The Grey Man- Changes Page 2

  Jesse sat back, half-stunned with the deluge of new information. “I don’t really know-”

  Marlene strolled back through the front door, a packet of papers in hand. “Found ‘em. Now you need to sit down and fill these out, then we’ll take you over to CPD and get you an ID and get you in the system. You do know Aaron’s numbers, right?”

  “CPD? Numbers?” Jesse asked.

  Marlene honked a laugh. “Sorry, CPD is civilian personnel department, and numbers are his social security numbers. The military runs on SSNs, privacy act be damned.”

  Jesse replied, “No, actually I don’t. I guess I can call-”

  Darlene smiled. “I’ll take care of it.” Pulling out her cell phone, she hit redial. “Hey, hon, I need Miller’s numbers. We’re taking care of Jesse and she doesn’t have ‘em. No, I told her not to bother him. We’ll take care of it. Uh huh, okay. Got it, love ya, bye.” Hanging up, she turned to Jesse and called off the numbers as Jesse scrabbled for a piece of paper. Looking at the forms, she realized she was completely lost.

  “Is this the norm for forms? I can’t figure out a damn thing on here.”

  Marlene honked another laugh. “Is government, is bureaucracy, is confusing.” Pulling a chair over, she patiently pointed out where and how Jesse needed to fill out the forms. After a half hour and two more cups of coffee, they were all done.

  Darlene asked, “Do you have a wheelchair?”

  “No, they are such a pain in the ass that I decided not to bring one.” Thumping her cast, she continued, “With this thing sticking straight out, I can’t maneuver doors or anything that requires me to hold anything open to get through it. Why?”

  Darlene cocked her head. “I think I know where ours is. We’re gonna need it today.”

  Marlene nodded. “Yep, let’s load up and go. Want to get there before lunch, otherwise nothing will happen until tomorrow.” Turning to Jesse, she continued, “You okay with what you’re wearing? Need any makeup?”

  Jesse shrugged. “It isn’t going to help, and why a wheelchair? I get around better on crutches.”

  Darlene threw a hand dramatically over her brow and replied in a deepened southern accent, “Why, honey, we got to play the damsel in distress here. Rolling you in sitting in a wheelchair is gonna screw them up but good, since all the aisles are narrow. And if you can put a pained look on your face, that’ll just add to it. We can get you if not front of the line, at least moved up quite a bit.”

  Jesse laughed. “I didn’t think we were supposed to do that anymore, equality and all that-”

  Marlene snorted. “Bullshit. This is still a male-oriented society, especially in the Corps. And you’ll learn to hate CPD soon enough. Besides, we’ve got a lunch date out at the beach.” She knelt down and scooped up Boo Boo. “How long is the pup good for between potty breaks?”

  Jesse thought for a minute. “Well, if we put her out now, she should be good until about two.”

  Marlene looked around, saw the leash and deftly hooked it to Boo Boo’s collar, saying, “Back in a minute, girls,” and went out the front door.

  With Boo Boo in the kennel, paperwork collected and Jesse ensconced in the back seat of the van, Darlene drove back to their house. She rummaged for a minute in the storage unit, then pulled out a collapsible wheelchair. Wiping it down, she hefted it into the back of the van and drove to CPD. Stopping out front, she hopped out and pulled the wheelchair out. Jesse got in and they got the leg supported, then while Marlene pushed Jesse into the building, Darlene went looking for a parking place.

  Marlene pushed Jesse into the personnel section and noted it wasn’t too bad for a Monday, but she parked Jesse at the end of the first row and pulled a ticket for her. Looking up at the number served board she muttered, “Thirty minutes to an hour or more. Crap-”

  Darlene came in, looked at the ticket number and the number served board, then walked to the end of the counter. Getting a woman’s attention sitting at a desk in the back, she disappeared for a few minutes. Coming back out, she started pushing Jesse’s wheelchair behind the counter, and Marlene followed. Going back to the woman’s office, Jesse asked, “What’s going on?”

  Darlene whispered, “Getting you to the head of the line. Don’t knock it.” Darlene pushed Jesse into the office. “Edna, this is Jesse. Her hubby is with the SOBs and she’s not in a position to do all this with him. She’s got her paperwork right here.” She handed the folder to Edna.

  Edna, a petite middle-aged woman stared at Jesse. “What happened to your leg?”

  Jesse rolled her eyes. “Well, you won’t believe it, but I got in a firefight with a drug cartel hit squad.”

  Edna said, “And that broke your leg?”

  Jesse said, “No. First, I was shot in the shoulder and head, and left for dead; then the sumbitch stomped my leg to see if I would react. Apparently, I was unconscious at the time, so he put two rounds in my chest and hauled ass. He killed my best friend and our ranch hand, too.”

  Edna’s mouth dropped open, along with Marlene’s and Darlene’s to hear Jesse’s matter of fact recitation of the events; Edna recovered first saying, “Oh, damn girl! Uh, lemme get you fixed up. I know my hubby was one grumpy sonofabitch when he got shot in the leg and had to spend a month in a cast.”

  Jesse sighed. “I wish it was only a month, they’re telling me four months.”

  Marlene said whimsically, “Oh that is gonna be a fun shaving job!”

  Everybody laughed at that, and Edna turned to her computer and typed data in quickly. In about five minutes she’d completed all the data entry and turned back to Jesse. “Okay, you’re officially a dependent now, and I’ve entered you in DEERS too.” Seeing Jesse’s confused expression, she said, “It stands for Defense Enrollment Eligibility Reporting System. What that means is with the ID you’re going to get, you can go to any military, well, US military, base in the world and get medical, commissary and exchange privileges. Plus, more and more bases are going to one hundred percent ID required, and this will get you on base without any hassle.”

  Jesse grinned. “Thank you. Y’all have way too damn many forms. I thought accounting was bad.”

  Darlene cocked her head. “Accounting? You know accounting? I thought you were a deputy sheriff?”

  Jesse said, “Well, my real job was accountant, and I did the reserve deputy thing forty hours a month. Why? Or should I ask?”

  Darlene looked as if she’d just gotten an idea. “We’ll talk later,” she said, then took the paperwork from Edna and pushed Jesse back out to one of the empty desks at the front counter. Once there, Edna took Jesse’s picture and finished her ID card, handing it over with a flourish.

  After a round of “thank yous” and “goodbyes”, Marlene took over pushing Jesse as Darlene went to retrieve the van. Loading Jesse back up, they proceeded to give her the ‘windshield’ tour of Pendleton, followed by lunch at the beach. Jesse realized when she got back home that she was truly lucky to have the ‘Lenes, as she was coming to think of them. She’d never have gotten all that done so fast if they hadn’t taken her under the wings.

  As she was stumping after Boo, Aaron pulled into the parking space in front of the apartment and jumped out with a pile of paperwork in hand. “I got all the paperwork for you to fill out and we can go get your ID tomorrow.”

  Jesse smiled and said, “Don’t worry, I’ve already taken care of it.”

  Aaron’s face fell and he asked, “Uh, how?”

  Jesse laughed. “Wives club. They know all, see all and handle all.”

  Aaron shook his head and walked into the apartment mumbling as Jesse’s laughter followed him.

  At the Ranch

  John Cronin, a little over six feet tall and wiry at sixty-four, dressed in a gray Dickie’s work shirt and matching pants, opened the screen door and Yogi bounded out down the steps and chased joyfully around the front drive as the old man eased into the rocker with his cup of coffee. Sipping and watching the sun slowly brighten the mor
ning was one of those simple little pleasures he’d gotten from his father, and one that he truly cherished.

  This morning, his thoughts ran in a deeper and darker vein. Sixtyish years that I can remember, this house has never been empty. Now, it’s me and a dog. Nobody else. Juanita and Toby shot dead here, Jesse damn near dead too. And Francisco and Mike dead because I wanted to get even. Four lives for one, maybe two isn’t a fair trade. At least Jesse’s out of range of the cartels now. And even if Aaron and Jesse have a boy, the Cronin name dies with me. But what’s going to happen to the ranch? A hundred and forty years we’ve been on this land. Now it’s down to three thousand acres, three houses, outbuildings, and not much else. And if the cartel gets their way, I’m a dead man.

  Yogi, his morning business done, jumped back up on the porch and nuzzled the old man’s hand, and almost without thought he ruffled Yogi’s ears. “You aren’t Rex, but damned if you’re not weaseling your way into my good graces, dog,” he told Yogi. “But what the hell am I going to do with you all day? I can’t leave you here. I ain’t gonna put you in a damn cage all day, either. Shit, you might be the worst mistake I’ve made in a long time, dog.”

  Yogi barked once, as if disagreeing and then happily wagged his tail.

  Finishing his coffee, the old man levered himself out of the rocker and stepped to the edge of the porch, bouncing the coffee cup in his hand. Looking out over the south pasture, he remembered other times, maybe even better times. Learning to drive in the old ranch Power Wagon, knocking down the pasture gate when he hit the gas instead of the brake. His first kiss with Amy down by that same gate at the fandango in ‘59, then marrying her two years later, and Jack’s birth nine months after that.

  Yeah, there’d been bad times, but he’d mostly buried those. One thing the military and law enforcement had taught him was compartmentalization. And he’d become real good at it. Turning, he walked back inside to throw a quick breakfast together. Bacon, eggs and some of Olivia’s leftover biscuits should do it. He fed Yogi and he’d just flipped the bacon when Yogi growled at the back door. He heard a knock right after that. “Come on in Ricky, just about five more minutes for breakfast. You want bacon, eggs and your momma’s biscuits?”

  Ricky nodded shyly. “Please, Mr. Cronin. I can ask Momma for more biscuits if you want.” Ricky set his notebook down next to his seat at the table and poured a cup of coffee, then set out the silverware the old man had laid on the counter. Laying the bacon on paper towels the old man asked, “Scrambled okay?”

  Ricky replied, “Sure. I don’t like my eggs like Daddy. He likes ‘em runny. Yech.”

  The old man laughed. “Rock hard scrambled coming up. You want to grab some juice out of the fridge, please? I think the choices are orange or grape. I need to stop at the store today, so if you have a preference, let me know.”

  Ricky thought for a minute. “Mr. Cronin, I don’t think I have one. I just usually drink what Momma put in front of me.”

  Dishing up the eggs and bacon, the old man dropped two biscuits from the oven on each plate and handed one to Ricky before he turned the oven off. “Okay, eat first, then we’ll run over what needs to be done.”

  Ricky was already tucking into the breakfast and only nodded. Quickly finishing the meal, they both refilled coffee cups and the old man asked, “What do you have on your list, Ricky?”

  Ricky opened his notebook. “I think we might need to move the cows one pasture over. The grass is getting pretty well eaten down.”

  “Okay, think you and your dad can handle that?”

  “Yes, sir. We’ll have to find that old bell cow and push her out first, but I think we can get it done.”

  The old man nodded. “Okay, but if you run into problems, let me know and I’ll ask Halvorsen to lend us a couple of cowboys. Now, did you remember how to put the windmill back on line over there? And what kind of shape is the stock tank in?”

  Ricky smiled. “I emptied it last week, and I scrubbed it out good. I put the windmill back on line Saturday morning, so the tank should be full, but I’ll check that this morning first thing.”

  “Okay, now one more thing. Pushing those cows, I want both you and your dad armed. Matter of fact, both of you should be every day. Have you been practicing like I asked you? I haven’t seen you shoot, but I hope your dad’s been riding herd on you.”

  “Yes, sir. At least two days a week. Daddy has had me practicing with both the Glock and the 1911, and I seem to be more accurate with the Glock, so Daddy’s giving me that to carry. I can put eight out of ten in the black at about fifty feet, and we’ve both been working on that automated steel target thing at least once a week at ten to fifteen yards.”

  The old man got up and said, “The calliope? Good! Okay, go down to the powder house and get a case of each caliber and throw them in the bunkhouse. That should last a couple of weeks anyway.” Handing him $50, he said, “Make sure this gets to your momma today for her help cleaning this old place, and tell her to let me know if she needs anything else.”

  Ricky replied, “Yes, sir. What are you going to do with Yogi today?”

  The old man turned. “Well, there is a canvas seat cover in the barn somewhere that fits the Suburban, and I may throw it in the back of the patrol car and try taking him to work with me.”

  Ricky jumped up. “I know right where it is, Mr. C! I’ll go get it for you.” With that, Ricky grabbed his plate and glass and rinsed them quickly in the sink, before heading out the door.

  The old man picked up the other dishes, gave them a quick rinse and loaded them in the dishwasher and started the cycle. Going into the office, Yogi at his heels, he started the computer up quickly and checked email. Other than Jesse saying she would be doing PT in-processing paperwork today, there wasn’t anything he cared about, and he grumbled at the number of junk mails in his inbox. Wishing Jesse good luck, he closed the email and turned off the computer. Grabbing his gunbelt off the hat rack, he checked it once then flipped it around his waist, making sure his badge was visible on his belt. Pulling the radio from the charger, he added it to the belt.

  He settled his hat, picked up his travel cup, and pulled a leash down for Yogi. Calling the pup, they went out the front door. Ricky was standing by the patrol car with the old canvas cover. Telling Yogi to sit, the old man opened both doors on the car and he and Ricky managed to get the cover over the back seat. While not a good fit, the old man pronounced it good enough, thanked Ricky and put Yogi in the car.

  As he stopped at the end of the driveway, Felix and Olivia pulled up, and they chatted for a couple of minutes about ranch business and the status of the operating account. Olivia asked if the old man would like her to shop for food, and the old man quickly agreed, asking her to make sure to add enough for Ricky onto the order.

  Telling Yogi to lie down, the old man turned onto Highway 18 and headed into the sheriff’s office. Yogi eased forward until his head was resting on the center console, and as the old man stopped for the light at I-10, he looked back and could only laugh. Yogi’s butt was still on the seat, but his front legs were in the floorboard, and he was looking up at the old man with the most innocent expression it was possible for a dog to have.

  The old man didn’t have the heart to make him get back on the seat, and drove carefully to the feed store. Picking up more dog bowls, a mat and a spare bag of dog food, he continued on to the sheriff’s department. Pulling into the parking lot, he made Yogi sit in the car while he got him on the leash, and then led him into the building. Yogi looked around with interest, but didn’t cause a ruckus, and the old man deposited him in his office with a sit/stay command, closed the door and hurried back to the car to get the bowls and other stuff. Putting the mat down, he put a little food in the bowl, and walked down to the break room to get water and his morning coffee.

  He met the sheriff in the break room, and the sheriff said with a grin, “Going for the big cup are we, John?”

  The old man laughed. “Oh, hell no. I can’t ima
gine Yogi on caffeine. I probably should have asked, but I didn’t want to leave him home locked up. Sorry ‘bout that.”

  The sheriff said, “De nada. I don’t think it’ll be a problem, other than the girls in dispatch trying to baby him. Morning meeting in ten?”

  The old man nodded, and went back to his office carrying the water bowl and his now-filled coffee cup. At the door he realized he needed a third hand to actually get the door open, and was trying to decide what to sit down when Lisa walked by to go on shift. “Need a hand, captain?”

  “Please, ma’am. I kinda messed this up.”

  Lisa opened the door, and Yogi wuffed at her as the old man set his coffee on the desk and the water bowl on the mat. Lisa started scratching Yogi’s head and his tail was soon going a mile a minute. The old man said, “Huh, some damn watch dog you are. First pretty face and that’s it, eh?”

  Lisa laughed. “Well, captain, we all know you’re an old grouch and never show love or anything like that, so I’m sure the puppy is starved for affection.”

  The old man smiled. “Yeah, right, Lisa. See if you get fed the next fandango we have.”

  Patting her ample hips, Lisa said, “Well, maybe that way I’d lose a few more pounds. If you need somebody to watch Yogi, just stick him in dispatch. We’ll take care of him.”

  “Thanks, Lisa. I hope I don’t have to, but I appreciate the offer.”

  The old man sat down and booted up the computer, then headed toward the morning meeting. As he did so, he decided he needed to get Yogi a chew toy to work on rather than just leaving him sitting in a closed office without some kind of stimulus. Thankfully, the morning meeting was quick, as nothing major had occurred over the weekend, and there weren’t any big evolutions on the horizon at least through the end of the month.