WALKABOUT - Taking a Mulligan (16-20)

Walkabout

Taking a Mulligan

Wayne Baker writing as Austin Jett

16

Ty Hamilton

“Did you get the promotion?” Dianna asked.

“No.”

“Who’d they give it to? Not that new guy, the one that resigned from the Muncie PD? You know, the one all those rumors are about?”

“No. Well, maybe. I don’t know who they gave it to. I just know it wasn’t me.”

“I thought you said—”

“I know what I said!” I shouted, and regretted it immediately. “Sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”

“You’re right. I didn’t.” There was an awkward silence. Dianna finally ended it. “You want to tell me what happened?”

“I got fired.”

“What?”

“Fired.”

“Fired? Why?”

I shook my head, “Evidently they don’t want their security officers calling 911 when they hear gunshots or find intruders on the property.”

“What?” Dianna’s jaw dropped. “What are you going to do now?”

“I don’t know.”

“You thinking about flying again?” she asked. “I saw Fred Jones at church last Sunday. He said to tell you to let him know anytime you want to come to work for him.”

“I do not want to be a flight instructor,” I said.

“Why not? With all your experience, you’d be great. You were always good with the kids at the martial arts school, teaching them while you were working toward earning your black belt. I remember at one time you were even talking about running your own school when you retired.”

“I did kick that idea around. But that was a long time ago. I’m out of shape, now. And rusty. I haven’t been to a class in at least three years.”

Dianna sighed. I could tell she was losing her patience. “Well, I still think you should at least go talk to Fred.”

“Nothing against Chandelle Aviation. I think Fred’s flight school is a good one. But, Dianna, I did the flight   instructor thing all those years ago, when I was just starting out. It’s a time-building job. Not something you do when you have thousands of hours in jets.”

“Reality Alert!” Dianna shouted, extending both hands upward with the fingers spread. “You don’t fly jets! You are not a 767 captain anymore, Ty. You’re not a pilot at all now. You could pass on some of what you learned over the years to new pilots if you’d just get over yourself.” Dianna paused, allowing what she’d said to soak in.  “And let’s face it,” she said, “It can’t pay any worse than your security job,” she said. “I know you miss flying. I see you looking at that web site on the internet every day.”

“Yeah. Most of the good jobs are overseas. But, I’m too old.”

Dianna said, “What do you mean, too old? They raised the retirement age to sixty-five. You’re barely sixty.”

“Sixty-one,” I reminded her. “I had another birthday last week.” I let that hang in the air for a few seconds. Dianna hadn’t even wished me Happy Birthday. Must have slipped her mind. “But to get hired in China, where the big money is, you have to be under fifty-five. Some of the jobs, they want you to be under fifty.”

“That doesn’t seem right.”

“I guess it makes sense, if you think about it. They don’t want to invest in your training and then only get a couple years of service out of you,” I said. “Plus, China’s a helluva commute. Six weeks on. Two weeks off. Spend half your off time just getting back and forth from home to work and resetting your body clock.” I sighed, shook my head. “So, I keep looking, hoping something local might come up.” I shrugged. “You know, part-time corporate or maybe fixed base operator manager.”

Dianna shook her head and gave me “the wife look”—if you’re married, you know what I mean—her eyebrows narrowed together as one uni-brow, her lips pressed together like a duck’s bill. She sighed, “Well, I don’t know what to tell you, Ty. I just know you need to do something. You’re too young to sit around the house all day. And we do need the money.” There was a pause. I knew what was coming. Wait for it . . . Wait for it . . . “Need I remind you we are two months behind on our house payment?”

“No,” I said, “you don’t need to remind me, but I appreciate the fact that you do anyway, at least once a day. We’ll be okay. I still have my pension.”

“And your motorcycle,” she said. “And your boat. And your spending habits!”

“My spending habits?”

“When you were flying, and you wanted something, like your fishing boat, all you had to do was pick up some overtime, fly an extra trip or two every month. It didn’t bother me then, but your pension is nothing compared to what you used to make when you were flying.”

I sucked in my cheeks, not wanting to say anything that would throw us into a full-fledged argument.

“What?” Dianna put a hand on her hip. Her eyes were narrowed. “You have something to say?”

“You’re a fine one to talk about spending habits,” I said, unable to keep it bottled up inside me.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” I said. “You were the one who couldn’t be happy living in the old house. Remember? The one that was all paid for? No mortgage?”

“It was too small, Ty, and what, a hundred years old?”

“It was in my family for four generations,” I said. “My father was born in that house.”

“We needed an upgrade,” she said, sticking her chin out defiantly. I swear, every time she does that, I think of Jackie Gleason making a fist and saying, “To the moon, Alice!”

“And a big, new house wasn’t enough,” I pressed on, not knowing when to quit. “You had to have a nice new, state of the art barn and stables, complete with an indoor riding arena.”

“If I’m going to show my horses at the highest level, I have to train year-round.”

“Just saying, I think the one with the spending problem is you, not me,” I said.

“You were the one making the money, Ty,” she said.

“True that,” I said, “And—”

“And you were the one who walked away from it. And you are the one who needs to figure it out before the bank takes it all away!” She glared at me, burning a hole through me with her eyes. “I don’t do poverty, Ty.”

My lower lip began to tremble a bit. It was embarrassing. Why was I having this type of reaction? I didn’t even like the security job. I suppose it was a matter of pride. I’d been fired. Me. A former airline captain. Fired from a minimum-wage security job. It was humiliating.

When I took the early retirement, I thought I had the money issues all worked out. My pension, Dianna’s job, and the additional income began coming in from the business that our son Travis and I were starting up should cover everything with plenty to spare. But then, Travis quit, and that was the end of that.

“You need to quit feeling sorry for yourself and get out there and do something with the rest of your life, Tyler Hamilton.”

“But—”

“Don’t give me ‘but’,” Dianna said. “Give me back the man I married.” And then, she left the room.

“I don’t know if I can find him,” I said to myself. “Hell, I don’t even know where to look.”

17

Ty Hamilton

It wasn’t the first time Dianna and I had argued about money. I didn’t want to give up my toys any more than she wanted to give up her show horses. I looked out the kitchen window just in time to see Dallas Remington brake his shiny new Chevy Silverado to a stop in front of the barn at the bottom of the hill.  I felt a sneer forming on my face as I exhaled a steady flow of hatred from my nostrils.

I had a bit of a dilemma, which had nothing to do with either Dallas Remington or Dianna. There was a video camera in my possession which didn’t belong to me. I had found it while trespassing, so I didn’t know if that would be considered stealing or not. Or if, under the circumstances, it would be admissible as evidence. I supposed that I could take it back, after dark, and put it in the general area where I’d found it. Leave it there for whomever had dropped it to find if and when they came back looking for it.

Or, I could pitch it in the dumpster and forget about it.  Why shouldn’t I? It was really none of my business, now that I’d been fired.

But I had seen a man, injured and bleeding, whether anyone else believed me or not. And I had heard a gunshot. Found and followed a blood trail that led me right to the camera. I couldn’t just let it go.

18

Ty Hamilton

The Page County Sheriff Department’s recorded message said if I had an emergency to hang up and call 911. From there, it prompted me on how to reach the party I wanted, or to stay on the line for dispatch. I left a message for Deputy Smiley. “This is Ty Hamilton, formerly of Sheepdog Security. I was the officer on duty at Lanter Construction the other night. I’ve found something that I believe will collaborate what I told you. A video camera. I’d appreciate it if you’d give me a call.” I left my number and hung up.

19

Sheriff Mike Bridges removed his duty belt and placed it on his desk. He plopped down onto his chair and started rummaging through his desk drawers in search of some aspirin to combat his headache. There was a knock. Suzanne Smiley, one of his veteran deputies, stood in the doorway. “Got a minute, Sheriff?”

“What’s on your mind, Suzanne?”

“I just retrieved a voice mail from the security officer out at Lanter Construction, Ty Hamilton.”

“You don’t have to worry about him anymore,” Sheriff Bridges said. “I spoke to Bobby Lanter, and he called the security company—which one did you say it was?”

“Sheepdog.”

“What a dumbass name for a company. Anyway, they canned him. There’ll be someone else out there from now on. Hopefully someone not so jumpy.”

“All good and fine,” Smiley said, “but he said in his message that he’d found something after I left. A video camera.”

The sheriff stiffened. “He say anything else?”

“Like what?”

“Did he check to see if anything was on it?”

Deputy Smiley shook her head. “Didn’t say. You want me to go get it, take a look at it? He lives in Hickory Hills.”

“I’m heading out that way in a few minutes anyway,” the sheriff said. “I’ll swing by and talk to him. See what this is all about.”

“You’re the boss,” Smiley said, and left him there alone with his throbbing headache.

20

Ty Hamilton

The dog went nuts when the doorbell rang. Why we had to keep a dog in the house when we lived out in the country was beyond me. But Dianna insisted. “Shut up, Pepper!” I shouted. I looked through the peephole, saw it was a cop, and opened the door.

“I’m Sheriff Bridges,” he said. “Are you Mr. Hamilton? Ty Hamilton?”

I nodded. “That’s me.” Pepper was barking louder now, using me as a shield between himself and the sheriff. I noticed the sheriff’s hand resting on his gun, and remembered him having used it on a couple occasions. Once when a suspect he was apprehending tried to take his gun from him. During the struggle, the suspect was shot. Twice. Which seemed odd to me, but the subsequent investigation cleared Sheriff Bridges of any wrongdoing. The other time, I seemed to recall, another suspect had been shot and killed while trying to escape. Again, the shooting was ruled justifiable. So, it seemed, Sheriff Bridges was a good cop. Just don’t screw with him.

Pepper was getting louder now, and I needed to do something about it. “Hang on a second,” I said, “while I put Cujo in his cage.” I grabbed Pepper by the collar and drug him to the wire kennel in the family room that we keep for just such occasions.

With Pepper inside, I slid the kennel latches closed and turned to go back to the door. In the process I nearly bumped into the sheriff, who’d walked into the house uninvited. It kind of pissed me off, but I supposed it was only a minor breach of etiquette.

“What can I do for you, Sheriff?” I said.

“Deputy Smiley said you found something?” he sniffed. “She had some other duties to attend to. I told her I’d swing by to see you.”

Since he was already in the house, and Pepper had stopped barking, and I couldn’t think of any reason not to invite the sheriff to have a seat at the kitchen table. “Make yourself comfortable,” I said, nodding to the nearest chair, “while I fetch the camera from my office.”

“I don’t know if there’s anything on here that will be of any use to you or not,” I said as I handed it over to him a minute or so later.

“You mean you haven’t looked at it?” he asked.

“No,” I said, “I haven’t.” And it was true. The camera was identical to the one that Travis owned. I had found his charger cord and a USB cord and plugged them in, then uploaded—or was it downloaded? I can never keep it straight—all the video content onto my computer. But, I had not looked at it. Not yet. And I might never. I wasn’t nearly as curious about it today.

“Where did you find this, Mr. Hamilton?” the sheriff asked.

“On the property next to where I was working.”

“Lanter Construction, right?”

I nodded. “Right. Not any longer, though,” I said, not bothering to conceal my displeasure. “Not since someone from your department complained about me making one too many calls.”

The sheriff tilted his head up, stuck his chin outward and said, “That someone would be me.”

I elected to drop the subject. “Anyway, yeah, I found it in the pasture behind the crematory.”

“What were you doing back there?”

“Following a blood trail.”

“A blood trail?”

“After your deputy left, I decided to have a look. See what I could find.”

“And what did you find?”

I pointed to the camera. “That.”

“You are aware that you were trespassing?” The sheriff’s expression let me know that he was dead serious. “And the owner of the property could have you arrested?”

“Is that why you’re here today, Sheriff?” I said. “To arrest me?”

“Just consider it a friendly warning. A word to the wise,” he said. “No sense blowing things out of proportion. You did the right thing, bringing this to our attention.” He stood, and we shook hands.

“You have a good day now, Mr. Hamilton.”

“Same to you. You be careful out there,” I said, and immediately had a flashback to Hill Street Blues.

Halfway out the door, the sheriff stopped. “You sure you haven’t looked at this?”

“Swear to God,” I said.

“Anyone else?”

“No one but you and Deputy Smiley even know that I had it.”

He nodded, then left my house without another word.