Chapter 16

When David walked into Darla's kitchen for his first cup of coffee, June wasn't in sight, which surprised him. The coffee was perked, though, so he poured a cup and fixed it the way he liked it: one sugar, a smidgen of heavy cream, and some half-and-half.

He smacked his lips with appreciation after swallowing, and June bustled into the room.

"I'm sorry, David. I was... got a minute?"

"Sure," he said.

"Come see. It's... well, it's beautiful."

David followed her to the glass wall in Darla's great room that looked out onto a lushly landscaped patio.

"They're dancing in slow motion, David," June said with a sense of awe in her voice.

David looked through the glass and saw Flint and Dwayne moving gracefully and synchronized, not to music, but rather for an exercise. Tai chi, he figured, or some kata from another martial art. They were naked except for shorts, and their skin glistened as muscles rippled.

The stub on Dwayne's left arm was covered with something, a cut-off sock, maybe, but his graceful moves, the perfection of his body otherwise, didn't let David eyes linger on the stub. He watched the total man, not one part. The jagged scars on Flint's leg didn't intrude visually for the same reason.

They are beautiful, David thought.

"What are they doing?" June said.

"Tai chi, I think," David said and sipped more coffee.

"I wanna learn how to dance like that," June said.

"Ask Flint; he'll probably teach you."

"Uh-uh," June said. "I'll ask Dwayne."

David glanced at her.

She blushed and said, "Flint's too busy."

David smiled knowingly, which deepened June's blush. He said nothing.

After making his trades for the day, David loped into Darla's kitchen for another cup of coffee. June served him this time.

"Flint wants to see you," June said as she set a mug in front of him. "Something about meeting the security-room guards." She sighed. "You warned me this would happen, David, and it has. I need help."

David grinned. "A baker, right?"

"Yeah."

He frowned. "Aren't bakers specialized? How much help would a baker be for you?"

June gave him a look that told him he wasn't very bright and said, "Any baker you hire will peel potatoes or whatever I want her to do, or she won't get a thumbs up from me."

"Makes sense," David said, grinning. "I'll put the word out on the baker/potato-peeler today. Recruiting one might take a while."

"I understand."

"What did you think of Del?" David said. As soon as Del met June, he'd recognized her, and the two of them had disappeared into June's kitchen to prepare lunch for everyone.

June chuckled. "He needed a shave."

David laughed.

"If he stays sober, he'll be a winner," June added.

"I agree," David said. "Where does Flint want me to meet him?"

"The gym," she said.

David left carrying his coffee and found Flint and five men in the gym. Two were legless and in wheelchairs. One was missing an arm, his shirt pinned over the stub. Two looked normal, but they weren't, David discovered a little later. One was missing a foot, and the other had lost a leg just below his knee. They wore prosthetic limbs, including specialized shoes, so David didn't notice their handicaps. All of the men wore weapons in shoulder holsters.

Why five men? David asked himself. Then he mentally hit his forehead with his palm and called himself a dummy. The security room would be manned 24/7, not 24/5. David did some quick calculations in his head: 4 men, 8 hours a day, for 4 days a week; 1 man, 8 hours a day, 5 days a week. Total: 168 hours, the hours in a week. No overtime and hours to spare if one of them gets sick.

"Good morning, boss," Flint said when he noticed David. "Come in and meet the troops who will be manning the security room and otherwise protecting the compound."

Matt Boswell, David learned, was the lead man, and the man who would be working a full 40 hours a week. He was black and wheelchair bound. Frank Connell was the man with the pinned up shirt. Devlon Kristensen wore a prosthetic foot, and Jerry Henniger was the other man in a wheelchair. The Hispanic with a prosthetic leg was named Ramon Gomez.

After introductions, Matt Boswell grinned and said, "As troops go, we might appear used up, Mr. Stanley, but we'll do the job for you. You won't catch one of us asleep, drunk, or drugged up on the job, and we're all experts with a pistol."

I looked at Flint and said, "We've got a problem. No handicapped facilities."

"They're planned in the addition, but that's six months away. Dev worked construction. He said he'd fix the bathroom next to the security room so Matt and Jerry can use the facility, and we'll jerry-rig a ramp into the house," Flint said. "We'll make do."

"Hire a contractor if necessary," David said. He looked at Boswell. "Matt, you called me Mr. Stanley. I go by David. Got it?"

He chuckled and said, "Got it."

"That goes for the rest of you, too," David said. He grinned and rubbed his hands together. "If any of you need to talk about anything, you'll find that I'm a good listener. Welcome aboard."

He turned and left, thinking that June would definitely need some help, and soon.

Grace Black walked into Paul Fisher's plush office trying not to smirk. As usual, although he'd told her to come in after she'd knocked on his office door, he ignored her while he finished reading a document from a folder on his desk, a document no doubt related to his business, not the Center. She didn't sit down.

Finally, he looked up at her. "Grace, I'm very busy. Please keep it short."

"I can do that," Grace said and placed an envelope on the corner of the desk. "That's my resignation, Paul."

She relished the shocked look on his face, but maintained a bland expression.

"Why?" he said loudly after he composed himself.

"Personal reasons," she said. She saw no point in burning bridges before she left. "The letter of resignation specifies thirty-day's notice, so you should have ample time to replace me."

He glared at her and said, "Personal reasons. That's not good enough, Grace. What do you mean by personal reasons?"

"Personal, by definition, means my reasons are related to me alone, Paul."

"You need this job, Grace. You have a mortgage, a car payment, other obligations. You wouldn't resign if you didn't have another job lined up."

She said nothing.

With an angry grunt, he said, "Clean out your desk, now. You're fired."

She laughed. She hadn't planned to rub it in, but couldn't stop herself. "If you want me to clean out my desk now, I will, but you can't fire someone who has already quit."

"Get out! Get out of my office. You won't get another job like this one, not in this city. Don't expect a decent reference from me, or anyone in this organization. You won't get one. I'll put the word out that you're not to be trusted!"

"Be careful how far you go, Paul. If you go too far, I'll sue your fat ass for defamation. I'll use every penny I've saved over the years, and I've been frugal, so my pennies amount to enough to nail you to the wall. This was a good organization until you gained control of the board. You turned it into a playground for your sophomoric power games."

"Get out!" he bellowed.

"I feel sorry for you, but I feel sorrier for the battered women and children who come to the Johnson Center shelters for help. They're merely pawns on your chessboard. You lack empathy, Paul, a serious character flaw for someone running a charitable organization."

She turned on the balls of her feet and walked out of the office, leaving the door open.

"Fired!" he screeched. "You're fired!"

Without turning she yelled, "My letter of resignation is on your desk. I quit, so you can't fire me, dumbbell!"

Eloise, sitting at the receptionist desk, tittered.

"Come with me while I clean out my desk, Eloise," Grace said. "I don't want that asshole or anyone else accusing me of taking anything that belongs to the Center."

Cursing and red in the face, Del Gilead stomped away from the ranch kitchen into the big house. He found Carol working on a computer in her office.

"Have you ever prepared a meal in the ranch kitchen?" Del blurted.

Carol cocked her head and tried not to smile, almost succeeding. She said, "No."

"And I won't either, not until something is done about it," Del said.

"Like what?" Carol asked.

"Like everything. It's antiquated and half the appliances don't work. A trail cook might get his jollies cooking in dutch ovens underground in coals fired from cow dung, but I don't."

Carol cracked up laughing.

"It's not a laughing matter, Carol," he said.

After wiping the tears in her eyes with a tissue, she said, "Del, you sure do know how to turn a phrase. Did June tell you how David has her running his household affairs?"

"No."

"He set up a checking account, made her signatory to the account, gave her a credit card, and told her to buy what she needed. How about we do the same for you?"