Chapter 11

The phone calls started shortly after I arrived home. I didn't take the calls, though. Agnes assumed that distasteful duty. I went to bed. From what Agnes told me after I woke up, most of the callers basically had one question: "Did I really whip Tiny Gorman in a fair fight?"

I looked at Agnes and said, "I walk away from fights and attack only when I or someone I care for is attacked. When I'm forced to fight, I don't fight fair. I fight to win."

I glanced through the pile of message slips Agnes had accumulated, and returned Sheriff Ken's call first.

"Good morning, Sheriff, it's Coach."

"This is not a good morning, Coach. This is a lousy morning. I've yet to get any sleep. I called to ask you if you were going to press charges against Tiny and the other two deputies that attacked you?"

"I don't have a beef with Frank or Brad. They were merely protecting a fellow officer. I hurt them in self defense, and I apologized to them last night. Do they have a beef with me?"

"No," the sheriff said. "What about Tiny?"

"Are you going to keep him on your force?"

"Got to. He's a first cousin, my mother's sister's boy. If I fire him, he'll end up killing someone and end up in prison. Believe it or not, when I'm around, he's a pretty good cop."

"In that case, I will press charges," I said.

The sheriff sighed and said, "Drop by the station and swear out your complaint. Any time today will be okay."

"Is Larry Foreman pressing charges?"

"He said he'd follow your lead."

I reconsidered my position. The last person I needed as an enemy in this town was its sheriff. "Okay, here's the deal and it's the only deal I'll offer you. Larry and I won't press charges, but my attorney will take our depositions about what happened last night. If I hear that Tiny has brutalized another citizen, whether the citizen is guilty of a crime or not, those depositions will come out of her file, and we'll initiate a civil suit against Tiny. You and Deputy Cantrell will be called to testify at that trial. Tiny will lose, and we'll take any assets he has and garnishee his wages to the fullest extent of the law to satisfy the damages awarded. The press in this town, such as it is, will have a field day with the trial. That's number one. Number two, Larry has some medical bills he can't pay. Tiny has to pay them. Number three, Tiny has to stand in front of Larry and me, describe what he did to Larry, admit to the crimes he committed as an officer of the law, and then apologize. My attorney will be present for the apology; the apology will be recorded, and Sheriff, if the apology isn't sincere and honest, all bets are off."

"Holy molly, Coach! You are a hard man." He paused; I could hear the deep breath he took. "Okay. I'll talk to Tiny and call you back. I will say this. If he refuses your deal, I'll fire his fat ass."

I laughed. "I'm happy then with either way it goes. How's Mary Tendoy?"

"I knew you would ask me about her, so I called the hospital a while back. The doc told me that she was being released today."

"That is good news. Any suspects as to the creep who fed her that date-rape drug?"

"Yes, after you left, I took each person at that party into a room and put the fear of God in them. They'd all committed crimes. They either talked or were charge with the crimes. They caved. A man named Ben Perkins administered the date-rape drug; he was also dealing and using cocaine at the party. He's not a student at the high school. He graduated two years ago. I also got the names of the boys who raped her. Ben was first, of course. Another graduate named Pete Osceola took the second turn, and—you're not going to like the next name."

"Spit it out, Sheriff," I said.

"Calvin Jensen."

"Shit," I murmured.

"I have Perkins and Osceola in custody, but I've yet to locate Cal."

"Cal deserves everything he has coming to him. Any man who will rape a woman is a despicable human being; that the woman is a sixteen-year-old, drugged and helpless girl, makes Cal worse than despicable. He's also a bully and a sexist, Sheriff. I spoke with him about those negative traits, and I thought I'd gotten through to him. Damned shame, that's what it is. Another young life down the shitter."

"Larry Foreman was headed down the same shitter, Coach. You saved Larry," the sheriff said. "Take pride in that."

"I do, and thanks for reminding me that I don't always fail. I needed that. Larry might know Cal's whereabouts."

"I won't ask him to give up his friend, Coach. Cal will show up."

"You're a good man, Sheriff Ken Hansen. I'm proud to know you."

"Ditto, Coach."

We said goodbye, and I hung up. My phone rang before I could make the next call.

"Hello," I said.

"Coach John Windom?"

"Speaking," I said.

"My name is Owen Gardner. I'm a reporter for the Ely Times. Do you have a minute?"

"That depends on what you'd like to talk about. If it's about the Bobcat's win Friday night, I'll give you more than a minute. If it's about what happened last night, what I have to say won't take two seconds."

"I called about last night," he said.

"No comment," I said. Then I changed my mind. "Wait, I do have something to say about last night. Not much happened last night that is worthy of praise, but not everything that happened should be condemned, either. A courageous young man saved a girl's life last night. He should be praised."

"Are you referring to Larry Foreman?"

"I won't name names, Mr. Gardner, except one. The citizens of this county we're wise to elect Ken Hansen as their sheriff. He's an honest, capable man who believes in the rule of law and administers the responsibility of his office in an effective and appropriate manner. You can quote me on that. Otherwise, about last night, no comment?"

"I understand you were responsible for saving the young woman's life last night," Gardner said.

"You were misinformed," I said.

"I was also informed that Tiny Gorman attacked you and that you took him down hard."

"No comment."

"I was also informed..."

"No comment, Mr. Gardner. I've given you all the information I'll give you about last night's unfortunate circumstances. Goodbye."

I hung up and dialed Danielle's home number. She answered my call on the first ring.

"Are you all right, John?" she said.

"A bruised and painful back and shoulder but otherwise I'm fine, Danielle. How are you this fine morning?"

I heard a sigh of relief. "I'm fine now. Most men who go up against Tiny Gorman don't come out of it with only a bruised back and shoulder."

"Tiny didn't hurt me, Danielle. Frank, another deputy, hit my back with a nightstick."

"The town grapevine is saying that you had a fight with Tiny, not Frank."

"I did have a fight with Tiny. Frank and Brad, another deputy, jumped in to help Tiny."

"Oh." She snickered and said, "The grapevine sucks."

I laughed. "Grapevines rarely get a juicy story right, Danielle."

"I've got some Arnica homeopathic cream. It's supposed to be good for bruises. Want me to come over and rub some of it on your back and shoulder."

Feeling Danielle's hands on my bare flesh sounded like the best idea I'd heard that morning. "Sure," I said.

"I'm on my way."

The dial tone when she hung up let me dial the next number listed in my messages.

"Hi, Robyn, it's Coach. You called?"

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. How about you? Are you all right?"

"Of course." Silence, then she got it. "Very funny, Coach. I heard you tangled with Tiny Gorman last night. I also heard you took him down, not once but twice, and the second time you were cuffed." She laughed. "That was so unbelievable I decided to call to find out if you were all right. Evidently, I was misinformed."

"Actually, Robyn you weren't misinformed. Your grapevine is better than Danielle's."

"Huh?"

"I have a bruised back and shoulder. Danielle thought Tiny caused the bruise, but Frank, another deputy, caused the bruise when he hit my back with his nightstick."

"My grapevine didn't say anything about Frank. What happened to Frank?"

"They released him from the hospital last night. He's on crutches. Fortunately, I didn't break his leg, just bruised his knee and sprained his wrist. Brad, a third deputy, fared better than Frank or Tiny. Tiny will sound like a soprano for a few days; Brad has some bruised ribs, but his shoulder wasn't damaged very much. I dislocated it when I threw him. I put it back in place later, though."

Cut it out. You're having way too much fun with this, I told myself.

"Robyn," I said, "Tiny was brutalizing Larry Foreman when I arrived at a teenage party last night. Larry was cuffed at the time. I stopped Tiny. Frank and Brad decided Tiny needed help, so they joined the altercation. I stopped them, too. End of story. Okay?"

"No it isn't. You said my grapevine was accurate. You only mentioned taking Tiny down once."

"He recovered and tried again," I said.

"And you were cuffed at the time?"

"Yes."

"You whipped Tiny Gorman with your hands cuffed behind your back?"

"Yes. He almost took me the second time. For a few seconds, he had me in a headlock."

She said nothing.

I waited.

"You're telling me the truth?" she said.

"Yes."

"You used the martial art form you said you knew against them, didn't you? Krav maga, I think you called it."

"Yes."

"I wanna learn krav maga, Coach," she said.

I chuckled. "Robyn, I know how to use krav maga; I don't know how to teach it."

"Damn!" she huffed.

"Is there anything else, Robyn? I have about a hundred phone calls to return this morning."

"Yes, I have another question. Why were you cuffed, and who put the cuffs on you?"

"That's two questions."

"Answer me, dammit!"

"I was cuffed because I was under arrest for assaulting three officers of the law. Sheriff Ken put the cuffs on me."

"Did the Sheriff put you in jail?"

I laughed. "No, a little later, he unarrested me."

"Unarrested isn't a word," she said.

"I wondered about that. What's the real word that means unarrested?"

"Coach, sometimes you can be maddening. Has anyone ever told you that?"

"Just you. Answer a question for me. Are guidance counselors considered shrinks?"

She laughed. "Why do you ask?"

"Because shrinks answer a question with a question," I said.

"Maddening," she mumbled, then giggled. "I'm happy you're all right, Coach. When I heard you tangled with Tiny Gorman, I was worried about you."

"I like it that you were worried about me, Robyn."

We hung up and I dialed another number. "Good morning, Orville."

"Coach! Are you all right?"

I couldn't help it; I laughed out loud. Orville's grapevine contained less accuracy than Danielle's and Robyn's. I corrected the inaccuracies with a brief outline of what had actually happened.

"I'm happy you're okay," he said. "I was worried about you. Listen, I helped you learn about football. How about helping me learn how to win playing Texas hold 'em?"

"Huh?"

"I've been playing hold 'em online without gambling real money, of course, but I'm not winning. I'm good with math, so I know all the odds. Still, I lose more often than I win. How about I watch you play a tournament, and you can give me tips while you play?"

"Have you read some books or articles that presented expert advice on how to play the game?"

"I have. I've done extensive reading on the subject."

"And you play by the book, so to speak," I said.

"I do, but I still don't win. Oh, I win but not enough to gamble using real money."

"Is that your goal, Orville? Are you saying you want to become a professional gambler?"

"Yeah, I guess I am, on a part-time basis anyway. I'd never give up teaching, Coach. Teaching is my life, but some extra income would come in real handy. Gladys and I don't need much, but $300 a week would provide a retirement for us down the road and let us travel a little."

"How large is your bankroll?"

"I'll start small and build it up?" he said.

"That won't work," I said. "Pick a number, an amount you're willing to risk that won't hurt you if you lose, and if you lose it, you'll be able to save the same amount and try again, and again, until you're experienced enough to win consistently."

"Is that what you did?"

"Yes, and still do," I said.

"Do you play by the book?" Orville said.

"I play hold 'em assuming all my opponents play by the book. During the first few hands I play by the book, then for a while, I use the book against the other players. After a while, I revert and play tight, moving back and forth on my style of play depending on the cards until it's a short-player game, at which time I switch back to using the book against the one or two players left, but on selected hands I switch again. But this explanation is a vastly simplified description of my method of play. If you think about it, the method also implies that for me to succeed I must know the book as good as or better than my opponents."

"Did you learn this method by reading a book?"

I laughed. "No, if that was the case, I'd be playing by the book all the time. You didn't answer my question, and an answer is critical. How much are you willing to lose that you can replenish so you can try again?"

"I'll have to think about that. I'd still like to sit with you while you play a tournament."

"All right, but it will have to be late one night next week. Like the dumbbell I am, I didn't think to move my internet connection to the new house. I can't get it moved until tomorrow at the earliest."

"Would you play today if you had the connection?"

"I would."

"How about you and Piper joining us for dinner, and afterwards you can play using my connection? Gladys will play mother with Piper while you play hold 'em and I watch."

Agnes would probably appreciate the evening off, I thought. Then I remembered that Sunday was her day off anyway. "Okay, what time?"

"Six o'clock."

"We'll be there. Gotta go, Orville. I've got I lot of calls to return. Everyone wants to know if I whipped Tiny Gorman in a fair fight."

He laughed and said goodbye.

Agnes was delighted about the evening off.

"I have two lady friends. We'd planned to go out to dinner this evening, but I would have stayed if you needed me," she said.

I didn't finish returning many calls before Danielle showed up to rub cream on my back and shoulder. She looked delicious wearing a wife-beater t-shirt, no bra, and a worn pair of blue jeans tucked into a pair of well-used cowboy boots. As much as I'd been looking forward to feeling her hands on my skin, I decided I'd prefer rubbing her cream on her, but not on her back. I had more interesting rubbing targets in mind.

Agnes had made a tuna salad for lunch, so we ate before Danielle and I retired to my bedroom where I could stretch out on my stomach while she applied her cream to my back. I left the door open so I wouldn't be tempted to voice my preference about who should to the rubbing and where and risk Danielle offering to satisfy my preference. I might be slow, but I'm not stupid. I'd known for some time that Danielle was as attracted to me as I was to her, and a week or so after the memorial service, we'd give our attractions full rein to gallop to the finish line.

"The boots have to go," Danielle said with a mischievous grin. "I'll pull yours off if you'll do the same for me."

"Tit for tat, huh?" I said as my eyes focused on her chest.

She blushed. I liked it that she blushed. The blush offered evidence of the degree of innocence I preferred in a woman.

"I said we'd both lose our boots, buster. The only person in this room that will lose a shirt is you," she said with a grin.

"Spoilsport," I said as I sat on a chair and stuck out my right leg.

She straddled my leg, got a good grasp on the heel of my boot, and I placed my other boot on her sexy backside. She pulled, I pushed, and the boot left my foot with a whoosh. I changed feet, and she soon tossed the other boot on the floor. Taking off her boots wasn't as interesting for me as her taking off my boots.

When I removed my shirt, she gasped and said, "Oh, John, that's got to hurt."

"Ibuprofen works—mostly," I said.

After I settled face down on the bed and she straddled my upper thighs, I felt pressure in my crouch. The situation was more intimate than the fantasy that flashed through my mind when she'd first offered to rub cream on my back.

"How tender are you?" she said.

"I don't know. I tested my shoulder earlier. It's sore but most of the pain resides in the back, and because I'm not a practitioner of yoga, I can't reach the bruised portion of my back. Just do your thing. If it hurts, I'll cry. If I don't cry, you'll know you're not hurting me."

"Yeah, right. Why can't I picture you crying, Coach?"

"Hey, I cry—you know, sad movies and books, great achievements, or real heroism, those sorts of things. I'm a sentimental guy and sucker for romance."

I yelped when the cold cream touched my back.

"Don't be such a baby. That couldn't have hurt you," she said.

I chuckled. "It didn't hurt. The cream is cold."

"Oh. I'm sorry; I should have warmed the cream with my hands."