Apocalypse Drift (24 page)

David stared down at his feet. “I just…I don’t know. It seems funny to disagree with you.”

Wyatt reached up and took him by the shoulder. “David, what you did back there was leadership. You’re a man now, and again, I’m proud of you. Don’t worry about it. We’ve got so much on our plate right now. Always do what you feel is right. You can’t let the fear of being wrong now and then cause you to freeze up.”

Father and son embraced, and then picked up the pace to catch up with the girls. It dawned on Wyatt that he was being hypercritical of himself. Here he’d just given David a big, long speech that he hadn’t been able to live up to. 

Wyatt reflected back on his actions when the business was failing. Deep down inside, he couldn’t identify any one decision or action that had instigated the decline. There wasn’t any single event where he made a bad call. Yet, it had all come crashing down around him. There had to be a reason, some catalyst or trait that prompted it all to happen.

Just because I can’t make a good decision, doesn’t mean David can’t,
thought Wyatt.
This wouldn’t be the first time a father had told his son to be better than he is.

After everything had been stowed away on Boxer, Morgan came out to the deck and sat next to Wyatt. She made small talk for a few minutes and then asked, “Everything okay with you and David?”

Wyatt’s head snapped up and he looked at his wife, amazed at the woman’s perception. Did she really have eyes in the back of her head? “He’s just trying to get comfortable in this new pair of shoes he’s wearing. The shoes are called ‘manhood,’ and they can be a tight fit now and then.”

Morgan smiled at her husband’s use of an analogy. It was one of her favorite things about him. She patted her Wyatt on the knee, “Do you male types ever get comfortable in them? It seems like a constant struggle, even for those of you who have been wearing them for years.”

Wyatt smiled and glanced skyward, “No, they never seem to fit right. Sometimes tight, and sometimes loose. He’s a good kid, Morgan – you did one heck of a job with him.”

“
We
did a good job with him, my husband. We both deserve credit. I see so much of his father in him. The older he gets, the more he reminds me of the young man I fell in love with so many years ago.”

Wyatt put his arm around his wife and drew her close. He couldn’t help himself and smirked, “Which young man was that?”

Morgan playfully slapped at him and kissed his cheek. “You know very well who I was talking about.”

Wyatt kissed her forehead and smiled. She let him settle for a moment and then said, “It was Jimmy Thompson…you remember him, the captain of the football team.” They both started laughing so hard, Sage stuck her head out of the cabin door to ask if everything was okay. She realized her parents were doing that crazy lovebird thing again, and that made her smile. She made a waving gesture as if to say
, “Never mind,” and ducked out of sight.

The task of getting the kids to bed was much easier since their tummies were full. Charlie and Rose had tucked blankets, said prayers, told stories, and answered questions for a few minutes before wishing sweet dreams and blowing out candles. One bed had required a detailed checking for monsters suspected to be lurking underneath. None were discovered.

Charlie made his way to the back stoop, seemingly mesmerized by the dark skyline. His thoughts turned to the harder questions about life, wondering if the world would ever return to the way it had been. The screech of the screen door opening prompted him to turn, even though he knew it was Rose. She sat beside him without comment, pretending to be interested in the stars. She had to admit, without all of the city lights, their twinkle was much more intense.

She sighed, “Charlie, we need to talk about that food you brought home.”

Her husband looked at the grass that hadn’t been mowed in almost two weeks. He wanted to change the subject, but decided the effort was useless. “I told you the truth. I smelled someone cooking on a grill. The smell was coming from the marina. I went over and asked if they would give me some food. It took a little convincing, but they filled the box, and I brought it back.”

Her tone was sharper than she intended, “It’s the
little convincing
part I’m worried about.”

Charlie exhaled deeply and proceeded to tell his wife the entire story. The only part he left out was asking for the beer. Rose listened quietly. After he had fi
nished, her voice became softer. “Thank you for telling me the truth. I understand why you did what you did. I have a question for you though. Something I want another truthful answer to. What would happen to me and the kids if one of those men had shot you dead?”

He started to respond, but she cut him off, “Just think about that for a while, Charlie. You don’t need to answer me right now.” She stood, reaching for the door, but paused. She bent over and kissed him on the head, “I love you, and the kids love you, too. You’re a good man who’s been through some tough times lately. We’re all better off together. Just keep that in mind, Charlie. I’d rather be hungry and together than fat and alone.”

Rod was sitting on the front porch in a lawn chair, his position partially concealed by a pillar and a tall bush. His sister’s house was way too muggy to stay indoors, so he spent as much time as possible out here where the air wasn’t so close. He preferred the front porch so he could keep a watchful eye on the street and the neighbors.

He’d been locked up for twenty days
awaiting an arraignment for armed robbery and assault with intent. He owed some serious people a significant sum of money, and they had grown weary of waiting to be paid. The interest was mounting, and the collection efforts grew more intense every day. Rod had progressed from worried to downright panicky, eventually ending up at desperate. After a rather heated confrontation, where Rod’s head had been smashed into a brick wall, the message was clear. Come up with some cash, or the misery would escalate.

His normal source of income, stealing bags and unsupervised purses from the 5
th
Street Beach, didn’t pay all that well. Jacking the occasional car stereo was risky, barely providing cigarette money. Still, every now and then, he got lucky, or so he had thought.

Rod was making his way back to his room after a fruitless evening searching for inebriated tourists to pickpocket. He hadn’t had any luck finding a victim who was beyond noticing the removal of a wallet. The lack of success was frustrating, but not all that rare. It had always been spotty work, but a guy had to do whatever he could to get by.

He stumbled upon the Porsche convertible, sitting in a remote overflow parking area. The top was down, making the expensive sports car an irresistible draw. As he approached from the shadows, he noticed an empty bottle of rum perched on the hood. Casually strolling alongside the sleek machine, he glanced inside and almost freaked.

Slumped over the center console was a tiny blond-headed woman, apparently sleeping off an eventful Saturday night. Rod scanned the vicinity, nervously checking for potential witnesses. There wasn’t another soul in sight, which was to be expected, given the early hour and isolated location. In the seat beside the woman was an expensive-looking handbag. Rod moved to the passenger side, reaching in to snatch the potential bonanza.

That’s when he made a big mistake. While bending over to grasp the purse, his eye caught the glimmer of an even bigger prize. The streetlight above illuminated the diamonds surrounding the gold-tone face of a Rolex wristwatch. Like a packrat drawn to a shiny object, Rod’s attention fixated on the twinkling jewels, his hand immediately releasing the purse strap and grasping the expensive timepiece. 

Normally, Rod would have absconded with both items, but the woman moaned and shifted positions. Seeing no sense in pressing his luck, Rod trotted off into the darkness, thrilled with the rewards of a hard day’s toil.

Rod’s excitement over his haul kept him from sleeping. Waiting for the pawnshops to open on Monday morning was out of the question. By lunchtime Sunday, he’d found Mohawk Billy’s caddy parked outside of Lefty’s Pool Hall. Rod didn’t frequent Lefty’s often. The clientele typically consisted of violent, more sophisticated criminals - men who didn’t like to associate with petty, beach bum riffraff.

Still, Rod knew Billy would extend credit as long as sufficient collateral was offered. After what amounted to a 20-minute session of sweaty palms, veiled threats, and one-sided negotiations, Rod paraded out of the pool hall with five crisp Franklins. He also carried a commitment to repay eight of the $100 bills by midnight the next day.

That Sunday afternoon was one of Rod’s most glorious days. Ten dime bags, a new tattoo, and one rusty .38 special revolver later, he found himself broke, but happy.

The next day, Rod managed to roll out of bed and stumble to the closest pawnbroker before they closed. He thought his heart would fail when the bearded man behind the counter shoved the watch back and said, “It
ain’t worth nothing. It’s a fake.”

A hastily obtained second opinion didn’t change the appraisal.

Two days later, a couple of big dudes claiming to be Billy’s cousins found Rod. Despite assurances of making good on the loan, the large gentlemen didn’t accept his sincerity. Rod would carry the scars from that beating for the rest of his life, which wasn’t a long-term prospect at that moment.

The Stop N’ Fill on the corner had been busy all day. Rod followed the manager out of the store after the night supervisor clocked in. He knew the guy would take the day’s proceeds to the night deposit box at Second National Bank. He would have gotten away with the heist were it not for the Galveston County Sheriff’s patrol car cruising the area. A man sprinting away from a bank attracts attention. Things really
get interesting when the runner is carrying a gun and a bank deposit bag. The police tend to notice such things.

Still, the goonies couldn’t collect the debt while he was in the slammer.

When the power failed, the guards kept the prisoners in the courtyard of the Galveston county jail for the remainder of the afternoon. After the third day without electricity, the deputies started calling in sick. On the fifth day, only one guard showed up.

The inmates hadn’t been fed or allowed any time in the yard, which led to a rapidly deteriorating situation. That lone officer must have feared a full-blown riot, or perhaps he was a softhearted individual. Right before abandoning the jailhouse, he hit the battery-powered emergency switch that unlocked the cell doors. 

It took the prisoners about two minutes to break through the outer metal doors of the jail. When the final barrier to freedom fell, all 119 inmates strolled back into society. Rod was one of them, and after milling around the island for a while, he began the 20-mile trek to his sister’s house. He avoided the highways and busy thoroughfares, expecting the police to be searching for the escapees. He arrived early the next morning at his sis’ place, only to discover she was on vacation. That was just fine with Rod. Sis had disowned him months before, a domestic dispute initiated after his third arrest for drug possession. Her being out of town would save him the trouble of begging to stay for a few nights until he could come up with another plan.

Rod was enthralled with his sister’s neighborhood. An entrepreneur of sorts, he was quick to recognize opportunity, and this subdivision was a target-rich environment. He was in awe as he crept around, peeping in people’s windows. All of these well-to-do jerks had big screen TVs and tools in the garage. He could make quite a haul out of here. Then it dawned on him that there wasn’t anywhere to sell the goods. He didn’t have a car, and even he was smart enough not to try and pawn something so close to where it had been stolen. No, he needed to think through a plan.