Monday, July 28, 2014

Tuskers. Chapter 9

Third chapter posted today.  Look for the other ones.

As always, rough first draft. (be kind.)

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Chapter 9


“9-1-1…what is your emergency?”
“This is Barbara Weiss, 302 Bradford Court.  I was just attacked by three javelinas.”
There was silence on the other end.  Barbara had expected the operator to scoff, or at least sound skeptical.  She could hear whispering in the background and when the operator came back on, she sounded business like.
“We are advising people to stay indoors.”
Barbara hesitated at that.  Was there more than one incident?
“No problem.  I took care of it.”
“How did you do that, ma’am?”
“I blew their brains out.”
“Ma’am, it is illegal to fire your gun within the city limits.”
“Don’t tell your grandmother how to suck eggs,” Barbara said, without thinking.  It was her standard phrase whenever one of her young officers tried to act like knew more than she did.
“Pardon?”
“Never mind.  Listen, I was a sheriff for over twenty years, and a deputy for ten years before that, and there isn’t a law in this country that doesn’t allow for self-defense.”
“I understand, Ma’am.  We’ll be sending an officer out as soon as possible to take a report.  In the meantime, we suggest that you stay indoors.”
“Will do,” Barbara started to say.
“And sheriff…” the operator broke in.  “Keep your weapon at hand.”
Barbara hung up slowly.  Something was going on.  She recognized the tone in the 9-1-1 operator’s voice.  The operator wasn’t allowed to say anything, but she’d managed to convey a lot with her choice of words.
Barbara went to the living room window and opened the curtains.  There, standing in what seemed to be rows, were at least fifty of the javelinas, looking back at her.
She closed the curtains, unnerved. She went to her pantry and pulled out the box of bullets and counted them.  She once figured it was more than enough for a lifetime, even for the occasional target practice.  But she’d just witnessed fifty pigs looking at her as if she was dinner. 
She took the box to the kitchen table and started reloading her empty clip.  She was going to have to restrain her training and fire only as much as she needed.  She’d killed her attackers with three bullets and then wasted the last twelve bullets in her clip making them deader than dead.   
Then she got up and went to her closet and put on her sensible clothes.  They felt comfortable and right. 
No more dresses.  No more high heels. 
The shirt had epaulets, because that had felt right when she purchased them.  If she had a couple of patches on them, they could’ve passed for a uniform.  She put on her old boots, and cinched her belt tight.  She clipped her holster on. 
That’s more like it.  No more pretending she was a lady.  Oh, she was a woman, all right.  These men she had ‘dated’ had no idea what they were missing.
But she could take care of herself.
She pulled out her cellphone and punched daughter’s number.  As usual, it was busy.  Sarah made dolls and unexpectedly had become quite the tycoon on the internet.  When her daughter had first married Jonathan Perkins and decided to become a housewife, Barbara hadn’t approved.  All that higher education, going to waste.  But she knew better than to say anything.
She needn't have worried.  Sarah was busier at home with her doll empire than she ever would have been working for a corporation.  And richer, too.  He daughter had maids and home teachers and everything she needed.  Barbara had even seen an article on her in the USA Today.
The problem with such success was that Sarah could rarely get away.  Even when Barbara visited, Sarah had little time for her despite her best efforts.  There was always some emergency or another. 
The other problem was that the phone was always busy.  Oh, Barbara could stay on the phone, until Sarah answered.  And her daughter would do her best to be pleasant, but there would be a stressful edge to her voice, implying she needed to get back to work.
The dutiful daughter would call back later, when she saw the missed call.  But the same thing would happen, and sometimes Barbara wouldn’t even answer.
She stared at Jeremy’s number for several minutes.  Then she took a deep breath and pushed the number.
“Hello?” it was a little girl’s voice.
“Hi, Emily!  This is your grandmother…
“Who?”
Barbara felt her heart sink, but she pushed on.
“Your grandmother…”
“Grandma Martha?”
“No, sweetie.  This is your Grandma Barbara.”
“Dad!”
“Emily, how are you?  Did you get the iPhone I sent?”
“Dad wouldn’t let me keep it,” came the little voice. 
“Oh.”
“Dad!  It’s Grandma Barbara!”
“Emily…” Barbara said, trying desperately to think of something to say to engage the little girl.  She knew so little.  Her son almost seemed to want to keep information away from her.
“Hello?  Mom?”
Barbara braced herself.  Conversations with her son always seemed awkward.  He’d become a defense attorney, mostly for death penalty cases.  He’d been raised a liberal, but he’d gone far beyond that.  Barbara had made the mistake of playing Devil’s Advocate to what she considered his extreme views, and as a result, Jeremy actually thought she was a conservative.  What else could a sheriff in the Wild West be?  Jeremy had left Prineville for college and never come back, except for short, begrudging visits.
“Is something wrong?” his deep voice demanded.
“No, Jeremy.  I just want to hear your voice.  I was so glad to speak to Emily.”
“Yeah…Listen, Mom.  Can I call you back tonight?  I’m in the middle of something.”
“Of course, Jeremy.  Call me back when you can. I’m always here.”
They hung up and she kicked herself.  ‘I’m always here.’  How pathetic. 
She went to the front of the house, drawing her Glock.  She threw open the door.  There were half a dozen of the javelinas rooting around the bare dirt and rocks.  She started blasting, catching three of the pigs by surprise and killing them.  Two of the others were winged as they ran, and the third got away completely.  As she pulled the clip and put in the other one with a practiced motion, the unharmed javelina turned and gave her a look that almost stopped her from finishing the motion.
It was a warning look.  You’ve messed with the wrong pig, the look said
She laughed, finished inserting the clip and raised her Glock.  But the pig had disappeared around the house.  She thought about pursuing, but decided not to without backup.  (You have no backup, came the thought.)
Instead, she went back to the living room and opened the curtains.  The pigs were gone. 
She pulled the armchair around to face the window and sat down to wait.



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