Chapter 44

"Is it gonna hurt you if I hug you again? Last night was the first night we've been apart since November. I missed you."

"I missed you too, little love. Only way I could go to sleep was drugs."

She smiled. A little kiss. Then 'serious Cindy'. "They tried to kill us. ME! You stopped 'em."

"Ain't no way somebody's ever gonna hurt you while I'm in a position to stop 'im," I said.

A soft kiss. "You proved it, baby. Like I didn't already BELIEVE you..." Her brow knit into the 'Cindy's thinking about something' look. "Baby, they came into our HOME. OUR HOME." Her lips formed a straight line, an uncharacteristic expression for her normally soft and happy face. "Dan, can we fix it back up?"

"I dunno, baby, it's messed up pretty bad. You and me, we bled all over. And that guy ... That whole end of the trailer..."

"It's OUR home, Dan. Would you WANT to?"

I could see where Cindy was. In her short life, the places she'd lived had never been scenes of comfort and happiness, up until she moved in OUR trailer. Home. It WAS, to Cindy.

"Sweetie," I said, "Insurance might say it's totaled."

Why did I think, for even a brief moment, that this little thing hadn't already gone up the road to answering her own questions.

"I talked to Mizz Helen. And Mister Charlie. He says he knows that there are people who specialize in cleaning up crime scenes and THEY can clean up ours. He says when they finish, you'd never know anything happened there."

I raised an eyebrow. "An' Mizz Helen says she'll get Randy to look at the siding and stuff. You remember him, right? He fixed us up after the first time."

"Yeah. Helen said he was the guy..."

"MIzz Helen says he'll be able to fix this..."

"You sure this is what you want, little one?"

"It's OUR home. We won't stay there much longer, but when we move out, it'll be because WE want to, not because some assholes shot it out from under us..."

"Asshole? My precious little angel says 'asshole'?"

"Your 'precious little angel' saw her husband bleeding on the floor, guy. I had the little pistol, but you were between me an' him..."

"You..."

"Uh, somebody told me that I needed to be responsible for myself and my own," she said. "I thought that if YOU saw something coming, then I needed to be ready too..."

I was mulling over that set of thoughts when there was a soft knock at the door.

"Come in," Cindy said.

It was an orderly, the floor nurse, and that hospital media guy.

"Are you SURE you're up to this, Mister Richards?" the nurse asked. The suit guy looked over her shoulder expectantly.

"Oh, sure," I said. "As long as you got something soft for that wheelchair seat. And I get to go to the bathroom first..."

The nurse watched closely as I turned and sat up. Cindy watched even closer. I winced when my compromised ass cheek hit the mattress.

"Are you okay, baby?" Cindy asked, concern coloring her face.

"Not as okay as I was before I got shot in the butt," I said. I stood for the first time since I was wheeled in the night before. Shaky. And pains in my calf and butt. But I walked gingerly to the bathroom under my own power.

I couple of minutes later I emerged. There was a pillow in the seat of the wheelchair. I sat. As I was wheeled out into the hall, Judge Charlie and Mizz Helen were just coming up from the other direction.

"We're going downstairs, ' Cindy told them. "A TV news crew is there."

We had a little parade through the halls and into a nicely-appointed conference room, the hospital name prominently located above a small stage. They wheeled me onto it.

The news crew was indeed there, a well-dressed reporterette and her cameraman, who, taking advantage of the fixed scene, had set his camera up on a tripod.

Cindy fussed with the hospital gown, straightening it out and patting it to as close to presentability as one was likely to achieve in one of those things. "There! Ready for your debut!" she giggled, delivering a kiss on my cheek.

I looked at our reporterette. She was a cookie-cutter example: Neat, tasteful dress meant to convey respectability and trust. Blue eyes. Blonde. Hair nailed in place with some sort of chemical mix. Make-up was well done, if you didn't get close enough to see it. Up close, it looked excessive.

She smiled sweetly, giving me her most disarming look. "Mister Richards, I'm Tammy Jellens from Channel Six. We want to interview about your incident." Smile. "Are you feeling okay for this?"

"I'm good, thank you..."

"Gary Beeler is our cameraman."

"Hi, Gary! Nice rig! What, two years old?" I said to him."

"Year and a half," he retorted. "You know this stuff?"

"Just a little," I said.

Miss Tammy was looking only a tiny bit miffed that I ignored her over her cameraman. I think she's one of those who likes to be the center of attention. But I wasn't going to relinquish control. "Just so you know," I said, "This is Judge Charlie Peebles and his wife Helen. She owns the RV park. He's the retired district judge for our county. And this is my wife, Cindy. She's part of the story, too, but she's too young for you to put in your story."

Cindy smirked and gave a little finger wave. "Fourteen!"

Tammy's eyebrow went up.

I wanted to get away from that little fact. "So where do you wanna start, Mizz Tammy?" I asked.

She started. I guess I was supposed to be awed, but I've addressed captains of industry and senior military officers and people who were desperately in need of help and a blonde reporterette wasn't nearly enough to sway me. Cindy watched, discreetly off-camera. We went through the standard ice-breakers.

"How long have you lived in the park?"

"Since last August."

"Where do you work?"

"I'm not sure my employers want me to say that on TV," I said.

"Very well." She drew a breath. "We'll edit that out. What do you do?"

"Pretty close to the same question, don't you think?"

She looked exasperated. "Mister Richards, I'm just trying to get some background."

I glanced at Cindy, then Gary. TWO smirks. "Let's just say that I'm well established in a technical field and that I'm in the area working at one of several possible locations."

"Okay, then let me ask that question." She smiled. Looked a little forced, if you want to know what I think. She asked the question and I repeated the answer.

Next question was about my lifestyle. I explained about itinerant construction work in general terms.

Then came the questions about the shooting. "What were you doing?"

"At home with my wife, minding my own business."

"How'd you know the guy was hostile?"

"I told 'im to go away and he shot a hole in my trailer, blew the door open, then stepped inside with a gun. And pointed it at me and my wife." I shuddered a little, reliving THAT moment in my head.

"How did you have a gun in your hand?" she asked.

"When I wasn't expecting a visitor and he didn't leave ... He said he wanted to get even with my wife for a previous incident."

"Previous incident?"

"Yes, back in December his brother broke in on my wife while she was home by herself. She shot him in self defense."

Now I was presented with a "Concerned Reporter" look. She flipped open a sheaf of papers, telegraphing the fact that she already KNEW where she was headed. "Mister Richards, it says right here in the investigation that the man she shot was unarmed." She looked at me like she'd just uncovered the Watergate breakin.

I wasn't buying it. "Mizz Tammy, does it also say that the guy was six-two and two-thirty-five? Exactly how ARMED does he need to be to threaten the life of a fourteen year old girl? All HUNDRED pounds of her?"

"She could've called the authorities."

"Oh, yeah, she did. They got there fifteen minutes later. He'd been layin' on the ground for fourteen." I could see THAT comment wasn't making the thirty second spot tonight.

She shifted tacks. "Don't you think that gun laws might've prevented this?"

I knew the next statement wasn't making the cut, either. "Dear, dear Mizz Tammy ... Let's see what laws were broken. BOTH of them were convicted felons. It is illegal under present law for them to possess firearms. Yet there they were ... They shot into an occupied dwelling. There's a law against THAT. Broke into a dwelling. They ignored THAT law, too ... Tell me, lady ... What law do you propose we write that those two were going to pay attention to?"

I caught a glimpse of ol' Gary giving me a suble 'thumbs up' sign behind Tammy's back.

"But if guns were harder to get..." she started.

I didn't let her finish. "Two-thirty-five versus a hundred ... And help fifteen minutes away..." I smiled my most disarming smile, then continued. "I DO believe in gun control, though..."

Miss Tammy thought she'd been granted a reprieve. "You believe in gun control?"

"Yes, ma'am," I grinned. "I ... uh, let's see ... eight shots, eight hits." Before her expression could collapse completely, I added, "And Cindy's three for three. Gotta admit, that's gun control you can believe in..." I saw her cameraman looking away, obviously fighting off laughter.

Her expression was, shall we say, struggling for control. "Mister Richards..."

"Mizz Tammy," I stepped in, "My HOME has been violated by criminals who intended to harm my wife. Don't you hope that if something like that ever happened to YOU, somebody'd be there on YOUR behalf? Or like Cindy, YOU could protect yourself?"

She nodded. "That's not the point I'm trying to make."

Now I was getting feisty, having pretty much written the interview off as adversarial. "Okay, what point ARE you trying to make? That I and my wife should be willing victims? That you know some magic formula that will make criminals start obeying laws because YOU think they should? Sorry. I don't accept your point. Lady," I said, "I am a combat veteran. YOUR country ... MY country saw fit to put me out in the desert to protect YOUR way of life. Was I supposed to go back to being a sheep after that?"

"n ... No, that's not what I'm saying, Mister Richards," she countered, trying to rescue the situation.

I dove right back in. Glanced at Cindy. Full smirk there. "I'd think that a RESPONSIBLE," I almost spat the word, "report would talk about a criminal with a rap sheet a page long would be out on parole. Or at least do a positive story of TWO people surviving a home intrusion. Can you do that?" I looked at Cindy. "Tell me this: If the tables had turned, would you have even run the picture of her as a victim?"

"I ... Uh..." she turned to the camera. "Kill it!" She looked aback at me. Mister Richards, you're not making this easy."

I motioned Cindy to my side. "Mizz Tammy, see this lady? She's the most precious thing in my life. Somebody tried to kill me and her. And you want to make a point for gun control?"

"I'm sorry," she said. "Do you wanna give me another shot?"

"Bad choice of words, don't'cha think?" Cindy chirped.

"Oh, gosh," came the flustered answer. "Okay ... This time, no gun control questions, okay?"

"Okay."

"Don't wanna get you started again." She looked at Gary. "Okay, roll it."

This time the interview was, in my mind, satisfactory. Finishing up, I asked Gary for a copy of the whole session. He laughed. "Yeah, you just KNOW that's gonna get out, don't you?"

Tammy looked at him sternly. Then her face softened as Cindy sidled up beside her. "Miss Tammy, we watch your show, you know..."

"Why thank you, sweetie," Tammy said to Cindy.

"I wish we could've met under better circumstances." Cindy was smiling.

A neuron fired in my head. "There's you a story, Miss Tammy, if you're looking for a positive one. Cindy's fourteen. Graduates high school in May. Gifted scholarship to Auburn. Talk to her."

Cindy smiled. "He's proud. So's my foster mom." She motioned towards Helen. Helen smiled.

Before they left, Gary came up and shook my hand, then Cindy's, and then they left. I looked at the hospital guy in his suit. "I fear I may have damaged the reputation of your establishment."

"No worse than me wetting myself during your speech," he said. "You think you could come to visit our rod and gun club? Maybe give a little talk?"

"Can Cindy come with me?"

"Of course," he said.

"Like preachin' to the choir, don't you think?"

"Oh, you might be surprised, Mister Richards," he said. "But we'll buy dinner if you show up."

"Just tell me when and where," I replied.

"I'll do that," he said. "And thanks, okay?"

I got wheeled back up to my room in time for a hospital lunch. I lifted the cover on the plate.

"Good lord, son," Charlie exclaimed. "That's horrid! If you'll wait twenty minutes, I can get us some real food up here..."

"Charlie, I know how YOU eat. If you say 'real food', I'm all for it." I put the cover back on the plate and pushed it away.

Charlie picked up the phone and placed a call, ordering a clean dozen barbecue plate lunches to be delivered to the floor. Finishing, he grinned. "Be nice to hospital people, 'specially when you're MY age. That's some good barbecue. Good people!"

True to his word, twenty minutes later the delivery arrived. Helen and Cindy pulled four clamshells from the shipment for us and passed word to the nurses about the rest. More than one head popped in the door to say thanks.

We talked about Cindy's ideas about the trailer. "Baby," Helen said, "I should've moved y'all into my house two months ago. Really!"

"Oh, thank you, Mizz Helen," Cindy said. "An' we'd've probably done it, then. But now it's about OUR house ... Not gonna let the bad guys win..."

"I understand that, Miss Cindy," Charlie said. "But reality is you'd have more room..."

"Thank you, Mister Charlie," she said. "But we've never needed much room. I would like to bring my husband back to OUR house, if we can get it fixed up."