Story Grace, Mercy and Blessings

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PacNorWest

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#748

Tyson drove to his godparent's place, letting himself in the kitchen door. They had already eaten and cleaned the kitchen, so there was no supper. He knew the rules, if he wasn't there at dusk, then he missed supper. Most of the time that was alright, the old woman really thought up some unreal, strange casseroles that mostly looked and tasted like slop.

Tyson had eaten steak last night at the local watering hole, expecting that Clayton would be bringing in a fresh bag of cash from the day's take. So, while he had no money for a decent meal, he could always eat a bowl of cereal. Cereal, what a loser of a food group.

His godparents were so frugal, actually just cheap, that they only cooked enough at each meal, so there were no leftovers. Unnecessary, in Tyson's opinion.

He ate two bowls of cereal, just to irritate the old people, Tyson took his bowl and spoon to the sink and ran water in them, He also put the milk and cereal box away, He didn't feel like it, but he had been the brunt of the old woman's wrath, so he obeyed, reluctantly.

He sat at the table, thinking about that louse Clayton, and the fact he hadn't called to tell him how much money he had collected. Tyson decided he needed to pay a visit to Bub and see why Clayton wasn't bringing the money.
 
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PacNorWest

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#749

Tyson went out the back door as quietly as he came in, Orrie and Flory had the volume up so loud on the TV, they wouldn't have heard a bomb go off. Crazy old people, always harping on him, do this, do that. we expect you to go to church as long as you live in our house, etc., ect, ect.

Tyson got back in his pickup and started the super quiet machine. He intended to sneak around the motel and see why Clayton's pickup was still there. His mind went into over drive, thinking about the hundred different reasons Clayton might still be there. None of them good, especially for Clayton's health.

Driving through the blinding curtain of snow, Tyson pulled into the dirt track to the North of the motel. He felt fairly secure and invisible due to the snow. Putting the pickup in park, he flipped the switches he had specially installed. One switch killed the tail lights, the second one, doused the headlights. Out of habit, Tyson flipped the third switch. That one turned on a special set of blue lights in the grill and next to the taillights. The blue lights were totally illegal, but very useful.

Inside the apartment, Clora was doing the dishes, Mark had her little gun apart on the table, cleaning and oiling the palm sized 380. Don was playing with the rifle and IR. This rifle was Mark's 500, big enough to make a good sized hole.

Sitting in the dark livingroom, Don felt rather than heard a noise. Using the IR, he swept the area three times before the sights picked up a figure creeping into the parking lot.

Earlier, Don had locked the intruder's pickup; if nothing else but for pure orneriness. So whom ever was pussy footing in, keeping the bulk of the supercab between themselves and the darkened apartment, meant to be undetected.

Easing over to the door and opening it a fraction, Don could now hear a motor running. It was very faint, the falling snow acting like a soundproof sheet of blindness. Keeping track of the crouched over figure, Don shifted until he could get a heat register from the vehicle.

He fired.

It was more of a 'guess-timate', than a accurate, approved target, but he blasted the passenger's side window and blew out the windshield.

The crouched person stood up and ran around the back side of the motel office. Don listened for the location, and the next sound was a vehicle moving away.

Don had been so intent on listening for the creeper, he didn't hear Mark come beside him, staring out into the snow obscured darkness.

"Report," Mark spoke quietly.

"One, coming in crouched, keeping the truck between himself and the apartment. Left a vehicle running on the road. I shot out the windshield, he left." Don said tersely.
 
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PacNorWest

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Sorry, I didn't make it clear. Clayton's pickup was right in front of the apartment. Tyson's pickup was the one that Don hit. It was on purpose, as he didn't want to shoot the shadowy figure, (an in coming that hadn't done any criminal activity, other 6than come on the motel grounds.) ......... yeah, we all know he was up to no good.

I had to do some research; a motel yard is considered a public area, unless an agent of the motel specifically bans the person from being there. So, you can't just up and shoot someone sneaking around, ...even if it is Tyson, even if he deserves it

Besides if I kill him off now, I lose a good antagonist. But I do have to make him mas, furious and out of control raging. He gets careless under those circumstances. Besides we have to get Clayton back into the mix.
 
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PacNorWest

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#750

"Do you have a guess as to whom it might be?" Mark asked his youngest son.

"I'm guessing a guy called Tyson. A West Virgina extortionist that thinks he's running with the big dogs. The way he has bled poor old Bub and Rosie so dry, they couldn't even afford food, is criminal in my estimation. If I get the correct opportunity, I'll plug him but good, Mercy Rose is scared to death of him and that Clayton fella. I guess they have threatened her, and that puts him on my radar," Don was grim.

"As it should be," Mark was deliberate, "be aware grudges are serious in this neck of the woods."

"That's why I shot up his pickup, I want to turn his attention to me. Mercy Rose, Rosie and Bub have no way of guarding themselves. I have about two and a half weeks to neutralize this jerk, so if you have some ideas, let's have them."

"Not at the moment, but we can work on it." Mark replied. "That intruder is gonna be mad, I'm not sure I want your mother exposed to a 'payback' situation."

"Agreed, let me think on what we want to do. I'm not thrilled to have our new trailer in the middle of a fight, I might have to take the trailer home, and then depending on circumstances, I may be back. I just need you to think carefully about short term and long term consequences in what you're planning." Mark finished.

"Yeah, I might have jumped too soon, but I have good intentions. Besides I want to keep the rifle. It's gonna keep me even with the two jerks." Don was serious.
 
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PacNorWest

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#751

Tyson was white hot angry inside but sick at heart at the condition of his new pickup. There was glass everywhere, and now snow was packing in with every foot he drove. He needed a barn or a garage, before the interior was ruined.

The closest place belonged to Buzz, the meanest snake in the county. Tyson figured he would have to offer Buzz something for the use of his shed, he just hoped it wouldn't be too outlandish.

Buzz smiled an entirely unpleasant smile. "Sure, go ahead and park in the barn," he suggested silkly. "It's empty."

His words and tone sent shivers up Tyson's spine. A person might suspect that Buzz was called Buzz because of a haircut or a left over kid monicker.

Not so; Buzz was short for Buzzard. The man as unpleasant to look at as the offending bird, someone that enjoyed carrion and evil and had short tempered, vile regurgitation when threatened and angry.

Tyson nodded, and put his truck in the barn. Thinking as he used a old broom to sweep the interior; the thought came to him, that Buzz would probably rummage through his pickup as soon as Tyson left to walk home.

There was too much 'good stuff' in the quad cab for him to carry, several pistols and a couple of rifles. Tyson felt that he needed to stay and protect his 'investments' from being discovered by anyone else.

Buzz was the type of person to steal his guns, blackmail him for the paperwork in the glovebox, and either destroy or wreck his new pickup. Tyson made sure all his weapons were loaded and he crawled in the back seat under a thin blanket.

He was cold and miserable, and he had all the time in the world to think about the guy that Mercy Rose had brought home. She could be interested in him, she hadn't gone to the trouble with anyone else, so if he hurt the guy, he'd sooner come even over his pickup.

Tyson had almost gone to sleep; when it registered that the squeak of the barn door opening and closing . He had to hold his breath, as his heart was beating so loudly, he thought it might burst. Frozen in fear and excitement, he slowly raised the shotgun. As Buzz appeared in the passenger's window, Tyson racked the pump.

Buzz ducked and the door opened and closed rapidly as he left. Tyson smiled in the darkness, chalk up a win for him.

He settled back into his cold and uncomfortable bed and closed his eyes. Some time later, he thought he could smell smoke, and decided he was dreaming.

In his dream, he could hear the wood starting to cackle and hiss. Then he sneezed and the smoke was thick.

That Buzz had set his own barn afire.

Tyson scrambled for the front seat and started the pickup. He was sitting in a puddle of cold snow melt; and he put the 4-wheel drive into reverse and gunned the lifted Ford backward.

The door gave way with a splintering crash; jolting the vehicle as it encountered the resistance. Flooring the truck, Tyson shot out of the structure and slammed backwards into Buzz's pickup by the kitchen door.

There was a sickening slam bang as the heavy duty back bumper of Tyson's truck smashed into the front of Buzz's pickup. Buzz was coming out the back door firing his shotgun.

Tyson jerked the transmission into low and cramped the wheel hard and shot out of the yard, the burning barn throwing sparks and erie shadows in the snowy night.

Tyson drove home, taking all the back roads until he entered the freeway about twenty miles above town. He mixed his tracks with those of town drivers and drove to Orrie's place. There was a tarp he could use in the old garage.

Tyson tarped his cab, and went into the dark and silent house. He went up stairs to his bedroom, and shucked his wet clothes. He really wanted a hot shower, but that would risk waking Flory, that woman might seem nice and mild, but she had a fierce temper when roused out of sleep. So, he gave up on that idea.
 
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PacNorWest

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#752

The unknown man healed slowly. Slovenly habits, poor diet and impatience, ruled his days. The afternoon his monitors flickered and then rolled to life, was a red letter day. They came to life, were on for perhaps a minute or so, and then went blank once again as the overloaded system staggered to fulfill the demands.

The vile man had moved into his work station. He surrendered his apartment to save money, paying two lazy loiters to move his couch and meager belongings. He was sure the men had stolen his last two cans of tuna, and he cursed them soundly. He wasn't able to open the cans with his hands the way they were; but they were his hedge against total hunger .Now, he was destitute.

He had to pay the men forty dollars for their insolent help, and he scribbled their names on the label he peeled off his last can of peaches. He spent the rest of the afternoon resting, plotting revenge for his missing tuna.

Later that night as he was fitfully sleeping, the bright light of electrified monitor came to life. He immediately got up and tapped the keys that activated the surveillance cameras in his hated nemesis's house. Only the camera upstairs worked, and the house was either asleep or deserted. He cursed once again in frustration.



Toby finished his office renovations, paying the contractor with a bonus for the speedy work. Going through the exclusive hiring service for an experienced secretary, he interviewed Ms. Rania Reedy. Ms. Reedy was a no nonsense, gray hair tucked tightly in a bun, she dragon. Just exactly the person Toby was looking for.

He equipped her with a in house security system and a silent buzzer to the police station. He also issued her a loaded Glock with she eyed with suspicion, but accepted and stashed in the wide center drawer of her desk.

"If that is the drawer you wish to keep the gun, do not move it. I want to know where it is located at all times." Toby ordered.

"What sort of clients do you intend to have?" Ms. Reedy raised her eyebrow and voice, wondering if she had made a grave mistake.

"Only normal clients, but I have an experience in my background, when I was a law clerk. If you are uncomfortable with the job description and security, I will seek another secretary." Toby didn't give an inch. "This is unnegociable."

"Very well, I accept your terms, when do I start?"

"Tomorrow morning, I have three appointments, they are listed in the appointment book on the desk. There will be a computer system delivered tomorrow at 8am. If you wish to have the say where your monitor and keyboard are located, you need to be here by then. I will be here at 6am. to prepare for my clients. Tomorrow I will have a key and a code for you to open the office, when I'm unavailable or at court." Toby was all business. Ms. Reedy came very highly recommended with impeccable references.

Toby liked the fact that Ms. Reedy sat down, looked through the appointment book to familiarize herself with the next days work.





With the electricity on, school resumed. Robbie went to school as did Mia to her preschool. Honey started working as a case transcriber for the local branch of the mental health unit. Milo started washing busses, trucks and any other work that came his way.



Gary and Breezy worked to straighten their house and law office. He accompanied Breezy to court as she tried to defend the crazy lady. The crazy lady sank her own trial with her outbursts, screaming tantrums and incoherent mumblings. She was remanded to a federal prison for twenty years, with mental health counseling a requirement.

Breezy was down hearted; she had tried so hard, but she actually agreed with the sentence. The woman was dangerous.

Gary was in the middle of his third round of exercises, when his phone rang.
Woody needed information. "We are stuck with the huge problem with the prince. Do you or your dad know how we might come to an agreeable conclusion?"

"No, I have no pull with the Prince, Dad's up in West Virginia helping Don. You might be able to call him, but I'm not sure where he's staying."

"All I can tell you; fill your gas tanks by tomorrow night; the prince is making good on his threat to put the lid on oil sales." Woody sounded tired; exasperated by the foolishness of people in high political places. "Gary, would you be interested in becoming a Marshal? I believe it's time to get your family back to work."

"I am, if I can physically qualify. I'm doing well, but not yet 100 percent."

"Fair enough, would you be willing to have one of our doctors valuate you. I really need deputy's I can trust. I'll send a car for you un about a week." Woody had phones ringing in the background. "I need to get ahold of your Dad," he said absently as he spoke into the loudest ring.



Woody finally got ahold of Mark, explained his problem, and Mark and Clora packed up and left for home in an hour.
 
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PacNorWest

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#753

Don smiled in the darkness. He had Dad's rifle, he had popped the windshield on Tyson's pickup, Clayton was cooling his heels in jail. Life was good.

As Mark was hooking up his van to the RV; Skeeter had stopped by, when he saw the lights. Don explained the little trick he had pulled on Tyson. Skeeter was impressed, but he stressed Don be very careful of the bully that would certainly retaliate in kind." I have to go, ther';s a wreck on the freeway. I'll stop by at the end of my shift. Stay loose and don't lose your cool; cause your gonna get pushed on "

"Right, that's me, real cool." Don laughed a little; "but seriously, thanks for the warning."

Skeeter tooted as he drove off, he had work to get top.

Don rearranged Rosies furniture for better protection from the windows, and lugged the sofa close to th door. He intended to sleep some, so if anyone tried to open the front door, they would bump the sofa he was sleeping on. The kitchen table went in against the back door.

Don did a quick check of the bedrooms and bathroom down the hall, and they all had small high windows. He shrugged his shoulders, there wasn't much security, but it was, what, it was.
 
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PacNorWest

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#754

Mark and Clora drove the couple of hours back to home, pulling in just at midnight. The first half of the trip was slick with snow and it was dicey pulling a trailer. The top one third of North Carolins was spotty with snow, gradually giving way to rain.

"I'm old," Clora said tiredly, "days like this aren't fun any more. "What time do we need to be up tomorrow?"she yawned and opened the back door of the van for Ivory to get out.

"Not early,I hope." Mark stretched his arms and tried to limber his back. "We need to check in the dark house for lights attached to cameras or whatevers."

"Yeah," Clora agreed, and went to unlock the kitchen door.

"You sit down, I'll make a sweep, and then we can get to bed." Mark went to check the places they had removed the cameras they had noticed. Clora sat in the cold house and shivered.

"I'll start the furnace," Mark called out, "it's colder than blue blazes. in here, I'd say we could stay in the trailer , but it's just as cold."

"I wish we had a wood stove," Clora muttered to herself.

"What? Did you say something?" Mark breezed through the room, headed for the front room to conclude his inspection.

"That's my teeth chattering, I sure hope we didn't have any pipes freeze."

Mark dropped in a chair and shut his flash light off. "We can use the lights, the furnace is on, lt's lock the door and head for bed."

In her bed by the door, Ivory thumped her tail on the floor and curled up tighter.




Buzz watched as the barn flamed, the old wood hissing, popping and hissing as the fire climbed high. He wasn't worried about people noticing the fire and calling it in. The snow was a thick curtain that kept the fire glow from being observed beyond the close area.

Buzz kept watch, he didn't want any embers landing on the house roof, but it was protected by a couple of inches of snow. He went back in the house and grabbed the whiskey bottle from the table and took a long pull.

He took the bottle with him to the recliner, sat down and plotted revenge. The VA had instructed him on the steps to head off a PTSD attack, but tonight; he welcomed the voices that suggested the many wys he could come even with Tyson.


The city deputy ended his shift the next morning and headed to the cafe. He told Suz the waitress about Clayton, as he knew they dated. "He's cooling his heels in jail. The stupid fool tried to break into old Bub;s house and there was people there that didn't know Clayton was there for a shakedown. He has a broken arm and a list of charges against him from Skeeter."

That's how Dal and the rest of the town learned that Clayton was out of commission. Suz was flaming mad, as mad as a red head could be. She gave the deputy a look, that didn't bode well for Clayton.

Suz couldn't side publicly with Clay, she had tips to consider in the mostly conservative town. She was well aware of where Clay got his spending money, the knuckle head was too brain dead to hold down a job; so he was a perfect yes man for Tyson.

Suz decided right then and there that Clayton was too toxic to keep as a boyfriend, "I hope he rots in jail," she said loudly with a toss of her red hair.
 
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PacNorWest

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#755

Tyson's night was filled with fitful sleep. There was no way around it, he was in deep trouble. His pickup needed repair, he had no money on account he couldn't find that rotten Clayton, and on top of it all, he was hungry. Lying in bed listening to his stomach growl. made him feel mean all over.

He knew his choice here at home was either cold cereal or a runny, gooey concoction that Flory called oatmeal. The mere thought of it made him gag; as he thought about hot cakes, omelets, crispy hashbrowns and bacon, ham and sausage .His stomach rumbled once again and he felt miserable.

Tyson figured he's better get busy and think up a plausible excuse for having his door window and windshield gone, and at the moment, he was fresh out of ideas.

When it finally got light enough to see, the snow and wind had crumpled the tarp inside the blown out windshield, filling the new Ford with inches of wind driven snow.

Orrie was standing at the window, drinking coffee and staring at the fancy pickup he had co-signed for. Tyson came clattering downstairs, and cursed under his breath, when his eyes found his pickup.

He dared not say any curse words aloud. Flory was small but mighty; and she didn't particularly care for Tyson. It was her delight to constantly be on his case, and she knew the digs that would set him off.

"A piece of ice flew off a truck and struck the windshield." Tyson was proud of his quick thinking. "I almost wrecked getting stopped, and didn't get the name or license of the truck. Do you suppose the comprehensive we had to buy on the loan, will pay for the repair?"

"Should," Orrie replied slowly, "we can call the insurance company at 9am. You sure you don't remember anything about the truck?"

"No, I tried to swerve a split second before it hit, and went down into the borrow pit. I gassed it hard to get out."

"Humm," was all Orrie would say. He made note of the fact there was no mud on the wheels or side of the pickup bed. He would almost bet Tyson was lying.



Clora was up drinking coffee, when Woody knocked on the back door. Ivory stood up to investigate, but did not growl. It was faintly light outside and Woody looked like he hadn't slept all night.

Mark heard the voices talking in the kitchen, and wished all sorts of evil happenings on whomever was disturbing their morning. Feeling cold hearted and mad, he dressed and went to the kitchen.

Mark actually wasn't surprised to see Woody, and his eyes were drawn to the silver circled star, on the table between Clora and the director. Mark got a cup and slowly poured coffee, all the while contemplating what this visit meant.
 
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