The Call
A short piece of fiction, written around 2014.
He couldn't stop coughing. “The House Carpenter” was playing on an old 78 and he was hunched over the coffee table where a cold cup of coffee, a Smith & Wesson 5906 and his ash tray sat. When he finally managed to pull it together he tossed his bloody handkerchief on the floor, flopped back on the couch, chin pointed towards the ceiling fan and screamed.
He'd managed to hold onto the old farmhouse and the front forty, but the rest of the old farm had been sold off in chunks to pay for his daughter's lawyers and stints in rehab. The barn was still there but it was empty, the tractors, horses, Holsteins, everything were sold off to pay for the attempts to keep her clean and out of prison. In spite of the fact he now needed some money himself for doctors and hospitals there was no way he was going to lose the house and front forty. The house his great-grandfather had built. The house that his grandfather, his father and he had all grown up in.
When he'd regained his strength, he stood up, grabbed the gun and stuck inside his pants. He walked into the kitchen towards an empty glass and a bottle of Wild Turkey on the kitchen counter. He poured three fingers worth, stared at it for a minute and then drained it. He sat the glass down, walked towards the kitchen table, grabbed his keys, Zippo and pack of Camels and headed out the door towards his truck in the driveway.
As he drove through the dark, he smoked and thought of his little girl. He wondered how the little princess that put on plays with her dolls could have ended up living in filth just trying to survive until the next time she put a needle in her arm. He was just glad her mother never lived to see her turn out this way.
He killed the headlights as he approached the house and once he hit the drive he put the truck in neutral and killed the engine, coasting up the drive. When he finally came to a stop he pulled the gun out from his back, ejected the magazine, checked it to make sure it was full and then re-inserted it. He chambered a round, ejected the magazine and inserted another round before putting it back in place. He reached into the glove box and grabbed another full magazine which he put in the back pocket of his jeans. He took a deep breath and then got out of the truck and walked towards the back door.
Approaching the house he tried to look into the windows to see what he was up against but all he could see was the blue light from the television on in the front room. He knew from her phone call that there would be at least three men in there and although he figured they'd all be passed out he couldn't be too sure. He tried the back door and found it unlocked so he slowly turned the knob and opened the door into the kitchen.
The kitchen was dark and empty. Dirty dishes in the sink, junkies didn't eat much so there was no reason to wash dishes and trash everywhere. He slid into the living room where the television was on and found a emaciated redneck in a chair passed out. He slapped his face and as the guy started to come to, he quietly starting asking the only question he cared to answer in the whole world, “Where is Katie?”
The junkie just moaned and tossed and turned.
“I swear to fucking God, you wake up and you tell me where she is or I'll put you out of your fucking miserable existence now.”
He finally said, “What? Who? What are you looking for her for?”
“I'm her father and I've come to take her home.”
The junkie laughed. Collecting himself for a moment, he pulled the pistol up above his head and let the butt of the gun come down as hard as he could on the junkie's head and the junkie went out cold once more.
A noise came from down the hall. He walked back until he heard what he recognized as a television in the back bedroom. The door was cracked and through it he saw a man very much awake watching television in bed with Katie passed out beside him. With the gun in his right hand, he pushed the door open with his left and walked into the doorway.
The man quickly went for his nightstand and he fired his pistol at the lamp forcing the man back.
“You know who I am old man? You come here to rob me?”
“All I came for is her” he said pointing towards Katie, “I don't want your drugs or your money.”
The man sat and stared at him a beat.
“Is that so? She worth dying over old man?”
“That's a question you should ask yourself son.”
The man sat and studied him a moment. He could see that the man was not prone to violence but nonetheless, he reminded the man of a hungry stray dog backed into a corner.
“Take her. You'll get no trouble from me old man.”
He nodded as if to thank the man. He walked around to where Katie laid in the bed and for a moment, put the gun back in his pants in order to use both hands to lift her up. Once he had her up and began to move her towards the door he reached for his gun again but it was unnecessary. The man went back to watching his television program and he and Katie walked out of the house.