Shawn Inmon - The Vigilante Life of Scott McKenzie

Eventually, Scott wandered out into his front yard, which also happened to be Joe’s backyard. Joe was already there, with a nice barbecue set up. He had something wrapped up in foil resting directly on the coals and two huge steaks sizzling.

“I knew this would get you out here.”

“Smells good, brother.”

“Want a beer?”

Scott shook his head. “Nah, I don’t do so well with that stuff. That was my downfall quite a few times, along with some worse things. No more of that for me.”

“Smart man. Problems with it ran in my family, so I avoid it too. I keep some for company, though. How about the more gentle beer, then? I’ve got root beer, and a few other pops in the house. Pick your poison.”

“You know, a root beer sounds pretty damn good. Perfect with whatever you’ve got cooking there.”

Joe stepped back inside for a moment then emerged with two bottles of root beer. He popped them open and offered one to Scott.

Joe tipped his as a toast. “To friends.”

“I agree. To friends. I don’t have a lot of them. Being a vagabond crime fighter, moving from state to state, doesn’t allow you a lot of time to develop friendships.”

Joe opened the lid of the barbecue and turned the steaks.

He pointed to a couple of lawn chairs with a TV tray between them. “Here, take a load off. I never did get a chance to thank you for saving my life. The guy was drawing down on John, and I have no doubt I would have been next. There would have been two dead bodies at the Dakota that night instead of just one.”

“It was nothing. Seriously. If the roles were reversed, tell me you wouldn’t have done exactly the same thing.”

“Oh, sure, if I could have, but I think you were better prepared. No one ever told me—what did you use to break his arm? Some kind of Special Ops Jiu-Jitsu or something?”

Scott smiled. “I am no kind of special operative. I was regular army. It was my trusty twenty-four inch collapsible baton. It packs a wallop. Perfect for the vigilante on the go. My adrenaline was pretty high that night, so I might have used a little more force than was absolutely necessary. I heard his radius break on the first swing. Whatever happened to him, do you know?”

“He’s locked up in some mental hospital. I’ve got a connection with a few of the police officers who responded that night. They told me they’d let me know if he ever got out.” Joe looked wistful. “That doesn’t matter as much, now that John’s gone. That was my worry—that he’d try to get to John again.”

“No way for us to know what happens now. Everything with him will be different.”

“John recorded one of my dad’s songs, you know.”

“I know. I was eating lunch in a diner and heard Kasey Kasem talking about it on American Top 40. That’s a pretty cool story.”

“I’d like to split the proceeds of the royalties from the song.”

Would that be good? To profit from this? It would make life easier. I could maybe buy a new pickup or Jeep instead of the beaters I usually drive. It wouldn’t feel right, though. That’s not why I’m doing this.

“Nope, no need. You keep all the money and the worry. I’ll take my freedom and happiness.”

“You’re a wise man. Just know that the money’s not going anywhere. If you need it, let me know. One thing’s for sure—it woulda meant the world to my dad. It does leave me with a little problem, though. I am the sole heir of my dad’s estate, and all those royalties are still coming in. There’s money in the bank that I have no idea what to do with. I wanted to give half of it to you, but now you say you don’t want it either. Are you sure I can’t change your mind?”

“No, I won’t change my mind. Hey, you burnin’ those steaks, or just cooking them?”

Joe opened the barbecue to a rush of smoke. He grabbed the steaks and smacked them onto a plate. “Soup’s on.”

“I am ready. In fact, I was ready when I first smelled the steaks. I might be a little past ready now.”

“Would you like some steak sauce?”

Scott made a face. “I feel no need to insult the cook with that.”

“Medium-rare okay?”

“Quit kidding around and give me the damned steak before I have to go get my baton.”

Joe raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, just kidding around. Let’s eat!”

For the next fifteen minutes, they ate in silence while they watched the sun set.

While he ate, Scott let Joe’s problem roll around in his mind.

What would I do, if I had more money than I knew what to do with? It’s a lot of money, but not enough to change the whole world. It won’t end hunger or cure cancer or any Miss America speech like that. But, it could make a difference. And I know who deserves to get a better shake.

“If you’re still looking for a way to unload some of that money, I think I’ve got an idea.”

“If you’re serious, I would love that. I do my best to ignore the pile of cash accumulating in my bank account. If I could, I’d rather do something useful with it.”

Scott McKenzie suddenly looked very pleased with himself.

I don’t have a lot of great ideas, but I think this is one.

Scott leaned forward in his lawn chair, excitement suffusing his face. “There are a lot of vets who haven’t had the benefit of a few dozen lives to get their heads screwed on straight.”

Joe nodded. “I can’t imagine what you and everyone who fought over there went through.”

“Right. I could tell you horror stories all day. Wiping out villages, killing kids when we thought we were only hitting the enemy, things worse than that. But, none of those stories will capture what it was like to actually be in the shit there. Vietnam was the last time the U.S. forced young men to join. We ruined a big chunk of a generation by doing so. A lot never came back, but those who did were never themselves again. The rates of mental illness, suicide, and homelessness for veterans is astronomical.”

Joe was leaning forward now, too, so close to Scott their knees were almost touching. “So, that’s an area of need. I know the government has programs for vets. Education, home loans, medical care, disability checks. What’s missing?”

“Government programs are fine for broad brush areas like that. But, the truth is, a lot of vets slip through the cracks. I’ve been wandering around America for quite a while now, and I see them in every city. I hate to say it, but some are so lost, I don’t know if they can ever find their way back. But there’s a whole group that’s wandered off the path a little. I think the right kind of helping hand could make all the difference.”

As the impact of the idea hit Joe, he leaned back to take it all in. “I like it. What kind of specific thing are you thinking about?”

“Maybe some kind of housing, where a vet could come and spend a week, or a month, or whatever’s necessary. It would need to have things to keep them busy. It would be good if there was a therapist or two that would be available if and when they were ready to talk.”

Joe looked up at the darkening sky. The clouds had parted and there was a patch of clear sky where bright stars were twinkling.

“You done with your dinner?” Joe asked.

“Unless you want me to eat the plate.”

“Let’s go inside and sit down and hash things out. I already have a million questions.”