Book Four: Part 8 - Rhyming Evil - Chapter 14
The Rest of the Weekend in Montie
Brewster’s Gun Club was busy with eleven more officers qualifying, as well as seven civilians out to play so they could tell their stories to their friends later about how such a crack shot they were.
Jimmy was all smiles and Blake went about the motions of being polite and happy with people. Tonight, couldn’t come fast enough for him. Close this place down, get back home and Skype with Liv. Friday nights and Sunday afternoons were their face-to-face chats. During the week they would send each other emails and voice chat. For some reason, the face-to-face chat had less static and the video wouldn’t be a pain to deal with. Liv was the real joy that gave Blake any sense of peace and self-worth.
Cliff did the wrong thing late in the day. He stormed into Michael Collins office, said every swear word you could imagine, and then punched Michael in the nose, practically knocking him out of his chair. In the process, Cliff felt a knuckle crack.
“It’s all your fault, Michael. It’s always been your fault.
“Ever since we were kids, you always picked on me, taunted me, called me names. You made fun of me every chance you could. So, I was different. So, I’m gay. But that day in the seventh grade you told the other kids I was jacking off in the school showers thinking about you, was, was,” and that was when he hit Michael a second time. A glancing blow off the side of his head.
“And now, because of you, I have lost Patrick for good. It’s all your fault!”
Amanda called the police. Michael gave his statement to police as Cliff kept screaming at Michael; even after both McHenry and Anson from swing shift had cuffed him, and had taken him to the Twenty-Second, he still muttered obscenities. He was later photographed and fingerprinted and in jail where he would sit until Monday morning.
As to Michael, the bleeding has stopped, the nose wasn’t broken, but it would be tender for a few days. He couldn’t help but smile. He managed to get to Cliff, again. He was such a loser.
His office phone rang. His secretary, Amanda, said that Alan Blackstone wanted to see him right away.
Checking himself in his own door-length mirror, a minute later he was seated across from Blackstone.
“Amanda said you wanted to see me, Alan?”
“Michael, I won’t mince words with you. What happened in your office, and why it happened does not bode well for this office as a whole.”
Michael started to speak but Blackstone raised his right hand.
“You have a very good track record for the County, Michael, and no one, not even I, can find any fault there.
“But from what I understand, dirty laundry, shall we say, was aired today, and was overheard by several people.
“Personally, I could care less what you do, or who you do, when away from this office, as long as it neither interfere with your work, or disparages this office by either your actions or intentions. In other words, do not do anything that would bring negative coverage of this office in any shape or form. But … after an episode like today, I am inclined to believe you cannot keep a lid on your personal sexual habits or tastes.
“Heed my words well; I am telling you that if there is another outburst in this building, or for that matter, anywhere that involves you, and either that Potter individual, or anyone else, I will want your resignation that same day.
“You know how I run things and that I will allow no one to tarnish the reputation of this office and what it stands for in any manner. In the future, keep your proclivities behind closed doors that aren’t attached to this building. Have I made myself clear?”
“Very.”
Michael was dismissed by Blackstone and returned to his own office, feeling belittled and severely chastised when it was all Cliff’s fault.
As he sat behind his desk, he left hand tapping against the edge, he started thinking, and the more he thought, the faster his hand tapped. Nearly ten minutes of this action before he angrily muttered, “I’ll fix that bitch. I swear I will.”
But, as Friday night came, it also brought with it millions upon billions of speckled stars to a darkened night. Patrick would be on Facebook, leaving messages and comments with his friends, and thinking he might call J.W.
J.W. was working his far, then decided to watch a movie, and giving some thought to Patrick, and once, he almost reached for his phone to call him but changed his mind.
Andre Devon and family always used Friday night as family night. They would play games with their daughter, Jenny. For all the electronics available, the one thing the Internet could never do was instill love in another person’s heart and soul. “The day it can make love to a human,” Vanessa once said, “is the day humanity dies.”
Friday night saw tired people who put in a hard day’s work just like the four before, week in and week out. Those who work construction, building and highway worker’s. The waitresses on their feet eight hours a shift. Doctors and nurses who fight practically every day to keep someone alive. The police, fire-fighter’s, fast-food workers; the list could go on. But nearly eleven that night, except for the graveyard shift, the rest of Montie found slumber land.
Come Saturday’s dawn, another scorcher was in progress. Montie came alive. Boaters out on the lake shortly after daybreak, some to fish, others to laze about.
Shopper’s shopping, kids playing, people doing what needed to be done first, then what they want to do next. It all fit Montie’s unwritten plan: keep it simple and enjoy life. And for the next two days, that’s exactly what most people did.
There were a select few who plotted and planned for a different beginning to the upcoming week but it’s always true that a bad apple or two comes along.
On the other hand, Stevie couldn’t be happier. In three more days, Ellie would be back, and his life wouldn’t feel so lost and empty. It really wasn’t, not with his mom, Ed, and his friends, but outside of Ellie, and his mom, there wasn’t anyone else he wanted to kiss.
But he would never kiss his mom the way he does Ellie.
Sunday’s in Montie are almost the same except when the season’s change. When Fall approaches, every leave of every tree becomes a palette of intricate colors, and if you aren’t a camera buff, you would probably be the only one in Montie not taking pictures while the leaves still rest snugly to a tree limb, or as they make their way swaying in a sometimes, soft breeze until they have taxied their way to the earth below in gentle respite. Fall in Montie is about appreciation of beautiful things given by the Creator.
Sunday’s are a day of worship and you would be hard-pressed to find an empty pew in any of the fourteen denominations. There is a plaque when you first come into Montie that reads: ‘With prayer we are strong. With prayer we will never falter or fall in the eyes of heaven’.
Montie has yet to fall and has endured, it has yet to falter. As it has been said, “It is what it is.”
Winter’s in Montie are peaceful, almost graceful, providing you aren’t driving and get caught up in an ice-slick. No one enjoys a fender-bender. Come the holidays, people are giving of their time, their energy, and their spirit. As much evil that has crossed over this old city, the residents do all they can to encourage hope, and bolster security for one another. It is what neighbors do.
Spring is a time seems to energize people to start tending to their plants, home repairs, and doing things that need to be done to insure Montie stays Montie, and not be engulfed in the politics of high-impact big business and legal-beagles trying to impart what is best for its citizens. No, Spring is about bringing back the beauty that fell from the trees and breathing color into places that almost seem like a personal paradise for many.
Then comes what is here now: Summer. A time to entertain friends, having fun, vacations, BBQ’s in the backyard, picnics further out in the country, and of course, the Lake. Have to have time for the Lake. Without it, a boat is nothing more than an oversized canoe with a motor attached.
No matter the season, or the reason, it still comes down to every Sunday is a day given up to heaven, given to God, or whoever you choose to call your Creator, and give thanks and praise for each and every family, loved one, and friends who share this day that they be blessed and watched over.
Montie is a good place to be.