Chapter 9: New Healing

An hour later the four of them gathered in the living room. Zelda, Gordy and Melissa cleaned up the cluttered mess created by the pair of Creel's men. They had a garbage bag full of broken trash. Gordon waved his bottle of beer in the air. "Okay, now I've seen the DVD of your ambush. God, what a mess. What I don't understand is why Creel thinks you have that mini disc as well. You never were in contact with anyone who would have access to kind of material that clown said was on the disc." He looked keenly at Jack and asked, "Or were you?"

"Nah, the only person of Creel's I ever had any contact with, other than Jimmy Baby, was that photographer. He never gave me anything except that disc in the mail. Someone has their wires crossed somewhere." He took a big swig of his beer.

"I'm going to buy you a torture table tomorrow." Zelda stood and looked down at Jack. She continued, "One runs about three hundred or so but would help you heal faster."

"What brought that on?" Jack asked.

"You did," she answered. "Since you have begun to improve all at once, I want a massage table brought in to help start the healing process. Along with the massages, I want to start you on a proper regimen of light exercise and diet."

Gordon cut in, "Well, we've gone over and over the whys and wherefores that have brought us to this situation and ended up spinning our wheels. I believe tomorrow you need to get copies made of the disc you do have and give copies of it to the three television stations that showed up here this afternoon. Let them make up their own minds as to whether they want to air any part of or all of those discs."

Zelda continued, "I love the shot of Creel as he stood in the back of that Jeep and looked so proud and arrogant. That damned smirk on his face says it all as far as any story is concerned. People around him got murdered and he got accidentally tagged. Yet he stood there with a cruel smirk on his face. Let his spin merchants spin their ways out of that, if they can."

"Rictus," Gordon stated. "They will say he is horrified inside and the grimace on his face is a shock reaction."

"Maybe," Jack answered, "Let them say what they want. On top of today's revelations, that son of a bitch is going to head for cover. I still have the home addresses of the men who were in my squad. I bet Gordy has access to the names and addresses of all the men in the platoon. Right Gord?"

"Yes, I do know someone who can get the addresses for me. What are you getting at? If I know you, you have a plan that will get someone hurt."

"I'll write all the families in my squad personally and tell them what has happened and who is in the wrong. Let them contact their friends and let's get the ball rolling. Next we use the Internet." All the hopelessness from earlier in the day disappeared, replaced by angry determination.

"I can help there, Dad," Melissa volunteered. "Computer languages is me." She laughed at the expression and explained, "That's what I do at the VAMC, online research. I design search programs and use them. I think, I should say that's what I did. I have a hunch I am among the unemployed."

"That doesn't matter, Princess. Thanks to the advice of a certain Lieutenant McReady, plus a little luck playing poker, I am not exactly ready for welfare and food stamps. I can use you to help me keep my business affairs straight."

"Business? Affairs? I thought you were a disabled veteran." She seemed puzzled and looked at Zelda for guidance.

"Don't ask me." Zelda shrugged. "All I know is that he gets a statement from an accountant once a month. He doesn't pay me to read his mail."

"Well, all it amounts to is a small investment account and two apartment complexes. I make payments on the mortgages and bank what the tenants let me keep after damages. One is here in town and the other is in Vegas." He grinned at her and added, "Well, and there's this house. It's all free and clear. I won it in a poker game."

"Dad, it's awful hard to feel sorry for you, you know that?" She laughed and shook her head. "You have more layers than an artichoke. Here I thought you were all alone in this world except for Zelda. Poor old man my butt."

"Dad, do you have any DVD-R discs? I see you have a burner on your computer. I could burn copies of that disc and we could deliver them tomorrow to the people we want to have them, or why wait for tomorrow?"

"Do it," Jack told her. "There should be fresh discs in the top drawer of the computer desk. When you pull out the keyboard shelf it automatically connects the modem to a phone line and turns everything on. That's one of Zelda's contributions. You know where the disc to be copied are, knock yourself out."

Thankful for something to do, Melissa hurried to the computer and prepared to burn copies of the damning disc she had seen earlier. Twenty minutes later she returned to the front room and flourished the new copies. "It's way past lunch and I'm hungry," she announced.

"Get the van out and let's go out for pizza," Jack told Zelda.

"You have a van too?" Melissa asked. "Why didn't we use that to go get my stuff?"

"Ah, well, it's a special rigged handicapped van," Jack told her.

"Besides that, he forgot about it," Zelda told her. "Oh yes, he has begun to hate it because it makes him look weak. The great Whiskey Jack Daniels will never ever look weak in front of anyone, if he can help it."

"Just go get the van, for Christ's sake; can't you do that without nagging?" Jack griped at her.

"You two sound just like an old married couple, you know that?" Melissa told them. Jack didn't answer, he just snorted. A wistful look passed over Zelda's face. Silently she hurried out the back door. Once outside she stopped to wipe her eyes before continuing on to back the van out of the garage.

Gordon got in his Audi and backed out into the street after calling back to his friends, "You all go on ahead, I'll follow." Jack rolled his chair up the ramp into the special built restraints that held him in place. Melissa sat in the passenger's seat while Zelda drove. They rode in silence to the pizza parlor.

As soon as they were seated at a corner table Jack said, "Hand me your cell phone, Gordy, please," Wordlessly the phone was handed to Jack.

"Who are you calling?" Zelda asked.

"The television stations. Let them come here for the next installment. I have a hunch." He punched in the first number from memory and began talking. After the third call he sat back and smiled.

"You have the phone numbers to the TV stations memorized?" Melissa asked in surprise.

"I called them this afternoon, so I remembered the phone numbers from then. I have a good memory for numbers also," he answered in a complacent manner. "That's where your good memory comes from."

"I have a hunch we had better order a few more assorted pizzas," Zelda said. When those TV guys get here they might want to be fed." Without waiting for an answer she waved a waitress over and ordered additional pizzas.

"I think one is coming in right now, better bring more beer. Let's make a party of it." Jack waved the waitress back over. He handed her two hundred dollar bills. "This is for you. Keep the beer flowing and the pizza coming when our friends get here. I'll give you my credit card right now so everything will be settled when the party breaks up. Just take care of everybody."

"Yes sir!" she answered as she tucked the two bills into her shirt pocket and hurried away.

The first pair from one station came over to the table. Melissa handed the reporter a pair of the freshly burned discs. "Here's your grand finale for this evening. The three stations that sent people this afternoon all get the same."

The cameraman began grinding away as the reporter started his interview. Zelda shoved a freshly poured mug of beer into his hand. The second team entered, spied the wheelchair and joined them. Melissa handed the woman a pair of discs and Zelda handed her a cold mug of beer. When the third pair entered the same thing happened. Three cameramen plied their trades and drank beer as Jack began to speak.

"I don't like politics or politicians. As far as I'm concerned both parties are almost equally corrupt. The present thief in the White House is no better or worse than his predecessor; he's a lot less intelligent, but just as crooked. Through a set of circumstances not of my making I have become the victim of the most crooked thief of them all, Senator Josiah Creel." He took a bite of pizza.

"More beer over here," he called to the waitress and immediately all mugs were refilled. He waited until the waitress completed her task and then he continued.

"You people might as well eat and wash it down with beer. I'll do all the talking." He smiled as more slices of pizza disappeared, followed by more beer.

"Creel caused my squad to die in an ambush. I believe it was to make certain I was killed. Somehow, I survived. Six of the finest guys I have ever known were cut down in an ambush. There was an idiot major who got shot between the eyes. The major's only sin was to be an ambitious brown noser.

"The discs I gave to each of you three tell a story of betrayal and corruption. You look at them and decide. Remember, Creel is the president's fair-haired boy. Interview's over, get drunk." He drained his mug and accepted a fresh one. Two hours later three television trucks made their unsteady ways through the city. Gordon McReady, having only consumed one beer, drove home with no problem.

Zelda drove the van home and stayed one mile an hour under the speed limit. Once home, Jack rolled his wheelchair in the front door while Zelda helped Melissa prepare her new bedroom for occupancy. Finally she went down the steps and into the lower half of the house. Jack watched the "non-interview" on TV.

"Zel, I think I just precipitated a shit storm. I may have screwed up royal. There are three people in my life, You, Melissa and Gordy. I may have put all three of you at risk in my hurry to fight back at that son of a bitch. I wish I could undo what I have started.

"Jack, we were at risk after they started in on you. You had no way of knowing what was to happen until it was too late. These people are like snakes in the basement. Now, we had better stick together or we'll be in even greater trouble. You are the most honorable man I have ever known. You are the kindest and the most loyal." She took a deep breath and added, "But you are also a dumb shit."

"Well, I'm going to bed," he told her, ignoring her last outburst. He started to steer the wheelchair toward the bedroom.

"Stop," she ordered. "Leave that thing out here."

"Say what?" he asked, astounded at her command.

"Jack, you seem to be healing. You made it from Gordon's Audi into the house under your own power. Before that you made it into the bedroom and got that gun off the wall. Remember? I think it's time for you to start to wean yourself from the wheelchair."

"I don't know; this seems kind of sudden." He looked at her, all at once unsure of himself. He took a deep breath and struggled to stand. Jack made it onto his feet after a couple of false starts. He found it much harder without adrenaline or anger or desperation to fuel his efforts. He finally stood on his own, slightly bent forward, triumphant at this small victory.

Zelda answered the phone as it rang. "It's for you." In a hushed voice she added, "It's Senator Creel and he is not in a good mood.

Still standing, Jack held out a hand. "What do you want, you son of a bitch?" he demanded as soon as the phone was in his hand.

"Do you realize what you've done?" the voice on the telephone, "You've killed me." There was the sound of a gunshot over the telephone wires and a "thump," then silence.

"Hello? Hello?" Jack asked futilely into the telephone. He turned to Zelda, "I think he just shot himself," he told her in a blank voice, devoid of emotion. "It sure sounded like it." Jack let go and fell backwards into the wheelchair.

"What did you just say?" Zelda asked, astounded. She rushed over to Jack and picked the cordless phone up off the floor where he had dropped it.

"He asked me, 'Do you realize what you've done?' Then he said, 'you've killed me.' Then there was the sound of a shot. It sounded like a twenty-five or a thirty-two caliber automatic," he added. "It was a small caliber."

"I guess we better call someone, but who?" Zelda looked at him helplessly. "The FBI? Who?"

"I know," Jack told her, as he leaned forward in his wheelchair and took the phone from her unresisting grasp. With a mean smile on his face he punched in a number from memory. "Give me the newsroom," he demanded when someone on the other end of the line answered.