Rendezvous with Destiny

By Bob Fields

A well paced story about discrimination, love, murder, revenge and the ultimate understanding between people in small town America. Houlton, Maine, doesn’t afford many opportunities to members of the Maliseet tribe of Native Americans—including young Padgett Harvey, who is half Maliseet, half white.
After her parents are murdered and her grandparents die in a fire, twelve-year-old Padgett is unceremoniously thrust into the foster care system. But despite her rough beginnings, she excels in school, goes to college, and enjoys a meteoric rise through the world of finance in New York City.
Like Padgett, Sean Patrick McGuinness had a rocky start in Houlton—albeit in the poor Irish part of town. And like Padgett, he relied on his wits and his charm to get out of town and never look back.

But destiny has a way of calling people home, and Padgett and Sean Patrick can’t escape Houlton forever—especially when their friends at home need them the most.
With money on the line, old rivalries from Padgett’s and Sean Patrick’s childhood rear their heads—and things get ugly. Will returning to Houlton undo everything Padgett and Sean Patrick worked so hard to achieve? Or does destiny have something surprising in store?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bob Fields
• Release date: Jun 30, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310119255

Bob Fields

Bob Fields possesses an exceptional talent for translating his broadly based life experiences to the written page. A veteran of two wars (three if you count Wall Street), his hardscrabble early life taught him real life lessons; the application of which propelled his success in a military career and numerous business ventures.After his retirement from business in 1999, he began a career as a Free Lance Writer. His work has been published in regional magazines and company oriented newsletters related to the environment. He has published two print books describing life as a boy in the 1940s, and a highly acclaimed novel; “Rendezvous with Destiny” a well-paced story about discrimination, love, murder, revenge, redemption, and the ultimate understanding between people with disparate backgrounds in small town America.Bob is currently working on several short stories soon to be published as an anthology about Maine as it once was.Like me on Face Book

Book preview

Authors note

This story is Historical Fiction. The events described in the story and the characters between these pages came alive in my mind. In some cases, I base the events on actual events; and the characters, especially the protagonists-Padgett and Sean Patrick-are based on people I knew or worked with. Padgett's character reflects my Native American friend Mary, born and raised on the Flats. Sean Patrick's character combines, in fact, three characters; one I grew up with in Houlton, and two with whom I worked in business.

I made use of the historical background because of the fond memories I have of growing up in Aroostook County, Maine. When some historical fact presented a roadblock to the development of my narrative, I, with no hesitation, shaped the facts to fit the story.

Some of you may find my description of conditions and events at the Flats offensive. I am sorry for that. The truth is, conditions at the Flats in Houlton prior to the 1960s were despicable.

Things are better now, I believe.

Bob Fields

April 2015

Other titles by Bob Fields

Letters to Lyla; a memoir (print and eBook)

Letters to Savanah Belle; a memoir (Print and eBook)

Ghost of Evergreen; short story (eBook)

Kilroy was here; short story (eBook)

Albert the horse swiper; short story (eBook)

Native American Herbal Remedies; short story (eBook)

Terror at the Mausoleum short story ( eBook)

Acknowledgements

Where to start? Best to start with my beta readers/ reviewers: Lynn Robertson, Janice (Rand) Webster, Paul Davenport, and Breen Bernard. The aircraft segments: advice on landing a C-47 in a driving storm, delivering parts by a rope hanging from a light aircraft, came from air force friends, and were reviewed by Gene Ross. With regard to that light plane and a rope, the technique was refined by the developer of the Gunship (Puff the magic dragon); an associate of mine during the Viet Nam war.

Special thanks and appreciation to Margaret (McCluskey) Cleary for her detailed attention to the editing of this book. If the reader discovers errors in grammar, or interruptions in the flow of the story, blame me, not Margaret. I didn't always accept her advice. She did her best to enrich my use of the English language. The book is better because of her.

I am not sure my Maliseet friends want to be named, so I will simply say thanks for adding to my knowledge of the severe conditions experienced by them while growing up in the Flats; a collection of sub-standard homes adjacent to the town dump.

Table of Contents

Authors note

Other titles by Bob Fields

Acknowledgements

Introduction

Chapter One: The Flats

Chapter Two: Trouble in Hammond

Chapter Three: The Ruins

Chapter Four: The Basket Shack

Chapter Five: Change Is Coming

Chapter Six: Grandma Mary

Chapter Seven: The Accessory

Chapter Eight: Settling In

Chapter Nine: Party Time

Chapter Ten: Canned Heat Incident

Chapter Eleven: Saint Mary's

Chapter Twelve: The Wardrobe

Chapter Thirteen: Slumber Party

Chapter Fourteen: The Picnic

Chapter Fifteen: Another Fire

Chapter Sixteen: Foster Home

Chapter Seventeen: The Indian Store

Chapter Eighteen: Foster Home

Chapter Nineteen: Houlton High School

Chapter Twenty: Wanda

Chapter Twenty-one: The Engineer

Chapter Twenty-two: The Shower

Chapter Twenty-Three: I Promise

Chapter Twenty-Four: Destiny

Chapter Twenty-five: Syracuse University

Chapter Twenty-Six: Friends

Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Dorm

Chapter Twenty-Eight: A Man's World

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Graduation Week

Chapter Thirty: Central Park

Chapter Thirty-One: First Day

Chapter Thirty-Two: Confrontation

Chapter Thirty-Three: Dave

Chapter Thirty-Four: Starting Over

Chapter Thirty-Five: The Whiskey Bar

Chapter Thirty-Six: The Deal Maker

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Smoke Gets in My Eyes

Chapter Thirty-Eight: Déjà Vu

Chapter Thirty-Nine: Millie

Chapter Forty: Balto

Chapter Forty-One: The Conversation

Chapter Forty-Two: Home Again

Chapter Forty-Three: Wanda

Chapter Forty-Four: Plan A

Chapter Forty-Five: Mr. Elbows

Chapter Forty-Six: Chet

Chapter Forty-Seven: The Trail

Chapter Forty-Eight: The Plaza

Chapter Forty-Nine: Thinking

Chapter Fifty: Mitt

Chapter Fifty-One: Coming Together

Chapter Fifty-Two: The Angel

Chapter Fifty-Three: Sean Patrick

Chapter Fifty-Four: Mortal Sin

Chapter Fifty-Five: Erika

Chapter Fifty-Six: The Non-Date

Chapter Fifty-Seven: Getting Support

Chapter Fifty-Eight: The Hankie

Chapter Fifty-Nine: The Meeting

Chapter Sixty: The Art of the Deal

Chapter Sixty-One: Picnic in the Park

Chapter Sixty-Two: Jake

Chapter Sixty-Three: Gunship

Chapter Sixty-Four: Geraldine

Chapter Sixty-Five: Ralph

Chapter Sixty-Six: The Plan

Chapter Sixty-Seven: Getting Close

Chapter Sixty-Eight: Petty Theft

Chapter Sixty-Nine: Being Nonchalant

Chapter Seventy: Backup Plan

Chapter Seventy-One: That Hurts

Chapter Seventy-Two: Ginny to the Rescue

Chapter Seventy-Three: Hospital

Chapter Seventy-Four: SAIR Takes Flight

Chapter Seventy-Five: A Little Windy

Chapter Seventy-Six: Getting Close

Chapter Seventy-Seven: Intensive Care

Chapter Seventy-Eight: The Journal

Chapter Seventy-Nine: The Trip

Chapter Eighty: Rendezvous

Chapter Eighty-One: Hope

Chapter Eighty-Two: Home Again

Epilogue

Introduction

Be all that you are capable of becoming. Drove the lives of Padgett Harvey and Sean Patrick McGuinness

Padgett, a young girl, part Maliseet Indian and part White, grew up in an area of Houlton, Maine called The Flats. The Flats were populated by the poorest of the poor (mostly Native American), who relied on a reluctant town for support. Inspired by the memory of her murdered mother, aided by her physical likeness to a white girl with her blue eyes, blonde hair, and porcelain skin, she fought her way to the top of the financial world controlled by men.

Sean Patrick, an Irish boy with alcoholic parents, lived in a poor part of Houlton called Paddy Hollow. He had good looks, commanding stature, blue eyes, and black hair with more curls than a Persian lamb. Those features, together with his natural athletic ability and out-going personality, helped him hone his entrepreneurial skills. He, as with Padgett, used these natural gifts to rise above his humble beginnings and become an icon in the world of business.

Murder, racism, revenge, redemption; this compelling story has it all. The facts do not hem in Fields. He uses those facts as a means of letting his imagination create a multi-layered and emotionally satisfying story. The life journeys of Padgett Harvey and Sean Patrick McGuinness not only touch the heart, but challenge the mind as well.Rendezvous with Destiny is their story: the tale of how they never forgot where they came from, and how they, working together, improved their predicted future. Enjoy this experience filled with facts, fantasy and frivolity!

Chapter One

The Flats

Fred and Mary struggled to be brave; each determined to shield the other from the agonizing hurt in their hearts. Mary was first to break. Tears that began as a soft drop from the corner of her eyes quickly became rivulets flowing down both cheeks before settling as a quivering pool on the cleft in her chin. Fred took her in his arms and felt the tears soak his shirt as surely as desert sand absorbs the rain. Then he cried.

Fred and Mary, together with eight other families, lived on the Maliseet Reserve on the County Road in West Houlton. The reserve was a secure place where their people lived, worked and died. Close to their native land along the Meduxnekeag River, it was a reserve where residents enjoyed their simple life, friendly neighbors, and peaceful atmosphere. Fred, as with many Natives, worked at odd jobs in town and earned extra income by constructing baskets made from native brown ash.

Fred and Mary were Maliseet Indians. Like the Micmac’s and Passamaquoddy, they were part of the Wabanaki Confederacy. For many thousands of years these peaceful people lived off the land in the St John River Valley that extended from the tributaries of the Meduxnekeag River in Houlton to the St. John River in New Brunswick, Canada.

By the 1870, non-Natives had completely settled Aroostook County. Their arrival had created tremendous disruption in the Maliseet's traditional hunting and gathering economy.

Houlton, an area frequently visited by migratory Maliseet families, eventually became a focus for Maliseet settlements. Impoverishment characterized most of these settlements. Families lived in substandard homes at subsistence levels for generations, unable to improve their lot because of prejudices against them.

Fred and Mary Paul were lucky. Their small band settled on vacant land west of Houlton that was close to the traditional hunting grounds of their fore bearers. B Stream, a tributary of the Meduxnekeag, and a key route to traditional hunting and fishing grounds, bordered the land on the east.

Fred knew this land extremely well. He knew the uniqueness and the secrets of every tree, flower, marsh and stream. He knew the haunts of every bird and animal.

Considered impoverished by most, Fred and Mary did not share that common view. The land provided much of their daily needs. There was an abundance of meat from rabbits, deer, and an occasional moose. B Stream was a bountiful source of both Brown and Brook trout. Herbs and other edibles as well as medicinal greens flourished at their doorstep.

This was their homeland.

On a beautiful but fateful November day in 1916, their lives changed forever. The Putnam brothers (Aaron and Fred) reclaimed their land and expelled the Natives from their County Road Indian Reserve.

With the breakup of the Reserve, some of the families went to Canada, but most, including Fred and Mary, regrouped on the Flats; a settlement on Bridge Street adjacent to the Houlton town dump.

A fellow named Bryson, who earlier had built and operated a Mill on a spot in the Flats adjacent to the Meduxnekeag River, constructed the homes for employees. Natives used to travel to and from Houlton, to hunting grounds in the St John River Valley on this same Meduxnekeag River.

The houses, called ‘Mill Homes’, and were given to the Maliseet free of charge when the Mill closed. Up to 900 of them left other settlements around Houlton and moved to houses in the Flats. The homes had two stories with a small porch. No foundation, little insulation, and access to the town water supply was hit or miss for some of the homes.

The houses lined either side of the road leading to the town dump. A serious problem with this location was the smell of the open pit garbage and constant clouds of dust kicked up by traffic to and from the dump. Rats were a constant concern of parents whose children played near the dump.

No taxes levied on the property resulted in a lack of town services. That, in turn, prevented the Natives from integrating into the culture of the town.

In less than 150 years, the Maliseet had gone from 'owners' of this bountiful valley to outcasts depending on a reluctant town for support.

By the summer of the following year Fred and Mary had settled, both physically and emotionally, in their new home. Mary had occasional work in Houlton as a cleaning lady for a few well off families. She, and later one of her daughters, cleaned the offices of Doctor Burr and a couple of lawyers, including George Barnes and Nathan Solman

Fred and Mary had four children born in the Flats: three girls and a boy. The children, as with most Maliseet children, were raised as Catholics. They attended St Mary’s Elementary School in town, went to Mass on Sundays, and experienced little hassling or teasing because of their culture or circumstances in the Flats. This was not always the case as the children progressed to junior high and high school. To avoid the anticipated discrimination and torment of dealing with high school, most children left school after the eighth grade.

This was not true with one daughter of Fred and Mary. Their middle daughter, Violet, was an independent child determined to rise above the rampant discrimination against Natives in the local high school.

With permission from her parents, and a stipend from a local doctor who knew her family and admired her grit, she enrolled in a private school in Houlton: Ricker Classical Institute.

Ricker students came from throughout Aroostook County. They represented a diversified mix of families with varying financial means and social backgrounds. Violet saw this as an opportunity to blend in, to be accepted for who she was not what she was.

She excelled in school, graduated with honors, studied at the Madigan Hospital, and became a Registered Nurse. Two years after graduation from the Madigan Hospital School of Nursing, she met and married Breen Harvey, the oldest of five sons born to the Harvey family of Hammond. The Harvey men, including Breen, worked in the woods logging for the Great Northern Paper Company.

The Dead River Oil Company in Houlton employed Violet as the company nurse. It was an ideal job for her: forty-hour week and her own office with all the medical supplies on hand for treating the most common injuries like burns, sprained ankles from jumping from a truck, and the normal bumps and bruises that are common when working around heavy equipment.

She got along well with the office staff and most of the drivers. Her only problem was a snub when she had an occasional encounter with a driver from Houlton named Burt Stearns. He didn’t like what he called Redskins, and refused to be treated by her when he was ill or injured. He preferred the hospital on Spring Street for help, which was fine with Violet.

Three years after moving into the new home in Hammond, the happy couple’s first born arrived at the family home. Their house was a modest ranch situated on five acres half way between Houlton and Hammond.

Their daughter was born with blue eyes, blonde hair, and the exquisite facial structure of the Maliseet. They named her Padgett.

As she grew, though her appearance was that of a white girl, her temperament and affinity for what she called ‘Mother Earth’ were pure Maliseet.

She loved visits to her grandma Paul in Houlton. On walks along B Stream, she marveled as her grandma whispered to the flowers, the fruit bearing bushes, and reached out to animals, large or small.

Her favorite spot along the stream was a grassy bank that sloped down to a beaver dam. In addition, her favorite time to be there was late summer when the raspberries and blackberries became fat and juicy. It was then that her grandma taught her how to be one with the earth. Grandma told her that if she sat quietly, breathed slowly and deeply, she would feel her spirit blending with the earth and her surroundings.

It was tough for her to do at first. Kids are natural wigglers. In the beginning, she could be still for five minutes or so and concentrate on breathing. She would watch her grandma and try to follow what she was doing. However, by watching and thinking about what her grandma was doing, she was not focused on breathing and concentrating. Meditation does not come naturally to kids- it needs lots of work to perfect.

It was the third summer when she was twelve that she finally arrived at that place Grandma called "one with the earth".

She was sitting next to her grandma at their favorite spot. Canadian jays and chickadees were competing for raspberries. The chickadees were winning because there were more of them. No problem, there were plenty to go around. Following her grandma’s lead, she sat quietly and drew deep slow breaths. It took her almost ten minutes to realize the harmony of what most folks would call a meditative state. She knew she was there when a chickadee grabbed a berry, flew to her shoulder, and began to devour it as if her shoulder were a nearby limb.

Mimicking her grandma, she plucked two berries from a nearby branch and held her hand out, with her palm up. A Canadian jay landed on her arm, tilted his head towards her, then towards grandma, and then snatched the berries one by one from Padgett’s upturned hand.

Padgett thought, God, I’m so happy to be an Indian, at least half of one. White folks can’t do this stuff; they don’t even understand it or believe in it.

Over the next few days (till the berries were gone) Padgett watched her grandma stroke the back of a fox, watched her as she fed berries to a fat old coon, and most remarkably, sat quietly, as a mother bear and her two cubs snagged most of the remaining berries. She was as comfortable and confident sitting among bears as that English woman who studied chimpanzees while living with them, or the gal who did the same with mountain gorillas in Africa.

She thought, Wow, I wish I could be with Grandma forever.

Chapter Two

Trouble in Hammond

Traditionally, two events occur in Aroostook County Maine on a Saturday night. The kids take a bath and the family eats beans.

Using the bottom of her apron for a potholder, Violet pulled the bean pot from the oven. The top looked dry so she basted it with the brown stained wooden spoon that had been basting beans since the Harvey grandma was doing the cooking.

She wiped her hands on her apron, set the spoon aside, and called to Breen to come sit with her. She was having some personal problems at the office and wanted to get some advice from her husband.

Be right there, Hon. I’m trying to work out one of these new modern math problems with Padgett. Never had a thing called a ‘subset’ when I went to school, said Breen.

Tell you what, Dad; I hate to see a grown man suffer. Why don’t I go to Grandma’s? Patty is there, she’ll help me. She’s good at math. Uncle George can come pick me up. If it’s okay with you, I can spend the night there. That’ll give you and Mom time to talk with me out of the way.

You’re never in the way, Sweetheart. Go ahead and get some help from someone who knows what sets and subsets are all about. I’ll call George. Say ‘Hi’ to Gram, be back in the morning in time to dress for church.

Thanks, Dad.

What’s up, Hon? Breen asked, settling in a chair across from Violet at the kitchen table.

It’s probably no big deal, but it is causing me some concern at work.

Let’s hear it.

Well, you know I love my job, and all the folks I work with in the office. But, I have, because of my job, interaction with lots of others; like the drivers and servicemen. They come to me when they need medical attention or advice about an ailment. I’ve never had a problem before, but there is a new driver, Burt Stearns, who is giving me a lot of grief.

How so?

He doesn’t like Native Americans.

How do you know?

He told me so. He came to the infirmary yesterday complaining about a headache and asked for aspirin. I handed him a clipboard and a pencil, told him to have a seat, and I would get him the aspirin while he was filling out the patient ID Form.

He said he didn’t come by for a form, he wanted an aspirin, not grief from a Redskin.

What’d you do?

I kept my cool. I heard lots of stuff like that when I lived in the Flats. Redskin, Indian, Pocahontas, Squaw, I heard them all. I knew it was best handled by ignoring the insult. I explained that this was a company rule, not mine, and I needed a completed form to authorize the treatment.

What’d he do?

He told me to light a match to the form and send myself one of those injun smoke signals telling me to stick the form where the sun don’t shine. And then he stormed out of the office.

What’d you do?

Nothing really, but I am worried about him. If we had rednecks in the County, he would be president of the local chapter. I just don’t know where all the hate comes from. I’m a nurse for God’s sake, trying to help people. What’s his problem with that? Does he think I am some kind of witch doctor?

***

Burt tossed down his third tequila shot in the last half hour. He and two of his drinking buddies, Chet Brown and Greg Bernard, were sitting on a bench in front of the Boy with the Shoe statue in Monument Park. It was a good spot to sit on a Saturday night and watch the town come alive. Far enough from Market Square to hide the bottle, but close enough to watch the action.

Greg was the local bootlegger, a necessity since the Town voted it dry in the last election. He was not the only person who trafficked in illegal booze. There was a woman named Roxanne in Paddy’s Hollow, who went by the name of Rocky. There was also a guy on Drake's Hill across from the diner. Neither of them had the money to buy in bulk, nor did they have Greg's connections.

Rocky offered an incentive to buy from her that the others could not match. If you bought your booze from Rocky, there was a bonus. For an extra ten dollars, you got a piece of the Rock.

Greg was relegated to the hooch business after a reduction in force at the Big River Oil Company where he worked with Burt. He was let go when the budget was cut by fifteen percent as an austerity move.

Sitting with Burt and Rocky, he told them he was doing okay with his unemployment check, at least for now. But what really pissed him off was that he was replaced by a Redskin from the Flats who agreed to work part time for two dollars an hour with no benefits.

Burt picked up on that comment.

He said, I get screwed by the Natives too. Just today, this Redskin Witch Doctor refused me an aspirin unless I filled out one of her forms. She was spiteful and acted like she owned the place. All the form does is proving she was busy so she makes more money. Maybe that’s why you got laid off; they need money to funnel to her and her kind.

Burt passed the bottle back to Greg. He took a long pull and said, I told my wife Betty and my sweet daughter Geraldine that someday I’ll get even with the Redskin for the way she treats white folks. Geraldine agrees with me. She thinks the injun bitch should be put in her place; let her know her kind owe what they got to us. Nurse Injun thinks she’s the queen of the company, least acts like it to others.

No time like the present, said Greg. I know where they live, let’s go scare the hell out of her, let her know whose town this is.

Cool it, said Chet, that’s just the whiskey talking. Have another drink and relax.

I’ll take that drink, but won’t relax. Greg, let’s hop into the truck and go get some aspirin-and some satisfaction.

I’m good to go. Let’s get er done.

Chet said, Come on guys, you’re too drunk to drive, let alone get in an argument with Violet. Besides, her husband is probably home with her-he won’t let you get away with anything. Let’s walk down to Blondie’s and get some coffee. The walk will settle you down some.

The only thing that will settle me down is two aspirin from the witch doctor. Hop in the truck Greg, let’s go get settled, said Burt.

At the outskirts to the town of Hammond Burt spotted the green Ford pickup parked beside the Chevy coupe that Violet drove to work. That’s their place, said Burt.

He continued past the house a few hundred feet and pulled over on the shoulder. What are we stopping for? asked Greg.

Shut up and let me think. We can’t just knock on the door and ask for aspirin, we gotta teach her a lesson not to screw with those better than her. She needs to show respect.

How we gonna do that? asked Greg.

I told you to shut up and let me think. Hand me that bottle.

Burt kept the cap on the bottle, squeezed his eyes shut, and started tapping the bottom of the bottle on the steering wheel. Like the tap-tap-tap was helping him think. After a bit, he stopped the tapping, twisted the top of the bottle, tipped it to his mouth and drained what was left. He then turned around headed back to the Harvey house and parked the truck behind Breen’s pickup.

Okay, he said, grab the shotgun on the rack and let’s go.

What? Why the shotgun? asked Greg.

Just grab it and hand it to me, I’m gonna cure my headache.

Hell, Burt, I don’t want any part of goin in there with a gun. That was never in the deal. Shit, you can go to jail for that.

Just shut up and let me handle it. There ain’t gonna be no jail time.

No way Jose, I may be drunk but I ain’t stupid. I’m staying in the truck. Get your damned aspirin and let’s go back to Houlton. Don’t do anything stupid in there.

Burt grabbed the gun from Greg, muttered something that sounded like ‘chicken shit’, opened his door and jumped out of the truck.

Violet and Breen were savoring this quiet time together. Supper over, dishes done, two cold beers opened, they were at the kitchen table enjoying a game of cribbage when they heard a car or a truck pull in their driveway and stop.

Wonder who that could be, pretty late for visitors, said Breen.

He went to the window, wondering if it was a visitor, or someone in trouble looking for help. Violet went to the door to be sure it was locked, just in case. As she reached to turn the latch, the knob turned in her hand and the door flew open, knocking her to the living room floor.

Breen spun around to see a tall, skinny, seedy-looking guy standing over his wife with a shotgun in his hand. The invader smelled like booze and wavered like he was drunk.

Breen said, What the hell is going on? What do you want?

Aspirin. he yelled.

Violet gasped, scrambled to her feet, looked at Breen and said, This is the man I told you about from the office; the one that gave me trouble.

Ain’t gonna be no trouble tonight little injun, just get me two aspirin like I asked today. And don’t give me any of your forms to sign. Aspirin and a glass of water, that’s all I want.

Breen said, You’ve got no right to barge in to our home like this. Get your ass out the door and out of our yard before I call the cops.

Burt swung the gun towards Breen, snarled, and said, Looks like me and this here gun are making the calls right now. I’m calling for aspirin and that’s all. Tell your little lady, if injuns are ladies, to get my aspirin.

Violet, trying to take control of a hateful situation like she had seen many times, turned to Breen, Let’s not have any problems. Mr. Stearns is upset, and rightly so, because of the way he was treated at the office. I’ll get him some water, a couple of aspirin and most of all an apology for not being more considerate today when he needed help.

Breen nodded okay.

Burt said, You’re smarter than I thought.

He put the shotgun down, the butt on the floor and seemed to be happy with the turn of events.

Violet started down the hall to the bathroom. Burt brought the gun back up, got a jumpy look on his face and said, Where you think you’re going?

The aspirin are in the bathroom medicine cabinet, said Violet.

Okay, but remember I got this gun pointed at your man’s gut-in case you try something funny.

Be right back. said Violet.

Why’d you settle for a Redskin, are they hot in the sack or is that what you had to settle for cause no white girl would have you? asked Burt.

Breen bristled at the notion and started to move towards Burt as Violet returned with the bottle of aspirin.

Breen relaxed.

Violet went to the sink and turned on the water, looked at Burt, and said, They’re extra strength. Would you like two or three?

Gimme three and then the whole bottle to take with me. That way I won’t have to screw with you at work to get a little relief. I’ll have my own aspirin.

Breen noticed that the tap Violet turned on was the hot water, not the cold. He inclined his head toward her signaling he knew what was up.

Violet filled the glass, shut the water off, and turned towards Burt. She shook three aspirin from the bottle, twisted the cap back on, and walked to Burt with three aspirin in one hand and a glass of hot water in the other.

Burt steadied the shotgun with one hand and reached out with the other, palm up. She dropped the three aspirin in his open hand. He tossed them in his mouth and reached for the glass of water. As he reached, Violet tossed the contents in his face, drenching him with hot water. Blinded, he screamed, raised his gun, and reflexively pulled the trigger. The blast tore through the top of Violet’s head. Chunks of bone and flesh flew to