WALKABOUT - Taking a Mulligan (Part 2)

7

Ty Hamilton

The trees were swaying wildly, like those inflatable air dancers that you see at car dealerships, and the first heavy raindrops began to fall. Remembering that I had left my car windows down. I decided to forget about the supposed poachers. Just as I turned to head back up the hill, there was a blood-curdling “Mreeeeyoww!” and a loud crash in the brush.

In the space of about half a second, I wheeled around, saw the beam of my flashlight illuminate a man, bloody and shirtless, fear in his eyes, and nearly soiled my pants.

I dropped my searchlight as I turned to flee, ran into a low-lying tree limb, and flipped ass-over-teakettle onto the ground. I could hear the cat scurrying away in the brush.

8

Ty Hamilton

I struggled to get back up on my feet, fumbling for the backup flashlight on my duty belt. I shined the light at the spot where I had seen the intruder. Then, scanned the area. He was gone.

I got back into my car and drove down to the gate just in case I needed to get the hell out of there in a hurry. Then, I made the 911 call. Gave them my name, identified myself as a security officer employed by Sheepdog Security, and my location, Lanter Construction on County Road 564. I told the dispatcher what I had seen and heard. He said they would send someone out. This time, it took nearly half an hour, and by the time the Sheriff Department cruiser arrived the storm had blown through. Ordinarily, I would have done a thorough check around the buildings for wind damage, but I didn’t want to risk missing the deputy, or worse, running into the intruder I’d seen.

Deputy Smiley again. Just my luck. “I hear you had some more excitement,” Smiley said as she pulled alongside and powered her window down.

Her sarcastic tone did not go unnoticed. I chose to ignore it. “A little less than an hour ago, I heard some thrashing in the brush, and saw some lights in the field over there, to the north.” I proceeded to give her my account of what had happened, with emphasis on the bleeding, half-naked man who had been there one moment and gone the next. She pretended to listen, but did not pretend to be interested, or for that matter, to believe me. The stern facial expression I remembered from before hadn’t changed since our first meeting. I try not to judge people by appearance, but she had a face that could make a freight train take a dirt road.

She said, “I’ll go have a look around.”

“You want me to ride along? Show you where I saw him?” There would most certainly be a blood trail. Maybe I could help her find it.

“Hmfff!” Deputy Smiley snorted, then said condescendingly. “Not necessary.” I swear I thought I saw just a hint of a bemused smile in the corner of her mouth. To my surprise, there was no sound of her face cracking.

To her credit, Deputy Smiley did a reasonably thorough search of the property, short of allowing me to show her where to look for blood that would verify my story. She drove down all the little side roads, shining her spotlight, looking, seeing nothing. I sat there, in my car with the engine running, filling out my activity report.

2300: Signed on post. Patrolled property. Checked all doors locked and secure. All clear at 2325.

0010: Patrolled property in golf cart. All clear at 0022.

0210: Patrolled property on foot. Heard thrashing in bushes at north end of property. Observed lights of all-terrain vehicles on neighboring property to the north. Observed a male subject—white or possibly Hispanic—mid-twenties.

0220: Called 911. Reported intruder on property.

02:49 Page County Sheriff Department arrived.

After approximately fifteen minutes, Officer Smiley returned. “I didn’t see anything,” she said as she handed me her business card with the Sheriff Department logo and contact information, her name and badge number, and the incident number, which she had scribbled on the appropriate blank spot. ”Guess I don’t have to tell you to call us if anything else comes up.”

I smiled and nodded. “I have your number.”

03:14 Sheriff Department found no signs of intruder. Departed property.

I’d no sooner made the entry than a gunshot pierced the air. For the briefest of moments, I considered making another 911 call, decided against it. I rolled up my windows, and turned on the radio, ignored the headlights of the three vehicles on the property next door racing out toward the road. I closed my eyes with the intent to nap for the rest of my shift.   But, of course, I couldn’t. I really did try, but I couldn’t.

9

Ty Hamilton

I started the day in a good mood. I had slept well, and after awakening, I dropped in to Trudy’s Uptown Diner for some ham and hash browns with eggs over easy. I said hello to a few friends who came and went, but mostly I kept to myself, thinking about last night’s shift.

After the deputy had left the property, I couldn’t help myself. I went back to the spot where I had seen the intruder. There were blood droplets on the ground, and I had followed them, remembering the recent gunshot but ignoring any danger that might exist. The blood trail led me into the pasture behind the crematory next door to Lanter Construction.

I knew better, but I gave in to the urge to climb the barbed wire fence and snoop around. I was startled by the sight of a large puddle of blood maybe two hundred feet from where I’d crossed the fence. Shining my flashlight around, I spotted a spent shotgun shell. And a video camera. I took my cell phone, punched 9. Then 1. And then deleted the numbers and put the phone back in my pocket.

10

Ty Hamilton

It was my day off, and a nice one at that—clear skies and a forecasted high in the low seventies. My clubs were in the back of the car, next to my backpack, and I figured to head out to the public course on Airport Road, maybe hook up with a threesome looking for a fourth. Halfway through my breakfast, the Marimba ringtone sounded on my phone.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Ty?” a male voice said.

“Yes.”

“Dan Maxwell. Can you come by the office this morning? Say around eleven?”

I didn’t relish the idea of going in to see the boss on my day off. I did have plans, and one of the factors that influenced my decision to retire as a pilot was that I was tired of all the junior manning, basically forcing me to fly on my scheduled days off.

“Well, I suppose I could      . . . although I was—”

“Okay, great,” Maxwell cut me off. “See you then,” Maxwell said, and hung up.

So much for golf.

11

Ty Hamilton

After thinking about it while finishing breakfast and on the way home, I felt I had a pretty good idea why Larry had called me in. They were looking for someone to take on the role of staff trainer. Most of the other officers in our company were half my age or younger, and I figured that, with my maturity, I was the logical choice. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to take it on, though, what with all the extra hours I’d be working. But it would be mostly days, which would be better than third shift, and I expected the pay would be better as well. I had a figure that I was going to hold out for, but hoped Maxwell would make an offer first, just in case they were willing to pay me more than I was planning to ask.

The office of Sheepdog Security was located in a corporate suite on the fifth floor of a large office building on the outskirts of town. I arrived seven minutes early, in uniform, shoes polished, shirt and pants ironed with razor-sharp creases. I wanted to look my best. Over my shoulder, I carried my backpack with the video camera inside.

I knocked and let myself into the suite. “Hey, Carly.” I greeted the receptionist. I could see by her expression that she did not immediately recognize me. “I’m Ty,” I said. “Ty Hamilton. I’m here to see Larry Maxwell.”

“Oh. Yes,” she raised her eyebrows, and quickly glanced at the only other person in the room, one of our sales people whose name I couldn’t remember. I gave him a nod, then turned my attention back to Carly, who said, “Mr. Maxwell will be out in a moment. Make yourself comfortable Mr. . . . I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?”

“Hamilton,” I said. That was the thing about working night shift, especially at a remote location such as my post. No one knew you. For that matter, the only ones I sort of knew were my boss, Dan Maxwell, and my immediate supervisor, Jazi, (pronounced Yazzy) a petite Latina ex-Army MP in her mid-twenties who had swung by my post only once in the past four months while I was on duty.

I only remembered Carly because when I’d interviewed, she had been there and we’d chatted a bit before I went in. She looked enough like Carly Simon that I was able to make a connection somewhere in my brain which allowed me to remember her name. That, and she was hot. Guys always remember hot chicks.

Of course she was in her early twenties and when I’d mentioned to her during our chat that she resembled Carly Simon, she had no idea who I was referring to. Clearly, I had not made much of an impression on her. I took a seat and checked e-mail on my cellphone.

Halfway into my third e-mail, Maxwell came out into the lobby. “Come on in, Ty.” To Carly, he said, “Tell Georgia that Ty is here.” Then, as an afterthought, he added, “This shouldn’t take long, but if Harold Carter calls, transfer it over to me. I need to talk to him ASAP about covering a couple of shifts for us until we get someone permanent.”

12

Ty Hamilton

I walked into Maxwell’s office, which was sparsely appointed, to say the least. His desk consisted of a folding table, like the kind the wrestlers on TV are always slamming one another into, and a high-back swivel chair on caster wheels. Other than that, there were only a couple of folding chairs and a few certificates on the wall. He motioned to a folding chair and said, “Georgia should be here in a—” before he could complete the sentence, she walked into the room. I stood, shook her hand, smiled and said hello. She smiled graciously, her eyes glancing from me to Dan, and back to me again.

Georgia Adams was the head of HR at Sheepdog Security, and the kind of woman you would never forget. She was tall—I guessed maybe six feet in her bare feet. In heels she was more like six-three or six-four. She wore a black leather skirt that was short enough to get attention but long enough not to raise eyebrows. Her blouse was open just enough to cause me to stare a bit longer than I should and I remember thinking that she should know better, being the head of HR. There was just a hint of perfume that accompanied her. I can’t tell one fragrance from another, but I know I liked it. I had smelled it before, but couldn’t remember when.

It seemed only fitting to me that Georgia would be joining us. If I accepted the offer of the promotion, she would need to discuss the compensation package—salary, benefits, job description, et cetera. I liked the way I felt at that moment. Important to the growth of the company, a respected member of the team, recognized and appreciated. I felt myself smiling, for maybe the first time in months. Heading up the training department of a security company wasn’t quite up there with being an airline captain, but it was a position of prestige and authority. I was wrapped up in a warm and fuzzy moment. So much so that when Maxwell said, “There’s no sense beating around the bush, Ty. We are letting you go,” I jerked back as if hit in the head by a two-by-four, and came dangerously close to tipping over backward in my chair.

My jaw dropped. “What? . . .  Why?” I asked.

“I got a call from Bobby Lanter this morning,” Maxwell said. “He’s been hearing from the sheriff. They are tired of getting called out to his place of business for no good reason. They’ve got other calls to answer.”

“I’ve called them exactly twice,” I said. “Once for a gunshot.”

“Everyone out there in that part of the county owns at least three guns, Ty.”

“And the other was for an intruder,” I said, leaning back in my chair, extending my hands out, palms up. “What exactly did you hire me to do out there, Larry?”

“Deputy Smiley found nothing to indicate that there was an intruder anywhere on the property.”

“But—”

Maxwell cut me off with the ‘Talk to the hand’ gesture.. “There was a break-in at the pharmacy on the east side of town while a deputy was dealing with your call Saturday morning. The only other deputy on duty at that hour was at the scene of a fatal accident out near the county line. By the time anyone responded, the perps had already gotten away.”

“Smiley wouldn’t even let me show her where I saw the guy,” I said. “And oh, by the way, after she left, I heard a gunshot.”

“Oh, really?” Maxwell shook his head and sighed. “Another gunshot, Ty?” He made a show of looking through my duty log. “I don’t see anything here about a gunshot, or reporting it to the Sheriff’s Department.”

“I didn’t call it in because I knew they wouldn’t take it seriously,” I said. “So I decided to do some looking around on my own.”

Maxwell sighed heavily. “What did you do, Ty?”

“I went back to where I’d seen the man. I shined my flashlight around, and found a few drops of blood.”

“Out in the country. Lots of animals hunting one another for food. Could have been a bobcat killed a rabbit. Rabbits bleed too, you know.”

He was patronizing me. I didn’t appreciate it, but I stayed calm, refusing to let him get under my skin. “I followed a blood trail,” I said. “Not a lot, just a few drops here and there, all the way to the perimeter fence. There was some material, like from clothing, on the barbed wire. And the blood trail went further, back into the field behind the crematory.”

Maxwell leaned forward, placed his right elbow on the table and stroked his chin. “You’re telling me you abandoned your post? That you trespassed on the property next door?”

“I was following a blood trail, Dan,” I said. “And I found something more. A video camera. I think the Sheriff should have a look at it.”

“I didn’t see any of this in your activity report.” He thumped it twice with his middle and forefinger for emphasis.

“I didn’t think anyone would take it seriously.”

“And you would be correct in your thinking.” Maxwell leaned back in his chair. “So you figured you would do a little investigating on your own, is that it?”

I could feel my face flushing crimson, sweat beading on my forehead. I was not going to be the head of training. I was not going to be a security officer for Sheepdog. I was done, and I knew it. With my last ounce of defiance, I said, “So you’re firing me because the Sheriff’s department is understaffed?”

“You know they’re covering for the city now, too, what with all the budget cuts last year.” Maxwell waved his hand dismissively. “I’m not going to debate the issue, Ty. You’re fired!”

There was no point in showing him the video camera. He had no interest in it. I sat there, jaw clenched, staring straight ahead, listening numbly as Georgia Adams explained the severance package—something highly unusual, she told me, for a part-time employee, but they wanted to “do right” by me. I nodded a lot, staring out the window, thinking how humiliating this was, being fired from a dead-end job that only paid a few cents an hour over minimum wage. When she finished, I stood, shook hands with them and mumbled something to the effect of “no hard feelings,” then started to leave.

“Um, Ty?” Georgia said, “We need your employee badge and your uniform.

“Okay,” I nodded. I removed my badge, which was clipped to my shirt pocket, and placed it with care on Maxwell’s table. I was wearing my uniform, so there was an awkward moment as I weighed my options.

Georgia read my mind. “You can drop it off tomorrow.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but couldn’t think of anything else to say, so I just nodded.