Wild Ride Page 13

  “Listen up good, Chuck. The guy who just took off running… you know him right?” Dickie asked.

  “Yea, from juvy… his name is Brian… Why?” he asked.

  “JC here wanted him to shoot everyone present and he refused, so the dead guy shot at him and for whatever reason he shot them both and then took off running. Give an accurate description of him to the cops. His prints are on the weapon… going to take a lot to convince a jury that my testimony and yours is wrong and the prints on the gun mean nothing… you following me?” Dickie explained.

  He’d set Brian up to take the fall for JC and the other man’s deaths when and if the police ever caught up to him. Chuck knew his mouth was hanging open but he couldn’t seem to close it. Given the choice he preferred the fun loving, always laughing version of Dickie. This version of the man was frightening at best.

  “The testimony of a judge’s daughter and granddaughter will help as well,” Carla said from the doorway. “I clearly remember the same thing… just him refusing to shoot us all and then the dead guy shooting at him and him killing them both and running.”

  Looking over Carla’s shoulder he could see Meredith behind her staring at him with tears in her eyes.

  “Good, call 911,” Dickie told Carla.

  After Carla moved out of the entrance to the hallway toward the phone, he started toward Meredith but then stopped. Maybe with all that she had just witnessed she finally understood why he was no good for her. That she wasn’t meant for him.

  She stood there shaking and crying while watching Carla call the police. The site of her frightened and trembling was tearing him apart. He wanted to leave and never have to witness the pain he saw on her face again but instead he went outside and waited on the front steps. It was time to finish this mess in his life for good.

  Dickie came out and sat down next to him. He didn’t know what to say to him and it was obvious now was not the time for an explanation. Several minutes later, three cop cars and an unmarked detective car pulled up into the driveway.

  He rested his elbows on his knees and put his palms up and stared at the ground. Dickie stayed in the same position as before. They watched the cars pull up and a couple of uniformed officers approach the house with their hands on their service weapons.

  “The bodies are in the house right there on the tiled entryway. The ladies are pretty shaken up. The other guy took off that direction a little less than five minutes ago… but if he had a vehicle he’s probably long gone.” Dickie said, pointing in the direction Brian had run.

  “Can you tell us what happened here today, sir?” one of the officers asked Dickie.

  He half listened to Dickie’s explanation as he watched Judge Patterson pull into the driveway and get out of his car then head toward him.

  As the judge approached where he sat he asked, “What happened here today, Mr. Reynolds?”

  “I’ll tell you anything you want to know if you’ll do me one favor first,” Chuck said.

  “And what would that be?” Judge Patterson asked.

  “Go get the boys from the bus stop so they don’t see all this and get scared?” Chuck asked. “Dickie and I will give our statements to your boys in blue and when I’m done… I’ll call you. I still have your number and I’ll answer any questions you have. I swear it.”

  “Did you recognize the guy who ran, Mr. Reynolds?” one of the officers asked him.

  “His name is Brian… don’t know his last name… sorry… it’s been too long. But he and JC used to have an internal struggle over who was in charge… guess that only got worse once I got out.”

  “I figure he must have seen this as his chance to take the lead… take out the big boss and his right hand man… that leaves him the highest on the food chain right now.” Chuck finished, looking at Dickie.

  He noticed a look of respect from Dickie and it warmed his insides. Relief also hit him as he watched Judge Patterson get back in his car and pull back out of the driveway then head down the street toward the bus stop. Standing up, he followed the officers into the house just as a coroner’s van pulled up.

  The hours seemed to drag on as each person was taken by an officer to a separate room in the house and questioned. Once all the statements had been given and the officers and the sergeant compared notes finding that all stories matched, they were allowed in the kitchen where Carla made some tea.

  He could feel Meredith’s eyes on him from time to time but she didn’t address him directly nor did she sit next to him. This really must have been the last straw for her. As good as it felt that he was on the cusp of being completely free of the gang, it hurt like hell that she too had turned away from him. Should have expected it… stupid.

  He convinced an officer to allow him to sketch the man and after the officer brought him a pencil and paper he sat down to draw. As Carla brought him over a mug of warm tea with lemon and honey he heard her gasp.

  “My goodness Chuck… that is incredible… it looks just like him,” she said in shock.

  He looked up at her briefly and felt so guilty that his past had landed on her doorstep on top of everything else she’d had to deal with over this past year.

  The death of her husband, Meredith’s injuries and having to return to work were enough for anyone… then having two gang members killed in your home in front of your daughter… he could hardly meet her eyes.

  “The painting in my father’s office…” Carla whispered, looking as though she were a million miles away and experiencing an epiphany. “Have you seen it, Chuck? It’s an oil painting of my mother.”

  He forced himself to meet her gaze at the unasked question in her voice. He nodded that he knew the painting.

  “That was you…?” she asked in amazement.

  When he nodded she said, “It makes sense now… I didn’t understand why this community service thing was so important to my father but now I do.”

  “Yea… he said the photo on his desk was the only one she ever allowed to be taken of her. I spent so much time in there during my trial that I memorized it and wondered how she would look in other photos… so I painted one of her,” he explained.

  “That portrait is amazing, Chuck… I mean… wow,” Carla said. “I uh…”

  Watching her, he could see she was struggling to ask him if he’d done any others of her mother. It was the least he could do… give them the paintings he’d done.

  “I have some other paintings of your mother at my apartment… and… of your husband and family… if you want them,” he offered.

  A gasp escaped Meredith and he looked to see fresh tears forming in her eyes.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “I’d love to see them sometime, Chuck,” Carla said quietly after getting control of her emotions.

  “I’m going to lie down,” Meredith said and left the room.

  Carla finished serving the tea and then said, “I should go check on her… I don’t know if she ever said anything to you… but I think she blames herself for the accident. They were out driving because she took a later flight home from college than was originally planned so she could spend some time with her friends and Josh.”

  With that she left the room and headed up the stairs.

  Josh? He wanted to chase after them both and beg them to forgive him for adding more craziness to their lives. The funny part was that even though they were pretty well off financially they had just as many issues and just as much pain as he did.

  He’d always thought if he’d been born to wealthy parents that he wouldn’t have had near the problems that he did. Wealth didn’t seem to keep the problems at bay for Meredith or her family… the only difference was they had each other.

  “Mr. Long, Mr. Reynolds… you are both free to go. We’ve collected the bodies. Here is the number to a cleaning company that should be able to clean and repair any of the damage resulting from the violence,” a police officer said, handing Dickie a business card. “Can you see that Mrs. Johnson gets this please?”r />
  “Sure,” Dickie replied, shaking the officer’s hand.

  After the officer left the kitchen Dickie tucked the card into his shirt pocket and turned to him. “I think I’m going to head to the shop for a while… do a little work… clear my head.”

  “I’ll go with you… I have a ton of painting I need to do and I still need to call Judge Patterson,” he replied.

  As much as he wanted to go to Meredith… he couldn’t do it... she was better off without him. She obviously knew that now, so he should just take his broken heart and go.

  Face his punishment from Judge Patterson and move on. He knew better than to think the judge would allow him to continue his community service here amongst his family after this. He did hope the lack of community service options for him wouldn’t result in jail time.

  As he pulled into the shop and contemplated calling Judge Patterson, he couldn’t help the bit of irony he felt. When he’d first received the judge’s sentence of one thousand hours of community service working for his daughter and her family, he’d been angry at the amount of time it would take out of his life.

  Now that he would no longer be working with the Johnson family it seemed like that amount of time wasn’t nearly enough.

  He wasn’t ready to call the judge just yet. He needed a little time to prepare himself for being yanked away yet again from people he’d come to care for so he headed for the paint booth.

  Glancing at Tommy on his way by he said, “Don’t let me work past six o’clock. I have some things to take care of this evening.”

  Tommy looked at him but didn’t say anything, so he headed into the booth. He met Dickie’s stare before shutting the door behind him. The old man was standing near Lilly’s car on his cell phone with the same look of determination he’d worn earlier.

  The man had really come through for him today in a huge way and he doubted he could ever really repay him. If not for the pain of losing Meredith he’d be elated at finally being free from the clutches of his past mistakes.

  What seemed like only a few minutes later he heard knocking on the window and looked up to see Tommy staring through at him. Tommy pointed at his arm as though pointing at a watch and he was amazed that it was time to face the judge’s wrath already.

  Painting was sometimes like an out of body experience for him, where his mind was free of anything other than colors and lines. The interruption brought him back to reality with a thud.

  After locking up Tommy turned to him and said, “Are you going to stop by Gran’s?”

  “Not tonight… I have a lot on my mind. I’m going home but I’ll stop by this weekend, I promise. Tell her I’m fine and not to worry,” he replied.

  “Yea, that will work,” Tommy said sarcastically and then smacked him on the shoulder before taking off on his bike.

  He drove home and it seemed strange to do that instead of heading to the Johnson’s house to put in his required hours. After letting himself in his apartment he took a shower and made a sandwich.

  Knowing he’d put off the phone call long enough, he picked up his cell phone after finding Judge Patterson’s number in his wallet.

  “Judge Patterson? It’s Chuck Reynolds,” he said “I’m ready to talk.”

  “Well Mr. Reynolds, I have Ben and Matt with me overnight while the cleaning and repair crew try to straighten the place up. Carla is still planning to go ahead with the party tomorrow evening. The party will be outdoors, so I wondered if we could meet in my office after I drop the boys off, maybe around four thirty,” he said.

  Dickie was getting as good at calling in favors as Gran it seemed. “Sure, I’ll be there,” he replied.

  It was slowly killing him not to call Meredith… it was becoming more of a need than a want. Instead, he walked to the corner of his room where he stacked his dried paintings and sifted through them, laying aside those of Meredith, the boys, and the one of their grandmother.

  There were so many of the Johnson’s he feared Carla would find him even more disturbed than he actually was. He’d offered them to her though and it was only right to give them the art they had inspired in him.

  As so often happened when his heart was heavy or full, an image formed in his head. The lines of the image become more and more defined and the colors faded and separated until he could clearly see where to begin.

  Pulling out his art supplies and a blank canvas he headed to the area of his bedroom set up for painting and began to work.

  The image of Chuck kneeling near her mother with a gun pointed at his head replayed over and over in her mind until Meredith couldn’t take it another minute.

  He’d seemed so cold and distant… shut off from everyone and everything afterwards, she hadn’t known how to reach him. She’d waited for him to come to her for comfort but he hadn’t.

  Meredith lay awake staring at the ceiling and listening to the muffled sounds of the cleaning and repair crew downstairs. They were obviously trying to be quiet as they worked and she only heard them because she was wide awake.

  They had shown up a mere two hours after the police had finished dusting for fingerprints, taking pictures and gathering evidence. They had assured her mother that all would be as it was before by the time morning came. A police cruiser sat outside in the driveway to keep an eye on both the cleaning crew and to ensure no more uninvited guests showed up.

  With all the preparations Carla had made for tomorrow’s cookout, especially the food, they had decided to go ahead with the party. The sooner they faced questions from their friends and neighbors about what had happened, the better.

  Some of their closest neighbors had already talked to Carla and been fed the same story Dickie had suggested.

  She was amazed that the simple story garnered barely any further questions from either the police or their neighbors. It was almost as though no one wanted to delve deeper into what had happened. Some gang members had broken into the house and then shot each other and were now dead.

  The world was rid of them… no need to question what many called a blessing. Since the accident, and especially since meeting Chuck, she realized just how precious life really was.

  Knowing it could have easily been Chuck’s blood that had stained the grout in the tiled foyer she felt sick to her stomach. Heaviness settled into her chest somewhere in the vicinity of her heart and was slowly suffocating her like the hold Dickie had on the man who’d fired the gun.

  She hadn’t missed Chuck’s casual description to the police of the beating he’d suffered the night before. She was amazed that her gut feeling that something was wrong had been so accurate.

  Her mother had come to her room to try and talk with her after Chuck’s confession about painting the portrait in Grandpa Patterson’s office and some of his other artwork.

  Knowing his art was like a window to his very soul, a part of her wanted to see them while a separate part of her felt certain that those images might very well bare her own soul. He’d apparently painted non-existent images of her father, as he’d done with her grandmother.

  The painting of her grandmother seemed to keep the very essence of her alive and real. She remembered the first time Carla saw it hanging behind Grandpa’s desk in his chambers.

  Her mother had been speechless and had to sit down. The only explanation Grandpa had offered was that a child prodigy had done the painting for him, even though he’d sentenced the boy to the Juvenile Detention Center for a serious crime.

  The pieces of the puzzle had fallen into place as to why her grandfather had taken such an interest in Chuck considering he was a gang member… former gang member… after his confession about the painting. Between the images of her grandmother’s painting and the sketches he’d made of her… he was a prodigy. There was no other way to describe him.

  She’d talked briefly with both Lilly and Dana on the phone about what had happened and expressed her concern for Chuck.

  Dana had provided the most insight to Chuck, saying with his past experi
ence in the foster care system he likely felt some level of mistaken responsibility for the situation. He probably thought that he was no longer welcome or accepted by her or her family.

  Lilly had simply said to give Chuck some time and he would come around.

  Somehow their words of encouragement were not enough as she watched the clock turn over past midnight. Damn It! She rolled over and turned on the lamp next to her bed for the second night in a row. Pulling out her cell phone, she called Dickie.

  “Hey, sweetness… we have to stop meeting this way,” he answered on the second ring.

  “I’m sorry, Dickie,” she swallowed past the lump in her throat.

  “Yea, well fortunately for you I wasn’t in bed just yet. Dana ran over and checked on him a little while ago at Gran’s request and he’s fine… just painting. She made him eat a sandwich and then he went right back to painting,” Dickie said. “He does that sometimes when something’s bothering him.”

  She released a breath she’d been holding and said, “I have all these thoughts and feelings just racing around in my head and I can’t seem to relax enough to go to sleep. It is something like last night but without the urgency. Sorry… I realize you are not my personal therapist, or Chuck’s for that matter, but I just had to know.”

  “You are but one of a few beautiful women who call me in the middle of the night… to talk,” he laughed at his insinuation. “You can call me anytime, sweetness, anytime.”

  “My daddy used to call me that,” she sniffed.

  Dickie was quiet for a minute before saying, “I can see why. You get some sleep now. He’s having a little meeting with your grandpa tomorrow afternoon in his office. Anytime someone makes an appointment with Chuck, he seems to view it like a trip to the principal’s office.”

  “He gets all nervous and then paints and paints. He’ll snap back in a few days once the shock of finally being free from that bunch of shitheads sinks in and he faces whatever punishment he thinks he’s going to get from the judge. Just give him some time,” he finished.