6.
"Oh god...oh god...oh god! Hoot, why are you pulling over? Hoot, what are you doing? Oh god they're going to catch me. They'll take me back. You can't pull over!"
Hoot stared at me as he pulled the car into a parking lot.
A bewildered look upon his face, "What are you screamin bout? It's just the local yocals, girl. Ain't got nuthin better to do but pull base tags."
He didn't know.
He didn't understand.
I looked into his brown eyes and wished I had just stayed home.
Why couldn't Holly have just come to see me? Damn me and my need to please other people.
Hoot put his hand on my arm.
I screamed and jumped, smacking my head against the truck window. It was nothing but a simple touch and I scared the hell out of him, I could see it in his wide eyes. He held both his hands up, "Ok. Ok, I ain't gonna touch you. You gotta calm down for the cop gets here and sees you upset. A'ight? Understand?"
I buried my face in my hands.
I nodded and tried to calm down.
He was right.
I had to calm down. I had to get my act together before the cop came to the door, which would cause more trouble. I could calm myself down. That was not the problem.
"Angela?"
Again, I nodded, "I'm ok Hoot, I'm fine."
"Just follow my lead," he told me.
Ok.
I could do that, I was good at that.
I heard Hoot roll down his window and great the cop, "Afternoon sir, it's just me."
How did Hoot know the cop?
I looked over and saw a big man, a middle aged man that seemed annoyed at the sight of Hoot, the man had a accent to match, "Boy, what in the hell are you doin? You know damn well what traffic laws are an don't you lie to me!"
With a wave of his hand, Hoot told the man, Officer Morgan according to the golden badge on his chest, "Sir, this here is my sister Marie Gibson, she is in the...motherly way. She's all crazy with those hormone creatures an stuff in her...you know women."
He was good, I had to hand it to him. It made me wonder how many times he had been in trouble in his life.
Officer Morgan looked to me, "How far long are you ma'am?"
I forced a smile and wiped at my wet hot eyes, "Long enough to feel like shit."
The cop laughed, Hoot laughed, and I pretended to feel like hell. Which wasn't exactly hard. I had plenty of practice over time.
Officer Morgan slapped the side of Hoot's door, "A'ight son, take her home and ma'am?"
I looked to the cop.
"You make sure to take them vitamins for the little baby. You wanna be sure to eat them Folic Acid ones. That what momma told my wife when she was with child."
Hoot looked to me and nodded approvingly.
Later that afternoon…
After Hoot dropped me off from the thrill ride that was his old Ford, and checked the apartment for my piece of mind. I gave him credit, he didn't once act confused or annoyed or even laugh when I asked.
Instead, he went through the entire apartment while I waited at the front door.
When he came out of the bedroom he held a mousetrap. There was a snake in the mousetrap. "Mind if I keep this," he asked.
When he saw the look on my face, he added, "Steele don't
like snakes."
All I could do was shrug.
Sure he could have the dead black snake.
He reached out to give my shoulder a pat on his way past, when I flinched he pulled his hand back. Naturally, I felt like the biggest freak in the world. So I quickly told him, "Thank you for taking me out today."
Hoot winked.
Then he told me, "Don't worry bout it. Gimme a hollar if you need me a'gin. I be outside for a while."
Right.
I would give him a hollar.
I watched him leave and locked the door behind him. Gordon sure had some interesting friends, harmless and dependable, but definitely unique.
Envelope in hand, I went to the kitchen. Not only was I thirsty, but the answering machine was beeping. I dropped my envelope on the counter, hit the button on the machine, and went to the fridge.
The first voice out of the machine was Holly's.
"Angela, it's me. I had a man from Elle magazine come by, he is interested in featuring you in a article. Call me! This would do wonders for profits…and your career. But just, call me, ok?"
Ah ha! A Pepsi, just what I needed. I kicked the door closed with my foot and opened the can. I would definitely call Holly to remind her I didn't do interviews.
Then the second message clicked on, and off, whoever it was had hung up.
I took a nice long sip of my soda and leant against the fridge.
What could I get done before Gordon got back?
The third message clicked on, followed by a stately voice, a accent voice from New England.
"Hi, this is Maurice Couch, I'm looking for one Angela Perkins or Gordon G. McCoy. If I have reached them please return my call at the law office of Couch and Henderson, 1-554-541-6258."
The can of soda fell from my hands and spilled all over the floor. It had been years since I had heard my maiden name, or Gordon's.
Why was a lawyer calling here? Calling us?
How had they found us on the base?
I quickly deleted all three messages. Maybe he wouldn't call back, I could hope.
