had engulfed him during the trip home. Any way he cut it, he knew he was screwed. He would go to jail, where he would have to kill some big, lonely felon named Sonny or Lukey in defense of his honor in the showers, and then he would never get out. He would lose his wife. She would divorce him and in her shame marry an insurance agent or an accountant, a city boy with soft hands and pale, bony legs who would move her to Atlanta and frown at her in rebuke if she ever exceeded her grocery budget.
They placed the woman into the cab of A.J.’s truck. She stayed put. Her catatonia had not improved appreciably, but there seemed to be a little more expression in her eyes. A.J. climbed into the driver’s seat and motored in the direction of the local equivalent of civilization with Eugene following along in his Jeep. When they reached town, A.J. made a beeline to Doc Miller’s. Doc practiced out of his home, and as A.J. pulled into the drive he turned and spoke gently to his passenger.
“I’m going to leave you here for about two seconds while I step in and get the doctor. Don’t get excited. Everything is going to be fine.” A.J. realized the words were ludicrous. It would be a long time before everything was fine for her. Still, he meant well, and that ought to count for something. He patted her leg in a reassuring manner and reached for the door. She grabbed his arm and held it tight. The move surprised him. He looked over at her. She held him in a hard stare, her brown eyes tearful and intense. The bruises on her cheek and jaw were livid.
“Where is…?” She didn’t finish but kept her gaze focused on her savior. A.J. had participated in some tough conversations in his time, but he figured this one was going to win, hands down. He wanted to avoid it altogether and had thought to leave her with Doc, who could break all the bad news in his own good time. Doctors were trained for that sort of task; it was why they got the big slice of pie. And A.J. knew he needed to be getting about the business of hiring a lawyer or fleeing to Mexico.
He sighed. Why, after all, should this part of the day be any better than the rest of it? It was not a reasonable expectation, and he knew he had been foolish to hope for respite from the fishing trip from hell.
“My name is A.J. Longstreet,” he began slowly. “My friend and I found you in the woods. I have brought you to the doctor to get checked out.” She continued to stare at A.J.
“Where is… Kenneth?” she asked quietly. She seemed to be missing some facts, and A.J. wondered if she had amnesia. He assumed the dead boy was Kenneth. Maybe he was her beau. A.J. was on ground he did not want to plow.
“Is that the guy you were with at the campsite?” he asked. She nodded. A.J. knew he couldn’t delay the inevitable. “I am sorry to have to tell you this, but he’s dead.” The words ricocheted around the truck cab like shrapnel. The girl blinked and recoiled as if slapped. A.J. watched her closely, wondering how much detail of the morning’s events would return to her now. His first concern was for her well-being, but running a distant and nearly inconsequential second was the flickering thought that a little friendly testimony couldn’t do him any harm.
“I remember… those men. Then Kenneth tried to run…” She whispered before stopping abruptly. “He tried to run,” she said again. A.J. had saved her honor and her life and had dressed her and hauled her down a mountain, but he really couldn’t say he knew her well. He could, however, identify
“Don’t be too hard on him,” A.J. advised. “You ran up on three really bad guys. He never had a chance.”
“He tried to run,” she said, reemphasizing a point that was a kernel in her craw. “He was going to run off and leave me. To them. They shot him. Then someone tore my shirt off… and hit me.” Her hand strayed up to her bruised face and she winced when she touched it. “Then you told me we were at the doctor’s.” She spoke slowly, piecing the puzzle as she went. She seemed to be missing the big part after the backhand but before Doc’s driveway. A.J. supposed that the less she remembered, the better it would be for her. He would just have to rely on Eugene to back up his story.
“Let’s step inside and see Doc,” he suggested. Her face was turning an ugly shade of purple, and he was aware of several scratches on her chest that needed attention.
“I don’t feel like I’ve been raped,” she said, almost vacantly. She pulled the front of her shirt away from her body and briefly inspected her chest. “All bruised up and scratched,” she said, as if she were commenting upon apples down at the fruit stand. She looked over at A.J. “My shirt was ripped off. Now I have this one on. I should have been raped, but I’m not. I should be dead, but I’m not.”
“You’ve had a rough time,” A.J. said. “I think you were in shock. We should go on in and let the doctor check you out.” He had done his duty and was ready for the handoff. But she wasn’t moving. At least before, he could put her where he wanted her, and too much gab had not been an issue.
“Someone knocked those men off of me. My shirt was ripped. There was shooting. Then… then you and some other guy dressed me.” She was still looking his way, but he could not meet her gaze. She had been in need of clothing, and he had taken the chore as a matter of mercy. He had thought nothing of it then, but now it seemed a little personal. He was embarrassed.
“I’m sorry, but…”
“Sorry? Are you kidding? You saved my life. Thank you is not enough, but thank you.” She paused. “Those men are dead?” she asked. A.J. nodded.
“Yes, they have passed away,” he said, not prompting her.
“Good. I hope it hurt,” she said simply. A.J. suspected it probably had, especially the last one, but he did not enlighten her. “Where’s that other man, the one who helped you?” she asked. “And which one of you killed those men?” She hadn’t talked a great deal when they first met, but now she seemed committed to making up lost ground.
“We need to go on in,” A.J. said. “Your face is really bruised.” He got out of the truck and stepped around to open the door for her. She got out slowly and tested her legs. Then they walked up to Doc’s door and entered. His living room had been converted into a waiting room, and Doc was sitting in a Naugahide chair by the wall reading a medical journal disguised as
“A.J., how have you been?” he inquired.
“Been better, Doc. This lady needs some attention.”
Doc stepped up close and viewed the facial contusion.
“Yesss,” he said absentmindedly as his expert fingers gently felt for broken bones in the area of the bruise. “Mrs. Jackson,” he said loudly, calling the woman who had been his landlady, nurse, and companion for many years. When they were alone he called her Minnie, but this was business. “Let’s get this young woman ready for a complete medical exam.” Doc’s trained eye had also noted the deep scratches that began at her throat and disappeared under her shirt.
“What is your name, dear?” Mrs. Jackson asked as they left the lobby, but the door swung shut before A.J. could hear the reply. He supposed he should have inquired before now, but the opportunity had not presented itself, and she hadn’t volunteered. Doc and A.J. were left in the lobby.
“What’s the story, A.J.?” Doc asked.
“Eugene and I found her in the woods. She hasn’t been raped.”
“How do you know that?”
“I know. Eugene is on the way here with Slim. When he gets here, we’ll tell the story. Go check her out in the meantime. I think she was in shock when we found her.” Doc was looking at A.J. hard. He knew that an abundance wasn’t being said.
“I’ll be wanting some answers soon, A.J.,” he said.
“You’ll have them. Oh, and Doc? When you get through with her, get your coroner stuff ready. The woods are full of dead people.” Doc was on the way to the examining room. He stopped and slowly turned.
“I assume you are speaking euphemistically?”
“Nope.”
Doc just stared.
“A.J., what in hell have you and Eugene gotten into?”
“We have wandered into a metric ton of shit,” A.J. replied, and he meant every word. The old physician shook his head and left to tend his patient. A.J. stepped outside and waited for Slim and Eugene to arrive. His heels weren’t kept cooling for long. The pile of cigarette butts at his feet had only grown to three when he heard the siren on Slim Neal’s cruiser. Slim was usually as subtle as a B-52 raid and did not disappoint on the current occasion. He came sliding down Doc’s driveway with all four wheels locked and leaped out. Eugene, A.J. noted, was sitting in the back where the prisoners go.
