Security
by Carter Monroe

There had been a temporary out of state job that was meant to provide nothing more than an economic base with which to establish a semblance of "home" for his new wife and her son. For some strange reason, he did not view the transition from being dependent to becoming independent as difficult. He was a man-child whose heart and soul were embedded in a protective web constructed by necessity and indicative of his obsessive determination.

"He can do anything he wants if he puts his mind to it," they had said.

The only time he became vulnerable was when he held his wife, Donna, or her four-year-old son, Keith. He loved her dearly and had worked hard to assuage the doubt that is always present in small children who don't wish to "share" the affections of a parent. The three together represented a union that somehow made each of them stronger. It had done what marriage and family is supposed to do. It had made them understand that individual sacrifice is often necessary for a family to solidify and prosper.

Bill had left Sterling, North Carolina to attend college in August 1970. He wanted nothing more than to forget the flatlands and tobacco fields that represented the pain of his adolescence. His peers might return on various weekends to gather as they had done at dances and athletic events, but Bill's address changed the day his parents pulled out of the drive and left him in a dormitory room. Though his "change" was not immediate, it was inevitable. By the following summer, he had become a firm fixture in the campus drug culture and his appearance, attitudes, and speech had reflected such. On the surface, he was just another teenager going through a typical stage of rebellion. The inside, however, was a different matter.

He was a reader and a thinker. He might have been incapable of disciplining his mind in terms of his academic responsibilities, but he was always working madly to perceive and define the state of his world and the people who crossed his path. He had put Sterling behind him except for the one summer when he had returned for a temporary job to procure necessary funds for the continuing of his education. Fortunately, the rural world had changed just enough so that he was not alone with his long hair and ragged jeans. The lines had, however, been drawn. The fact that he had donned "the look" embarrassed his parents to no end. He suffered through three months of their anger until the fall semester began and he left the city of his birth, vowing never to return.

It was now three years later and he had moved his family into an apartment a half-mile from the home of his parents. He was no longer a rebel. He couldn't afford to be. Donna and Keith had to be protected. He and Donna might have been happier anywhere else in the world, but Sterling was the only place for Keith whose father was so deranged that there was an issue of threat constantly hovering around the boy's psyche. Bill had made the decision and Donna had stood by it. They would return to the town where all of his life he'd been referred to as "Bill, Jr." or "Little Billy."

Just after they moved, Bill met with the assistant police chief who had been one of the few friends he'd had in his youth. He walked into the police station early one morning and asked, "Is Walter Scott around?"

The dispatcher looked up from his desk. Very few people in Sterling had seen Bill since he'd cut his hair and changed his dress, both necessary conformities if the family was to succeed. "Yeah, I think he's in the back."

"Tell him Bill Howard would like to talk with him."

The dispatcher picked up the phone and pushed one button. "There's a feller out here wants ta see ya. Name's Bill Howard."

He hung up the phone. "He'll be up here in a minute."

Almost immediately, a burly, middle-aged man with curly, light brown hair stepped out of an office and extended his hand. "Billy Howard, I ain't seen you in years. How ya doin'?"

Bill took the policeman's hand and rendered a firm and confident grip. "Pretty good, Walter. You?"

"Not bad, not bad. Whatcha need?"

"Need to talk a minute. Got a problem you might be able to help me with."

"Well come on back then."

The two men walked past the cells and into an office that was just across from the chief's. Bill glanced at the name on the door, all the time realizing that two years earlier he would have been terrified out of his wits to have been inside this police station or any other. The policeman sat behind his desk and the younger man took a seat adjacent to the door.

"Walter, I've got a problem. I need some advice."

"You ain't in trouble. Are ya?"

"No sir, not the kind you might be thinking about anyway. I just got married and I've moved back to town."

The older man smiled. "Congratulations! Where'd you get married at?"

"Stood up in front of a J.P. in Compton. Just me, her, and her son."

"She gotta son?"

"Yeah, a four year old boy named Keith. He's the reason I came to see you."

Walter Scott turned away from Bill. Grabbed a cigarette and lit it. The smoked streamed from his mouth and nostrils. He handed the pack to the younger man who simply shook his head and said, "No thanks."

Bill crossed his legs, looked up at the ceiling and began, "My wife's ex-husband, Keith's daddy, is crazy. Now, I don't mean 'crazy' like you might call somebody who's sort of wild or unpredictable. I'm talking psychiatrists and papers and restraining orders. Stuff like that. He has no visitation rights and pays no child support. For all practical purposes, when Donna and I stood up before that justice of the peace, that boy became mine and I intend to protect him."

The assistant chief sat up when he heard this. He placed his elbows on his desk. "Exactly where do I come in on this?"

Bill leaned forward and lowered his voice. "If the son of a bitch comes around, I'm going to kill him. What do I need to do?"

A strange smile appeared on the face of the older man. He'd seen Bill around on occasion over the past few years. He'd noticed the changes and he'd heard about the drugs. It was apparent to him that it had all been one of those phases that young people seem to go through and that the "boy" seated in front of him was now a young man. He mashed his cigarette in a nearby ashtray. Looking directly into the eyes of his friend, he began, "The first thing is that you need to get him inside your house. That way we can say you shot him when he was breaking and entering."

"That's not likely to happen."

"I know, but that's gotta be in your mind. If you get him that way, there won't be no mess at all."

"What if it doesn't happen that way?"

"Then you need to get him close enough so that you can drag him inside. If this happens, the first thing you do is call me. The second thing you do is to get some Clorox and clean up any blood that might be anywhere outside the house. Don't use rags either. Use toilet paper or paper towels. Something you can flush down the toilet. Don't get excited, neither. You'll wind up clogging the toilet and I'll have evidence that I don't need. One more thing, be damned sure you shoot him with a shotgun. If you do it with a pistol, somebody might think you were layin' in wait for him the whole time."

Bill listened, nodding his head as the policeman spoke. "All this makes perfect sense to me. Thanks for the advice and the help."

"Remember, Billy, call me. Don't call the station and report anything. I'll give you my home number and if I'm not there or here at the office, they'll get me on the radio."

"Thanks, Walter. You've been a big help."

"Don't worry about it, Billy. You know how it is down here in Sterling. We take care of our own. Nobody wouldn't agree with it, but your way's the best way. Most people ain't got the guts to do it. They'd rather worry us to death about it and when that happens, the situation don't never get straightened out. A man can get around papers and lawyers and cops and judges, but a load of double-ought buck at close range is hard to dodge. I don't reckon there's no need to tell you to make DAMNED SURE he's dead."

"No sir. No need at all. I hope this never comes to pass, but if it does, I assure you I'm man enough to handle it."

The two men seemed to stand simultaneously, looking directly at each other without a trace of a smile. They shook hands and walked back past the cells, by the dispatcher, and out the door. As Bill was opening the door to his car, Walter spoke one final time. "You growed up a lot in the last couple of years. Ain'tcha?"

Bill looked at his friend and smiled. "Yes, I have. I guess some people can put it off longer than others, but first and last there comes a time when you have to take care of business. Now's the time for me. See you later."

The men waved at each other as Bill exited the parking lot and returned to his apartment. When he walked through the door, he heard sounds coming from the kitchen. Donna was washing the dishes. He put his arm around her and kissed her as passionately as he had on their first date. Though her hands were wet and soapy, she wrapped her arms around him as they embraced. Almost instantly they were interrupted by a young voice saying, "Don't leave me out."

Bill let go of his wife and picked up the boy. The three of them intertwined, squeezing, hugging, and kissing. "I like a family hug," Keith said.

"Me, too," Donna chimed in.

Bill just smiled. "Come on Keith. We're going to the grocery store."

"I just got back," Donna interrupted. "What do you need?"

"I need a big bottle of Clorox. Might even get Keith here a pack of Lifesavers."

The woman looked puzzled. "I've got a small bottle in the closet. Will that work?"

"No."

"What do you need a big bottle for?"

"Security," Bill replied, walking out the door and closing it gently behind him.