The smell of roast turkey filled the kitchen as she took the meat out of the oven. She grinned. It seemed odd, cooking Thanksgiving dinner a week late for a man she didn’t know, but she loved to cook and Thanksgiving was her favorite time of the year. She missed it last week, because she was in Las Vegas getting married.
She lifted the turkey out of the pan and set it on the platter. Then she poured the hot turkey juices into an old iron skillet that she’d inherited from her grandmother. It was heavy and not high-tech Teflon-coated, but it was by far and away her favorite pan. She used it every chance she could, because it reminded her of all the times she sat in this kitchen, waiting for whatever wonderful thing Gram was cooking to be finished, so they could share in the eating, while she listened to the old woman’s marvelous stories.
She carried the platter into the dining room and set it in the center of the table. She checked the clock. Seven-fifty. She had ten minutes. Time to light the candles. The silver candlesticks, along with the silverware, were her grandmother’s favorite things. She used wooden matches and caught a whiff of the sulfur mixed with the smell of burning wax and smiled.
She had it all, turkey, cranberry sauce, corn on the cob, sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, stuffing, both in the turkey and on the side, and for desert, pumpkin pie. And she’d done it all for a man she hardly knew. A dark, confused man. A self confessed thief, she mused. Then she thought of Miles and how he’d run away. John Coffee was as brave as any knight, and if there was a Round Table today, she was sure that he would be sitting near his king. Thief, maybe, that she would have to learn, but he would never run away and leave a damsel in distress.
She went back into the kitchen, running her hands along the wall, like a little girl running her hands along a picket fence. She had a smile in her step as she crossed to the drawer, where she kept the electric carving knife. She remembered that she needed an extension cord, because the wall socket was too far away from the table. She bit gently on her lip, to help her think of where she’d seen one last, then she remembered. She took the knife into her bedroom with her and unplugged the clock radio by her bed. She wouldn’t need the alarm tomorrow, anyway.
She was bent low, plugging in the knife, when the doorbell rang. She turned and checked the clock. He was five minutes early, but it didn’t matter-she was ready.
“ Showtime,” she said, setting the knife on the table next to the turkey. She took the elastic out of her hair and let it fall over her shoulders. She ran her fingers through it, fluffing it out. Then she went to the door and opened it. She smiled, meeting his sea green eyes head on. He didn’t look away. She liked that in a man.
“ Smells like Thanksgiving,” he said, wearing his crooked smile.
“ I wasted mine,” she said, “and I really like to cook.”
“ A match made in heaven,” he said, laughing, “because I really like to eat.” He was holding his hands together, waist high, and she noticed that he was rolling his thumbs.
“ I’m sorry, come in.” She stepped back and he followed her in to the living room.
“ Nice, but not at all what I’d imagined.”
“ I’ve always lived in an apartment and I’ve never really had anything to call my own, except my old yellow VW. I always thought I should be ready to go at the drop of a hat. You know, passport ready, a thousand dollars worth of traveler’s checks in the purse, suitcase packed. Then my grandmother died and left me the house, the furniture and all her worldly possessions.” She thought she was talking too much, but she was afraid to stop.
“ She had nice taste,”
“ She was a wonderful lady. Much younger than her years.”
“ You’ve got a lot of records,” he said. One side of the living room had old wooden crates stacked four high, from wall to wall, each crate full of records.
“ Yeah, that was the one thing I did spend my money on when I was growing up and I never stopped, only now I buy CDs, of course.”
“ Great amp. You don’t see many of those around anymore.”
“ McIntosh tube, one hundred watts per channel, very heavy, but very clean sound,” she said.
“ Kinda hard to set off at the drop of a hat with a couple thousand records.”
“ Not really. I always kept them with Gram. I came over here a lot, especially after my parents died.”
“ I’m sorry.”
“ Don’t be. It was a long time ago. My first year away at college.”
“ How?”
“ They were coming home from church, eleven o’clock on a Sunday. Drunk driver.”
“ Tough.”
“ Yeah, he was seventeen. Didn’t do a day in jail.”
“ Life isn’t fair,” he said, and she nodded her head. Then he said, “You’ve got it all here, even an electric carving knife.”
“ What color wine?” she said over her shoulder as she went into the kitchen. “Red or white?”
“ What kind of red?”
She stopped, turned and faced him. “I like that. Most people would have done the proper thing and said white.”
“ I don’t like white wine.”
“ Neither do I, but I had to buy some, just in case.”
“ Sorry.”
“ Cabernet or Bordeaux?” she said.
“ What kind of Cab?”
“ I’ve got two bottles of a Heitz ’68, Martha’s Vineyard.”
“ You’re kidding?”
“ No, I’m sort of a pseudo wine asshole.”
He laughed.
“ I’ll get the wine,” she said.
“ No, not the Heitz. It’s too expensive.”
“ It’s okay. I can’t think of a better way to drink it.”
“ Then at least let me pay for the wine. I know what it costs.”
“ Tell you what, next time you treat, but I invited you tonight. You’re in my home.”
“ Okay, you’re on.”
“ We should let it breathe for a bit.” She set the bottle on the table. He pulled a chair out for her and she sat down with a, “Thank you, sir.”
“ My pleasure.” He sat down.
“ I’m sorry, I meant for this to be a candlelight dinner.” She started to get up.
“ No, stay, I’ll get the lights.” He got up and turned them off.
“ You want to cut the turkey or should I?” she said.
“ I’ll do it. Two slices or three?”
“ Two.”
He looked at the electric knife, ignored it and picked up a silver carving knife. “Nice cutlery. Your Grandmother’s?”
“ She was born in Kenya and had a passion for elephants.” The sterling silver cutlery all had handles shaped like an elephant’s head.
He carved her two slices of white meat and three for himself. Then he spooned some stuffing out of the bird for her and some for himself. Then he doled out the potatoes, both sweet and mashed.
“ Oh, no,” she said, “I forgot the gravy. It’ll just take a second.”
“ That’s okay. I prefer butter anyway.”
“ Sure?”
“ Absolutely,” he said.
“ Tell me how you became a thief,” she said.
He smiled.
“ Tell me,” she said again.
“ When I was growing up, we didn’t have anything. My mother died giving birth to me, and my dad was a drunk. How my old man held on to the farm as long as he did, I don’t know. He was a poor drunk farmer, but I loved him, and I had to steal from him, because if I didn’t, I would have starved. So I stole a little money out of his wallet at first, but he never had enough to feed us, so I started stealing from the neighbors, nothing big.”
She gasped, meeting his beautiful stare as he continued his story.
“ I’d break in to their houses, sometimes while they were inside, asleep, and steal a few bucks out of their wallets, never all of it. That way they’d wonder, did I lose that twenty? Did I spend it? Then I taught myself how to pick pockets. Got quite good, too. I’d steal a wallet in town on a Saturday night, take out twenty and then put it back.”
“ You never got caught?”
“ Never.”
“ What happened to your father?”
“ In his whole life, my father did one very brave thing. He charged a machine gun nest on D Day and saved several lives. He got the Congressional Medal of Honor. He died just before my eighteenth birthday and is buried in Arlington. I joined the Army.”
“ And after you got out of the Army?”
“ Stealing never bothered me. It was something I was naturally good at. I can break into anything and get out without anyone ever knowing I was there. Oh, I tried to live like everyone else. I was a cop in Atlanta for a while. But it was no good. I was on the take right away, so I figured I better quit before I got caught. Too many people to deal with. Only a matter of time before someone turns you in. As a burglar, I’m my own boss. I steal just enough. I don’t need to get rich and mostly folks don’t even know they’ve been robbed.”
“ And Carolina?”
“ I met her mother right after I got out of the service. It wasn’t a happy marriage. We’ve been divorced for almost three years. It hasn’t been easy for me since the divorce. Carolina and I were close. It was special. I miss her, but I guess I didn’t earn the right to be a father.”
“ Everybody deserves a second chance.”
“ I hope you’re right,” he said as she poured the wine.
They ate in silence, enjoying the wine and each other’s company. She wondered if he was going to stay the night. She wanted him to, but she was afraid he wouldn’t make a move, and she didn’t know how. She would have to do something, give him a hint. But what if he turned her down. She hoped he wouldn’t.
“ Do you want some more wine?” He reached for the second bottle.
“ Yes.” She offered her glass and watching his eyes while he poured it. He wasn’t giving anything away. Maybe he didn’t want her, but he didn’t seem to be in a hurry to leave. Maybe it was because of Miles. They’d managed to get through the whole meal without bringing him up, but she felt his presence. John Coffee apparently didn’t. He was easy and confident and seemed to accept things as they came along.
She decided to take a chance.
“ Excuse me for a second while I go and powder my nose.” She got up from the table.
She studied herself in the bathroom mirror and ran a quick brush through her hair. “Now what do I do?” she asked her reflection. She wanted him to stay the night, more than she’d ever wanted anything in her life, and in an hour, or maybe less, he was going to get up and leave, if she didn’t do something.
Could she simply come out and ask him? She’d never done anything like that before. She didn’t even know how to leave subtle hints. She’d never been the kind of woman that could invite a man over, bat her eyelashes and get her way. It took months before she wound up in bed with Miles, and then they were married two days later. Before that she hadn’t been with a man in over five years.
Maybe if I put on something a little more seductive than this old dress, she thought, pulling the dress over her head. She walked into the bedroom and tossed the dress on the bed. She studied herself in the full length mirror on the closet door, before opening it. I look pretty seductive right now, she thought as she pulled out a low cut summer dress.
She tossed it on the bed, on top of the other dress. How obvious could she be, changing clothes. I might as well go out there like this, she thought, closing the door, and again looking at herself in the mirror, clad only in a bra and half slip. Better to wear nothing at all, she thought stepping out of the half slip, her mind made up.
The bra followed the slip onto the pile on the bed, then she kicked off her shoes and stepped out of the panties and studied her nude body. She liked what she saw, and she hoped he’d like it, too. She winked at herself and ran her fingers through her hair.
“ Now or never,” she told herself. She went back out into the living room. “John,” she said, smiling as he turned toward her, “are you sure you wouldn’t like a little dessert?”
Then she screamed, instinctively covering her breasts, as the living room window imploded with the sounds of shattering glass, mixed with the snarls of a wolf gone mad.
John Coffee was out of his chair, before the wolf’s paws touched ground, with one of her grandmother’s elephant handled knives his hand. He dove at the wolf, catching it halfway between the bay window and Sarah. He hit it with his shoulder as it leapt onto the couch, throwing his arms around its midsection and plunging the knife into its belly.
Sarah watched, fright frozen, as the two of them, man and beast, knocked the couch onto its side and went rolling toward her record collection. They smacked into the wooden crates with a loud thud, John on top, the wolf on the bottom. John pushed himself off the beast, grabbed her McIntosh amplifier and smashed it into the snarling jaws of the wolf, stunning it.
“ Back door,” he yelled, snapping Sarah out of her trance. She dashed into the dining room with John behind her. The wolf, back on all fours, snarled and howled, sending a sound through the house that shook it like an earthquake. John grabbed the electric carving knife, flipped it on, and, swinging it like a sword, he caught the throat of the wolf in mid-leap, spraying it, the table and himself in blood as the body of the beast smashed into him, knocking him against the wall.
He was on the floor, back against the wall and the wolf was looking for the kill. He pulled his legs back, dodged as the wolf leapt, and slammed his feet into the damaged belly of the beast, driving the knife in further as he lashed out, sending the wolf flying backwards.
Sarah stood in mute horror as the wolf, screaming its howls, and foaming at the mouth, came back at John. But he was back on his feet, grabbing one of the silver candlesticks from the table, and again John Coffee met the wolf in mid-air, shoving the burning candle and silver holder deep into its throat, and again he was knocked down by the beast, this time its claws raked across his chest, ripping into his shirt.
The wolf howled up blood in protest against the silver as it whirled and smashed into the dining room table, knocking it over, spilling the food, dishes and the other lighted candle onto the floor.
John followed Sarah into the kitchen as the carpet caught on fire. Sarah was at the back door. The roar of the beast shook through to her soul. He went to the stove, grabbing onto the hot frying pan, as the wolf came screaming into the kitchen.
The skillet’s hot handle burned into his right palm, searing his flesh, as he brought it back, wielding it like a club. The bloodied and foaming fangs were headed toward his neck, when he smashed the open face of the pan into the side of the wolf’s jaw, splashing hot grease into its eyes, blinding it.
The beast wailed and Coffee hit it again as it retreated. Then he threw the pan at it, screaming himself as the hot handle ripped burnt skin from his palm.
“ Come on, let’s go,” Sarah yelled from the back door.
“ I have to kill it. We need a few minutes’ head start, before it comes for us again.” He started pulling open drawers, the first one was a junk drawer, nothing useful. The second had dishrags and dish towels, still nothing useful. He crossed over by the sink and opened another drawer. Silverware.
“ The next one down,” Sarah yelled, figuring out what he was doing.
He pulled it open and found what he was looking for. He grabbed a meat cleaver in his left hand and a serrated cutting knife in his damaged right, then charged into the dining room after the wolf, with Sarah right behind.
The wolf retreated blindly into the living room. John Coffee, yelling like a wild man, came after it, catching it as it bumped into the overturned sofa. He drove the long knife into its belly, close to the bloody wound left by the first knife still sticking out of the raging animal. He dodged as the wolf snapped at him, swinging the cleaver, slicing off an ear. The wolf raged and he slammed the cleaver toward its neck hoping to behead it, but it turned and he sliced off its snout.
This wolf wouldn’t kill him this night, but neither would he kill it. Red and white lightning shot around the room and Coffee backed off as the wolf was covered in flames.
Sarah started for the back door at a run. He was right behind as she flew through it, seeking the safety of the cool outside.
“ In the car! Now!” He took her by the hand and ran toward the Corvette parked out front. The top was down and she hopped over the passenger door. He did the same on the driver’s side.
“ My house!” She looked back and saw flames leap out the broken bay window.
“ No time.” He started the car.
“ My life,” she said.
“ No, things. You’re getting away with your life.” He let off the clutch. The wheels dug into the pavement without spinning. He turned right at the end of the street and headed for Across the Way Road, driving the car flat out.
He went through town at fifty, dangerously fast for slow Fremont Avenue. When he flew by the police station, she thought Harrison was going to come after them, but the policeman just shook his head. He was off duty and headed for home.
“ Stop,” she said. “We should get the police. They can help.”
“ Can’t help,” he said, continuing to look straight ahead, with his eyes slightly squinted as if he was looking for something.
“ Yes they can. It’s their job.”
“ She’d kill them.”
“ Don’t you think you’re being a little paranoid? It was just an animal. It burned up in the fire with all my stuff.”
“ Tough animal,” he said.
“ But still just an animal,” she was shouting.
“ Smart animal, found your house.” He swung a right and stepped on the gas. They were doing eighty along Across the Way Road, with the top down. The whistling wind made it impossible to talk.
She hoped Harrison Harpine was on his way home and not going to the Bar and Grill to tip a few with his buddies. He lived down the street from her. He’d see the fire and call the fire department. Maybe they could save something. Her records, her clothes. All of a sudden she was aware of the fact that she didn’t have anything on.
“ Oh my God. I’m naked!” She started to cover her breasts, then stopped. He’d seen them already and she could hardly sit there with her legs crossed, covering her breasts till they got wherever they were going.
“ Shoes,” he shouted.
“ What?”
“ Your hiking shoes, behind the seat, put them on.”
He’s kidding, she thought, she was stark naked, riding with the top down and he wanted her to put shoes on. Still it was cold out and her feet hurt from the short run across the asphalt driveway to the car. She reached behind the seat for the shoes and was glad they were stuffed with warm wool socks.
He slowed the car when they entered Tampico, obviously not wanting to attract the attention of the local police as they cruised down Kennedy Street toward Solitude River Road.
“ Where are we going?” she asked, now that she could hear herself think.
“ Far from here.” He still had his eyes on the road ahead, not looking at her.
“ And where’s that?”
“ A long way down Highway 1.”
“ You’re crazy. It was just a crazy animal and it’s dead.”
“ Not an animal,” he said.
“ At least stop and let me out.” All she wanted right now was to get out of the car and get away from him.
“ No.”
“ Why not?”
“ She’d kill you.”
There he went being paranoid again. She’d have to try something else. Maybe if she could get him to stop, she could make a run for it.
“ At least stop somewhere so I can get something to wear.”
“ No.”
“ But I’m naked and it’s cold.”
“ Sorry.”
She saw some people coming out of Dewey’s Tavern. She started to yell, but he whipped his charred right hand over her mouth. She gagged at the smell of the burned flesh, but he wouldn’t remove the hand till they were out of earshot.
“ Do you know how to shoot?” he asked her as soon as they turned onto the winding road out of town.
“ Yes.”
“ Can you handle a forty-five automatic?”
“ Point and pull the trigger,” she said. “What’s to handle?”
“ Can you hit anything?”
“ I was raised in Kenya.” That got a quick glance from him.
“ Like your Grandmother?”
“ Yeah.”
He grabbed another look at her and smiled. The moonlight was shining through her golden hair, shimmering off her breasts. She was naked and his quick look told her she was attractive.
He hit a straight part of the road and accelerated, holding onto the wheel with his left hand, favoring his right. It must hurt an awful lot, she thought. She winced when she saw that his chest was bleeding through the torn shirt, where the wolf had raked him with its claws, and she winced again, noticing that he had torn open the scabs on his face.
“ It’s in the glove compartment,” he said.
She opened it and took out the holstered weapon. The weight of it felt good in her hand. It offered a kind of safety. She held it against her breasts, like a child holding on to a blanket its mother wants to take away.
“ Is it loaded?” How could she be so stupid, she thought, of course it was loaded.
“ Eight in the clip, one in the chamber, safety’s off.”
“ Dangerous,” she said.
“ Not for me.”
She unholstered the weapon. For a second, she thought about pointing it at him and ordering him to pull over. But she figured he wouldn’t do it. He’d keep going to wherever it was he was headed, come hell or high water. So she inspected the gun and asked, “What do you want me to do with it?”
“ Be ready.”
“ For the wolf?”
“ For the wolf.”
He slowed for a curve, downshifting into third, gritting his teeth as his burnt palm gripped the shift knob. She could only imagine what it must feel like.
“ You should have that looked at as soon as possible.”
“ If I’m alive tomorrow, I’ll do that,” he said.
Paranoid again, she thought, looking over at him as he slowed for still another turn.
Then he hit the brakes, screeching to a stop.
She looked forward and gasped.
It snorted at them. Then it rose up onto great hind legs and roared into the night. The thick matted fur glowed rich brown and the mammoth paws carried five inch claws. Steam rose from its mouth into the cold night and its great head shook as saliva drooled from its cave of a mouth, the giant teeth, razor sharp stalagmites and stalactites of death. It looked like it weighed a thousand pounds, and it took up the whole road. There was no way around the giant bear.
Its eyes glowed red. It was no ordinary bear.
“ Back, we have to go back,” she said. The bear was twenty-five or thirty yards ahead of them. Waiting.
“ Aim for the head.” He gunned the motor. She whipped off her seatbelt and kneeled on the front seat, breasts hanging over the front window, elbows pressed against it for support, both arms forward, right hand wrapped around the gun, the left holding the right for support.
“ Now!” He popping the clutch. The wheels screeched again as they lay rubber on the road and the car shot forward like a missile of fiberglass death as she started pulling the trigger. The monster head of the bear was too large to miss, even with a forty-five from a moving vehicle.
Her bullets found home and the bear did a jerking dance with each slug that tore into its huge head. The titanic beast stumbled backwards as the screaming car bore down on it. Sarah was pulling the trigger as fast as possible. The last slug caused the monster bear to jerk to the left, leaving barely enough room for the Corvette to slip by.
“ Hold on,” he yelled, but she had nothing to hold on to. The left side of the car struck the beast a sharp blow, with John Coffee manhandling it between the tree lined road and the huge bear. She felt pine needles lash her right shoulder and breast and tasted the foul breath of the giant grizzly as they plowed into it.
And she ducked as one of those huge paws came at her head.