Jeff Abbott - Do Unto Others

I can’t believe you want to kill a little boy.” Her eyes said, no, she didn’t want to kill a little boy but what she wanted wasn’t relevant.

“I’m really sorry, Jordy, but this is all your fault. If you hadn’t interfered, if you’d left things alone, Mark and your mama wouldn’t be in this mess. I’m sorry, but-” She didn’t get a chance to finish, either her sentence or us. A pounding swelled on the front door, accompanied by a nonstop ringing doorbell. “Jordy! Anne!” Bob Don’s voice bellowed. “Goddamn it, open up!” Tamma’s head jerked toward the door. Bob Don sounded like a one-man SWAT team. “They know you’re here, Tamma,” I said, trying to sound mild. “You better surrender.” I bit my lip. “Jordy! Jordy! Goddamn it! Open up!” Bob Don bellowed. The door vibrated in its frame. “He’s not going to go away, trust me,” I said. “Give it up, Tamma.” She licked her lips, tongue darting like a rattler. “On the floor, both of you.” She pushed Mama down from the couch. “You too, Jordy. Or I shoot her.” “Jordy! Jordy! Anne, darlin’!” Bob Don’s words slurred together. I watched the gun pointed down at my mother’s head. I got on the floor, pressing my palms to the carpet. Mama took that moment to let everyone know she was damned tired of having a gun pointed at her, rude visitors, pounding on her door, and lying on the floor. She screamed, and she screamed loud.

Tamma shrieked, “Shut up!” and I jumped on top of Mama, pressing my body over hers. I was sure Tamma would shoot her. The scream pierced my ears for about three seconds when the front door caved in. Bob Don swayed in the doorway and staggered in, taking in the scene.

“Goddamn!” he exclaimed. “What the hell-” “Get back, Bob Don,” Tamma demanded. From my position on the floor, with Mama still yelling underneath me, I couldn’t see Bob Don’s face. I looked up and saw Tamma still had the gun leveled at us. “What the hell you doin’, little girl? Give me that,” I heard Bob Don roar and Tamma whirled the gun up, in the direction of his voice, and she fired. Bob Don cried out and I heard a heavy fall. I kicked out Tamma’s legs, and she hollered and fell on her back, near my feet. The gun was still in her hand and she struggled to get it pointed in my direction. Her chest was the closest part of her to my feet and I kicked out hard, catching her in the right breast and the arm. She screamed and let go of the gun. It landed a few feet away. I scrambled across the floor for it and she did too. I nearly closed my fingers around it, but she fell on me, biting and kicking. I squirmed and booted the gun out of her reach as we fought. It slid across the room and under Mama’s easy chair. I tried to get a grip on her shoulders, but as I did she kneed me in the groin. Yelping, I let go. She broke free from me and scrabbled like a crab toward the chair, panting. I chased her, stumbling to my feet in pain, trying to run without using my molten legs. Seeing me coming after her, she grabbed one of Mama’s heavy antique candlesticks and swung it at my head. I was a harder target than Beta Harcher. I ducked but felt the whoosh of air as the heavy brass passed near my hair. The second swing around, I grabbed the candlestick and wrestled it out of her hands, tossing it aside. I completely forgot all the gentlemanly manners that Mama and Daddy ever taught me, and I punched Tamma Hufnagel in the jaw. Hard. I got a grip on her shoulder and she was still conscious, adrenaline fueling her, spitting at me. I belted her again and her eyes rolled white. I let go of her and she crumpled to the floor. I staggered around for a second, breathing, glad to be alive. “Jordy!” It was Junebug and another officer, coming in with service revolvers drawn. “She did it. She killed Beta. She tried to kill us,” I managed to gasp, standing over Tamma and pointing at her.

“Would you please arrest her?” Junebug rushed over to Tamma, keeping the gun aimed at her, pulling out handcuffs. Mama lay sobbing on the floor, while Mark murmured in a broken voice for his mother. I stood.

Oh, God, oh my God! I stumbled past the couch and the coffee table, toward the busted door. Bob Don lay behind the couch, still, a red stain spreading across his shirt. “Oh, God!” I screamed, kneeling beside him. “Somebody call an ambulance!”

The next morning, Candace found me in the waiting room outside of the intensive care unit. I had abandoned conversation with a prim, elderly lady whose husband was undergoing arterial surgery. She’d asked who I was there for and I didn’t know what to say. A near stranger? My friend? My father? I fumbled on my own words so badly I’m sure she thought I had a speech impediment. I finally had mumbled something about a friend getting shot and she turned up her nose to me, probably thinking I frequented cheap honky-tonks with a dangerous crowd. I wasn’t drunk with liquor, but with exhaustion. I’d stayed up all night, pacing the waiting room, then talking on the phone with Junebug after Tamma’s confession, and then wearing out a new track of carpet while I waited for a doctor to tell me whether or not Bob Don would live or die. Candace sat by me on the couch, handing me a cup of coffee, winking and trying gentle teasing to raise my spirits. “You better look out, Jordy. You know us and couches. I may have to take you right here.” The prim lady gathered up her knitting and fled to a remote corner of the room, not wanting to hear about us and acrobatics on furniture. Candace gave me a timid kiss and I kissed back. “Hell of a night,” she said, rubbing my neck. “One way of putting it,” I agreed wearily. “I feel like I could sleep for a week. How are you?” “I’m fine. I was just down seeing Mark. Arlene’s with him still. She said Dr. Meyers said y’all can take him home today.” “Good,” I said. “I’m sure he can’t wait to tell all his friends how his Uncle Jordy nearly got him killed.” Candace ignored that jab of self-recrimination. “And they released Eula Mae last night, of course. She volunteered to stay with Anne this morning while we’re all down here. She said she can’t wait to talk to you.” “So she can pirate all this for her next novel,”

I guessed. Candace looked hard into my eyes. “You can quit with the jokes. You don’t fool me a bit. You going to stay here awhile?” “I can’t leave him, Candace. Not till I know he’s going to be okay. I mean, I don’t think of him as my father, but he got shot trying to help me.” “I know, babe,” she said, patting my hand. “You know, Bob Don’s pretty special. I know you already got a man in your heart that you think of as your daddy, but you got a big heart, Jordy. Could be room in there for two, y’know.” “Junebug told me they arrested Ruth and Matt,” I offered, changing the subject and getting myself in trouble. Candace’s eyes hardened. “They did. They found another videotape in Beta’s house, this one with footage of the pot crop. She must’ve taken that camcorder she stole from Hally and taped the field for evidence. I guess she planned on hitting them up for money, too.”

She coughed. “You know, I did not appreciate you running out on me like that.” “I didn’t want to involve you any more.” “Doofus. Could have gotten yourself killed.” She sniffed, and that was the extent of the fight. At least for the moment. She cleared her throat and continued: “I talked with Arlene. She said the police are talking to Hally, but they don’t think he had anything to do with killing Beta.

And I heard Billy Ray offered Adam Hufnagel a plea bargain to testify against Ruth and Matt. I imagine he’ll take it. He seems to be in deep shock that Tamma did all this.” “He should be. She very nearly got away with it.” “How, for God’s sake? And why resort to murder?”