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.
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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