Inspiration 30

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Proverbs 16:31 The hoary head is a crown of glory, if it be found in the way of righteousness.

Leviticus 19:32 Thou shalt rise up before the hoary head, and honour the face of the old man, and fear thy God: I am the Lord.

I grew up in the house with my mother and my grandmother. My mother was 43 when I was born, so sometimes I felt like I had two grandmas. My mother died when I was 19, but I continued to live with my grandmother when I was home from college until I married three years later. My grandmother, Ola Sanders Ishee, might have been the biggest influence in my life. She was born in 1896, never believed men walked on the moon, and said just what she thought, no matter how much it might have hurt your feelings. Nonetheless, I grew up respecting old people. They are wise, and my grandma never steered me wrong. I sorely miss her.

The Bald Eagles reconvene with terror tactics. 

We have three more names on the list. What can we do to scare Dr. Fairchild?"

There seemed to be no ideas. Derrick prompted, "Come on, Scott. You're usually full of ideas."

"I don't know the woman. I've never met her." Scott lied, for she had been at Cherie's birthday party.

"Well, somebody," coaxed Derrick.

Still, no one responded. After a long silence, Scott sighed. He felt this really was a room full of morons. "What about a well-timed blowout with a rescue from a bunch of masked bandits on motorcycles? Nobody will ever touch her or speak to her. After the blowout, the motorcyclists will simply circle her half a dozen times with the riders screaming noises, not words, before they just drive off. Then, she can call for roadside assistance."

"How do we get the blowout?" asked Darren.

"Don't any of you hunt?"

"Yeah."

Scott put his hand to his head. "Have you got a rifle with a scope?"

"Yeah."

"You shoot the tire."

"What if the shooter misses and hits the old bat?" Darren continued to argue.

Scott rolled his eyes. "Give me the damned gun. We need to do this when no other vehicles are around. Let's meet next week to firm up a plan."

The bonfire and cookout that ensued after the meeting was a celebration. Derrick came up to Scott again. "You don't think much of us, do you?"

"I think you've got a bunch of ignoramuses here with you. Their IQ's are smaller than their shoe sizes. Hell, Derrick. Shotz is a cop. Do you really trust him?"

"No, but I've got too much on him. An anonymous call to Raiford Reynolds would have him dead in Angola by some of the crooks he has actually arrested."

"Derrick, you need to be careful. The old guys are only here because they feel put upon. King for example—He's smug and snug as a bug in a rug now that he's got his little nest egg. I don't think he'll wanna risk losing it."

The two men filled their plates with burgers, potato salad, and baked beans. They ate without much conversation. Derrick made the rounds to speak to other men. Once the meal was over, he came back to Scott...

The week passed quickly. Scott researched Dr. Rona Fairchild. The woman was a saint. Scott recalled being taught to revere a hoary head. Old people were wise. The more he spent time with these whackos, the more monstrous he felt. The one person who brought him comfort was not around. He opened his Cherie gallery. "Hurry home," he spoke to the computer screen before he left for a meeting of monsters.

At the meeting, Scott reviewed Dr. Fairchild's schedule with Derrick. "Here," he said. "She has a school board meeting Tuesday. She lives out Route 12 toward the Gautier home. It'll be pretty deserted that far out after the meeting."

"It'll be dark."

"Get me a night scope."

"You sure you can shoot that good?"

"No, but I'm the best you have unless you wanna let Shotz do it."

"He'd miss on purpose." Derrick gave Shotz a look of utter contempt.

"Don't let Darren be in the motorcycle group," Scott suggested.

"Why not?"

"Protect your little brother. If it goes bad, don't let him be there."

"He'll wanna do something."

"Send him with me."

Derrick folded the map. "Okay."

Tuesday night, Darren leaned against the trunk of the old oak in which Scott perched. He constantly asked questions until Scott snapped, "Shut up before you distract me and make me miss."

Scott did not miss. He hit the driver's side rear tire perfectly. Rona Fairchild fishtailed and struck the pylon of the overpass, resulting in an airbag deployment.

"Oh, my God!" Scott shouted.

"What?" Darren demanded leaning around the tree.

"Nothing. Get back." Oh, shit! She wasn't supposed to wreck.

Thirty seconds later, half a dozen masked motorcyclists zoomed back and forth around the back side of her car, making war whoops and popping wheelies for two full minutes before they sped off.

Scott continued to watch from the tree. The white-haired woman got out of her car. She dropped her phone and had to pick it up to dial. After a short time on the phone, she got back in her car.

A deep weighty breath escaped Scott's lungs. She's okay. She's okay...

Ray and Parker Reynolds, along with two highway patrol officers skidded to a stop near Rona Fairchild's car. Ray helped her out of the car and insisted she go to the hospital to be safe. Ray himself drove her while Parker stayed to investigate what had happened.

Parker ran a finger around the tire. "Look at this." He stood and looked around, shining a large spotlight. "There!"

In the metal railing connected to the pylon Rona had hit was a slug. Parker dug it out and put it in an evidence bag. "Nothing unusual about the bullet. It'll be something any hunter could have but get this to the crime lab." He gazed across the highway. "Over there. Maybe that large oak." Walking to the area and searching made little difference. Parker pointed to a number of tire tracks. A sarcastic chuckle preceded, "They covered their tracks well."

Close investigation proved that she had not had a blowout, but the tire had been shot out, just as Parker thought. He went to the hospital to report the findings while Dr. Fairchild was being examined.

Ray could not understand why anybody would want to hurt Rona Fairchild. "She's not seriously injured, but they're keeping her overnight because her blood pressure was sky high. She was scared out of her wits. Larkin's on her way to stay the night with her."

Parker said, "They didn't wanna hurt her, just scare her. Daddy, there's more to this than meets the eye. Whoever did this, did it to keep her from getting hurt. Somebody's undercover. This shot was too good to be an amateur; not even an avid deer hunter is this good. This is Lloyd Palermo good."

"He's dead. Who's undercover?"

"My money is on Scott Ball."

"He's a kid."

"Is he? Don't tell anybody else what I said. If he is a Fed undercover, they really think we have dirty cops like Tasha said. That's why we don't know."

"Larkin has all the kid's records. It must be somebody else. I'll run his prints though."

Parker grimaced and shook his head. "If it is him, they won't come up, and the records are all contrived. Just in case, don't get in his way, Daddy. Let him work. I could be wrong." He cocked his head to the side. "I mean, he has a thing for my little sister. I would hope if he's a Fed, he'd steer away from a kid unless it's just an act to fit in."

"I'll kill him if he hurts Cherie."

"That's why I'm just not sure. Maybe he likes playing with fire, but I don't think he would hurt Cherie. He really likes her. It's in his eyes."

The worst injuries the elderly, short, stout woman had were caused from the airbags, but because of her age and her elevated blood pressure, the doctors opted to keep her for observation. She reported all she knew. Parker asked her, "Dr. Rona, was there, by chance, an old antique Indian Chief among the motorcycles? It would have been turquoise with fringed saddlebags."

"No. They were all the small kind. Why?"

Parker and Ray exchanged glances. At least the absence of the Scott Ball's motorcycle, said the boy was not in the gang that terrorized the retired educator. However, both detectives thought it still highly likely if the young man was an undercover FBI agent, he had taken the shot to keep the woman from real harm.

Cover by Christopher Chambers.

The players in the small part: Rona, our target, Scott, Derrick, Darren, Ray, Parker