 pounds on me. I popped him right in the mouth.”