Chapter 4 – CASH
CASH
N o woman is easy. I’m not talking about sex. I’m talking about the day-to-day dealing with ‘em. Sisters, mothers, girlfriends, friends who are girls, none of ‘em are easy.
Glenna Dobbs takes the cake.
I don’t know what she’s thinking. She hardly ever talks. She rarely looks anything but mean, and I acknowledge that’s my own damn fault, but still—
She’s hard.
Yesterday at the hospital, she was bein’ nice even though she was obviously in a lot of pain, eating my jerky, almost smiling.
And then she wasn’t. She didn’t want me to come back with her to see the doctor.
She let me drive her home, but she wouldn’t let me walk her up or get her settled in.
I basically had to rob her of her car keys to get her to hand them over.
I had my buddy Jaxson drive me out to pick up her car this morning. Glenna told me to drop her keys off with Toby at the coffee house. Fuck Toby.
And fuck Jaxson and the ten other people who tried to high five me for shooting her. And fuck all my friends for thinkin’ I’m gonna laugh at their Elmer Fudd memes.
My dad called. He wanted to know what’s wrong with me. Then he put my mom on so she could yell at me .
Del rang to make sure it wasn’t some misguided attempt to show my support. He put Lil on the phone to make sure I feel like the world’s most incompetent and hapless jackass.
Pam Bosko called. She’s a friend of my parents, and she’s also a defense attorney. She offered to represent me. She said don’t talk to anyone, especially Glenna Dobbs.
I’ve got no problem ducking Bernard Wilson’s calls—hope he stews himself into an ulcer—but I have no intention of avoiding Glenna.
She let me touch her.
She wasn’t sure, but for a little while there, she was into it. She’s got the most amazing damn eyes—brown like a chestnut mare. I could see every thought.
She’s—hell, she’s everything, and I almost got her killed.
She could’ve died.
I should’ve listened to my gut. Wilson and his boys talked a good game. They belong to a range back home. All three own guns, but they’re from the city, so they’ve only ever hunted duck and goose on day trips. I should’ve known when the twitchy one showed up wearing cologne.
And after I talked them through masking scent—wash the clothes in unscented detergent, hang the laundry on the line, stick it in a plastic bag until the morning of, odor-free shampoo and body wash and deodorant, baking soda to brush teeth, everything from soup to nuts—and here nervous Nelly rolls up smelling like the Allemande on singles night.
We weren’t gonna come within a dozen yards of a buck with my dude reeking like a stall at the mall, but I figured they’re here all week, one day of frustration might be a good lesson. Some men don’t listen. They gotta learn.
I got us set up in the tree stands, settled down to take a nap, and they only lasted an hour before they started hollering to each other. They want to find another spot.
I figure I’d hike ‘em straight up to the top of Lower Peak. They’ve got sling carries, and the two my age were bitchin’ because I made them walk single file, and they gotta cradle carry.
So help me God, I didn’t see her.
I was leading them along the edge of the meadow, close to the tree line, about to head across, when Elliot squeezed off a shot before I realized what he was doing.
I should’ve walked their asses back down to the parking lot when they couldn’t sit still with their mouths shut.
She could’ve been killed. My heart hasn’t come down from a gallop yet.
Every time I see her flinch in my mind, frowning as she stared down at her shoulder, my adrenaline surges, and I want to swing on someone.
I want to drag Elliot out of his cubicle or office or whatever and shoot him in the arm.
Beat the snot out of all three of ‘em like I would’ve done back in high school.
But I’m a grown man now, so I sit on my front porch with Brice and feel like a huge pussy. My plan is to get something accomplished with my new free time. Of course, Wilson and his boys hightailed it out of town. They did leave me a voicemail with their lawyer’s name and number.
Brice is hanging in his usual spot, whittling, littering my flower bed with shavings. Granger is around somewhere, palling around with Red Tail. They’re barking in the distance. Probably treed the racoon that booked it out from under the cabin this morning when I came out to drink my coffee.
At least it wasn’t a skunk.
“Why do you think she didn’t want to call her dad?” I ask Brice.
I told him all about the debacle, but he’d already heard three different versions when he came over after breakfast, none true. Apparently, the most popular story is that I shot Glenna in retribution for the story about Del.
“What’d she say?” Brice brought a hunk of wood over with him today. Looks like it’s gonna be a fancy conch shell or a big-ass ear.
“She didn’t want to worry him.”
“Probably, she didn’t want to worry him.” Brice does that thing where his face is totally serious, but he’s smirking with the corners of his eyes.
“And Mel Donovan said I shot Glenna?”
He sighs, all put upon, but we both know that even though he hates town, he loves gossip. “Deja told me that Carl at the Over Easy told her that Mel Donovan said you shot Glenna and blamed some yuppie from out of town.”
“I didn’t shoot her.”
“I didn’t think you did.”
“If folks think I shot her, why aren’t they mad?” That’s what I don’t get. It’s like the joke of the year. The only person sincerely disturbed that Glenna got hurt, to be honest, is my dad. ‘cause he raised me better. “What the hell is wrong with people?”
“Late-stage capitalism,” Brice says.
“The question was rhetorical.”
Brice shrugs.
“What’s that mean anyway?”
“Means three rich dudes paid you to hunt deer. They bagged a woman instead. You gonna give ‘em a refund?”
Hadn’t thought about it, but— “No.”
“So you make the money, and you’re the town hero ‘cause everyone hates Glenna, and three dudes get to go home and tell the golf club they got to hunt the most dangerous game.”
“Did everyone read that story in eighth grade?”
“Oh, yeah. You know Mrs. Drummond did the same lessons every year.”
“How come Kell didn’t tell me that?”
“Andy Griffith probably thought you’d build character doing it yourself.”
He probably did. I’ve done lost the point, though. “So what does all this have to do with capitalism?”
“It means the people with power keep the power no matter what they do, and that is that, and that is what’s wrong with people.”
“I’m paying Glenna’s hospital bill.”
“Well, then. A hundred years of economic theory must be wrong.”
“Your mother’s a hundred years of economic theory.”
Brice drops the big-ass ear, vaults over the porch railing, and tries to do a driving elbow drop, but we’ve been wrestling since we were eight, and I know all his moves ‘cause he stole ‘em from WWE, same as me.
I roll and go after him with a power slam, but he ducks left, and I end up belly flopping on the wood porch, knocking the breath from my lungs.
“Holy shit. Did you just knock yourself out?” Brice cracks up. Granger comes running out of nowhere, sniffing me all over and licking my face. Red Tail stands at the bottom of the steps, barking.
“I’m conscious.”
“Why aren’t you moving?”
With great effort, I flop onto my back. I’m not saying I’m too old for this, but I need a minute. “When I get up, I’m gonna kick your ass.”
“When you get up, you’re gonna go for an ice pack.”
“Hell, yeah, I am. And then after that, look out.” I push myself up and scoot over to sit on the top step. Brice fishes his ear out of the mulch and comes to sit next to me.
“Want a beer?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
“Get me one, too, while you’re up.”
He flips me off and goes back to his wood.
I crack my neck and roll my shoulders. What am I gonna do with this free week?
And how bad is Bernard Wilson’s review gonna be? He’s gonna sue me. That’s a given. Dudes like him don’t take responsibility. They pass it right along. I’ve got insurance, but this is going to be a setback. Maybe a big one.
Dad thinks that a guide business is a pipe dream. Stonecut is known locally, but it’s not a hunting destination. But it could be.
I’m biased, but the mountain is flush with game. The Luckahannock is teeming with bass, walleye, trout, you name it. Development has been kept to the towns and their environs. We’ve even got a legendary, unkillable critter in Phat Thom. We’ve been good stewards of the land, as Dad would say.
With fishing in the summer and hunting in the fall, I can make a living as a guide. Not racehorse breeding money, but enough to be comfortable. And if I ever fall short, there’s always crabbing. Maybe. The season got shorter each year I did it.
Anyway, I don’t think a couple yuppies from the big city are gonna totally tank my reputation, but I’m not at the point where I don’t care about losing clients. Stability is built on repeat business. I learned that from Mr. Joe.
Dad is considered a great businessman around here, and that’s kinda true.
He knows horses; he knows which mares will foal winners and which studs are over-hyped.
Uncle Van was the money man, though, and he never liked to talk shop.
Mr. Joe is the one who taught me the nitty-gritty—how I gotta pay quarterly estimated taxes, how I gotta form an LLC for liability, what you do when someone doesn’t pay your invoice.
He taught me the big picture shit, too. A customer who comes back season after season is worth more than a once-off, so cut him a deal. Don’t scrimp on what matters. Pay yourself first, then reinvest every penny in the business. Don’t do your own website; you’ll look like a hick.