Thunder and Lightening: Chapter 24Home « Thunder and Lightening Index « Previous

- Chapter 24

Posted: December 16, 2004 - 10:10:59 pm



Having delivered their message to the two boys, Mr. Atkins turned and started to

walk away. Robert Benson came out of the house and stared at the back of the old

man. He shouted, "This is my fucking neighborhood and I'll kill you if you fuck

with me."

Jerry turned to stare at the greasy little man as his muscles tensed making him

look even larger. There was raw unadulterated hate in his eyes as he stared at

the slimy bastard. Robert looked at him and snarled, "You're lease is

terminated."

Kenny looked at Jerry and said, "You're a fucking dead man. Don't think I've

forgotten about you."

Jerry was about to reply when Mr. Atkins shouted over his shoulder, "Ya been

warned."

Mr. Atkins continued to walk away. Otis and Henry slowly turned to follow. Jerry

paused to look at all three of the drug dealers in the eye to let them know that

they were serious. He turned to join the other men only a step and a half ahead

of him.

Kenny stared at the back of the large man, angered that he would be discounted

so easily. As he pulled a gun, he screamed, "Fuck you!"

Jerry hadn't taken more than one step when there was a loud pop behind him

followed by the feeling that someone had kicked him on the left shoulder blade.

Incredulous that anyone would dare hit him, he turned to see which of the three

had that kind of nerve.

Kenny held a gun in his hand staring at Jerry unable to believe that the guy

hadn't fallen to the ground. Upon seeing the gun, the rage within cackled as

strength flowed into Jerry's body. His left arm didn't work correctly, but he

reached out with his right hand and grabbed the hand holding the gun. Giving a

shout, he threw Kenny all of the way to the street feeling the kid's arm come

loose from the socket and bones cracking from the strength of his grip.

Kenny bounced before coming to a stop and lay there in the middle of the street.

Otis waddled over and stood on the kid's stomach as he looked down on him. He

didn't care if the kid could breathe or not. With a growl, he said, "You done

fucked up boy."

When Kenny had flown through the air past Mr. Atkins, the old man had turned to

find out what had happened behind him. He looked at the red spot on the back of

Jerry and realized that the big man had been shot. In a voice that carried down

the block, Mr. Atkins shouted, "911."

At the other end of the porch, Henry was throwing Joe against the wall as a gun

fell to his feet. Terrified at the look on Henry's face, Joe was screaming at

the top of his lungs hoping that someone would come to his rescue.

Jerry turned to face the landlord now that the rage within had awakened fully.

This time, the pain had left it totally unfettered. Free from control and

restraint, the rage screamed, "Destroy!"

Robert with a snarl fixed on his face stared Jerry right in the eye, as he fired

his pistol at nearly point blank range. The bullet entered Jerry's abdomen,

hitting the place within which his rage lived. Shocked, Jerry felt the rage

sream as his lifeblood drained away and his strength started to ebb. The rage,

with its last gasp, took over.

His head ached in time to a steady beeping noise that wouldn't stop. He tried to

open his eyes, but they didn't obey his commands. He wished the beeping sound

would stop or, at least, get quieter. He heard other noises, the soft squeak of

tennis shoes on linoleum, the whisper of hose encased thighs rubbing together,

and a nervous cough from a distance away. He wondered where he was.

Knowing that he couldn't live the rest of his life with his eyes closed, he gave

another attempt to open them and succeeded. A bright light forced him to close

them immediately. After a second, he tried again finding that the light wasn't

so bright. His eyelids fluttered before he became accustomed to the light.

Everything was fuzzy and he still couldn't tell where he was.

Exhausted from the effort, he closed his eyes and fell into an uneasy sleep. It

was the kind of sleep where one isn't exactly conscious of what was going on

around them, but not deep enough to be totally unaware. Time passed, but he had

no way of knowing how much time passed. He slept experiencing bizarre dreams

where Jenny talked to him about Bill.

He opened his eyes again, fighting the brightness of the light in the room. A

low growl assaulted his ears, making him wonder if there was a wild animal in

the room until he realized that he was making the noise. The damn beeping noises

continued unabated. He tried to lift his head, but the effort was too much for

him. He emitted another low groan.

Bill came over to the bed and looked down at his father with a worried look on

his face. As concern battled with excitement at the change in condition of his

father, he said, "You're awake."

His mouth and throat wouldn't work enough to give an answer. He felt weak as a

baby. This was such a weird sensation that he didn't know what to do. Bill

watched his father struggle to answer and said, "I've called the nurse."

A large woman came into the room and checked his vital signs talking to him the

entire time. It was too much of an effort to follow what she was saying and he

stopped trying. He turned his attention back to Bill seeing the worried look on

his face. A straw appeared in front of his face as the nurse said, "Take a small

sip."

Jerry tried, but most of the water ran out of his mouth. The little that made it

down his throat only wet his thirst rather than relieving it. He made a second

try with better results. When he went to make a third try, the nurse pulled the

straw away from his mouth. He couldn't lift his head to follow it.

Bill said, "Jenny is here, but she stepped outside for a minute to talk to your

doctor."

There was nothing more Jerry wanted than to learn how his son was doing, but his

tongue felt swollen and any attempt at talking resulted in the generation of

random noises. His back and stomach hurt as the memory of what had happened

slowly returned. He couldn't remember anything past the moment when he was shot

in the stomach. Only now did he realize that he had also been shot in the back.

A woman wearing a white coat came over the bed and examined a chart while

looking at him. Bill said, "He hasn't said anything. Is he okay?"

The woman ignored Bill as she played a flashlight in front of Jerry's eyes. The

bright light hurt. She smiled over at Bill as she said, "The infection is

lessening and he is awake. That is a good sign."

When the woman moved, Jerry could see that Jenny had been standing behind her.

He tried to say something, but all that came out was more noise. Frustrated, he

frowned and gave up. Searching inside, he sought to find the rage hoping that he

could tap into its strength, but there was nothing in the pit of his stomach

except pain.

He closed his eyes wanting to gather his strength, but he fell asleep again.

This time his sleep was more restful and his awakening less jarring. When his

eyes opened he looked around the room. This time it was dark and he was alone in

the room. A cough welled up in his chest and when it burst loose, he thought his

entire body was getting ripped apart. He shouted in response to the pain, an act

that hurt almost as much as the cough.

The loud noises emerging from the room brought a nurse. She looked at him and

could see the sweat on his face and stepped over to feel his forehead. His fever

had returned. She left the room to get the doctor. A middle aged black man

wearing a white coat entered the room and examined Jerry with the typical

distant manner common to doctors. He asked, "Have you got your voice back yet?"

The question gave Jerry pause, as he hadn't tried to say anything. Opening his

mouth, he croaked, "Where am I?"

"You're in the hospital," replied the doctor. Turning to the nurse, he requested

additional antibiotics.

The answer prodded his brain into working harder. It only made sense that he

would be in a hospital after getting shot. He asked, "How long have I been

here?"

"Eight days," replied the doctor as he looked over the chart. Glancing up, he

said, "You're lucky to be alive. Not many people can get shot four times and

survive."

The news was too much for Jerry to take. How could he lay in a hospital bed for

eight days? He had been shot four times? He only remembered the one shot to the

stomach by that scum landlord. His eyes closed as he tried to reconstruct what

had happed to him, but there were major blanks in his memory. Once again he fell

asleep.

It was daylight when he woke and raised his head to see his situation. His left

arm was bound up in a cast while his right arm was filled with needles, tubes,

and wires. A tube under his nose itched. A noise attracted his attention and he

looked in the direction from which it had originated. Mr. Atkins, dressed in a

suit and tie, sat in the chair watching Jerry.

In a very rough and broken voice, Jerry asked, "How are you doing, Mr. Atkins?"

"I's doin' good," replied the elderly black man. Shaking his head as he looked

over Jerry, he said, "Looks like you'se doin' betta."

"What happened?"

Mr. Atkins said, "Day shot you sumtin' bad. Ya tore dem up good."

"I'd say they tore me up good." Jerry coughed a couple of times. Each cough was

accompanied by pain that shot through his back, chest, and abdomen. He had a

sour taste in his mouth that threatened to make him sick to his stomach.

Mr. Atkins chuckled at the comment and shook his head. He replied, "If'n ya

tinks ya looks bad, ya shoulda seen dem. Dem doctors couldn't put dat cracka

back ta'gather."

Despite knowing that Mr. Atkins was well respected in the community, Jerry

really wished that he spoke better. His heavy accent and strange pronunciation

made it almost impossible to understand what the old man was saying. Less a

question than a statement, Jerry asked, "I killed him?"

"Yessa, ya killed em. Da cracka and da dealer."

Jerry's stomach clenched at the idea of having killed two men. The action caused

a wave of pain to shoot through his body. He must have killed Kenny when he

threw him to the street. Jerry said, "I didn't want to hurt anyone."

"Sheet, ya saved ma life," the old man said while shaking his head at the memory

of that afternoon. Jerry had stepped between him and the gun stopping a bullet

in the process. He'd never thought that a white man would do something like that

for him. "Ya took da bullet fer me."

Trying to follow what Mr. Atkins was saying nearly drove Jerry crazy. All the

talk about taking a bullet for the old man didn't make sense. He didn't remember

anything like that happening. Even though it hurt to talk, he said, "I don't

remember anything."

Mr. Atkins stood and walked over to the bed. Standing there, he looked down at

Jerry and said, "Thank ya."

Not knowing what he was getting thanked for, Jerry replied, "You're welcome."

Turning away from the bed, the old black man shuffled out of the room without

saying another word. Jerry was left wondering if he was under arrest for killing

two men. He really hadn't meant to kill Kenny. All he had wanted to do was

disarm him.

A nurse came in after she had figured out that Mr. Atkins was telling her that

Jerry was awake. She held up a cup with a straw for him to drink. The cool water

soothed his throat. After several sips, he asked, "What time is it?"

"It's a little after four. Your other visitors should be here soon," answered

the nurse with a smile as she adjusted things around the bed. She said, "We'll

be moving you out of intensive care tomorrow."

"Where will I be going?" asked Jerry wondering what was going to happen to him.

He watched what she was doing, but didn't understand half of the actions she

performed.

"I imagine a private or semi-private room," answered the nurse. She finished

what she was doing and asked, "Would you like to watch television?"

"Sure," replied Jerry thinking it would help pass the time.

The nurse left the room after turning on the television to a cable news station.

It was time for the economic news and he watched it feeling that it was

incredibly boring. As the news crew droned on endlessly about the health of

various companies, he considered his situation. Not remembering what had

happened convinced him that it was pretty dire.

Bill came into the room and shouted, "Hey, Dad. You're awake."

"Hi Bill. How are you doing?"

"Me? I'm fine. What about you?" asked Bill surprised that his dad was worried

about him. He had worried about his father from the moment that he had heard the

gunfire. Martin had kept him from running down the street to his father.

"I don't know. Nobody has told me anything," answered Jerry. He added, "I've

been worried about you. Where have you been staying?"

Bill smiled, it was reassuring to know that his father continued to think about

him even in his current condition. He answered, "I've been staying at home with

Henry. Abe's mom takes me to school and Jenny has been picking me up."

"That's nice of them. I hope that you haven't been giving them any trouble."

"Only a little, but nothing they can't handle," Bill joked with a wink. Henry

was so much like his father that it was scary. He had the same sense of

responsibility.

Jerry chuckled, but it hurt enough to choke it off. He asked, "How's school

going?"

"It's fine. Made an A on my test yesterday. Sitting here watching you sleep gave

me a lot of time to study. Woody, Sandy, and Larry have really been great,"

answered Bill. While his father had been in the hospital, they had worked hard

to cheer him up. He had spent one night with Woody over the weekend and they had

played video games most of the time. It had been a nice break from sitting in

his house worrying about his father. Sighing, he added, "Everyone's been great,

but I've missed you."

"I'm sorry to have worried you," said Jerry. A noise by the door attracted

Jerry's attention and he looked over in that direction seeking the source.

Jenny, watching with moist eyes, was waiting at the door allowing the father and

son to talk. He called over to her, "Come in."

"Maybe I'll go out in the hall so she can say hello properly," said Bill with a

lopsided grin as he made kissing noises.

Jenny came in and hugged Bill with a naturalness that said it wasn't the first

time she had hugged him. In a teasing voice, said, "The last time I tried that,

he fell asleep on me."

"That's right. You must be old news by now," replied Bill teasing Jenny. During

the time when his father had been in the hospital, the two of them had come to

know each other very well.

Giggling, Jenny said, "You rascal. I'll get you back for that."

"I'm sorry about falling asleep on you. I don't know what was the matter with

me," replied Jerry. He had a hazy memory of that event. He coughed again

wondering what was the matter with him that he was coughing so much.

"I'll forgive you, but you'll have to beg a bit," said Jenny with a smile. The

smile faded as she said, "You were in pretty bad shape. At first, it was the

wounds, but then septicemia settled in your abdomen. Once you got through that,

you came down with pneumonia. It was pretty touch and go there for a while."

"I hope that I didn't worry you."

"Worry me? You get shot four times and I'm not supposed to worry?" Jenny's voice

rose giving testimony to her emotions as days of worry swept over her. She took

a deep breath to get control over her emotions and said, "I'm sorry. I was so

worried about you."

Jerry didn't know what to say to Jenny. He felt bad that she had worried about

him, but the idea that she cared so much about him felt so comforting. Eyes

misting he said, "It's nice that you worried about me. Never experienced that

before."

The comment tore at Jenny and Bill. She tightened her hug on Bill, comforting

them both. Bill said, "A lot of people worried about you. Henry has been here

every night and Mr. Atkins has been here during the day. All of the Spencers

have come by every chance they get."

The three talked about what had been happening over the past few days. Jerry

continued to be weak, his concentration wavering when he grew tired. Over the

course of conversation, he didn't learn any more about what had happened that

afternoon, but he did learn more about the arrangements that had been made for

Bill. Several hours passed before Jenny left, saying that Martin and Henry would

be coming by to pick up Bill. She kissed him goodbye.

Henry arrived at the hospital and entered the room. Looking over at Jerry, he

asked, "Ain't it about time for you to get your scrawny ass out of that bed?"

Despite the pain, Jerry laughed and retorted, "Look at who is calling who

scrawny."

Coming to stand by Bill, Henry put a hand on the kid's shoulder and asked,

"Would you mind getting some coffee for us?"

Bill looked up at the big man, realizing that he wanted to talk with his father

in private, and answered, "Sure."

After Bill left, Henry looked at Jerry and said, "Mr. Atkins told me you didn't

remember what happened. He thought you would like to hear the story from me."

"Thank God. I've been wondering what happened."

Henry told the story from the very beginning, covering the parts that Jerry

remembered and adding details that he hadn't realized at the time. After Kenny

had shot him in the back, he had thrown Kenny into the street. Kenny had

suffered a broken arm and a dislocated shoulder. When Otis had stood on Kenny,

he had broken a couple of the kid's ribs.

Henry said that Joe had pulled a gun on him and he had thrown the kid against

the wall a couple of times. Joe ended up with a concussion as a result of the

treatment. Henry had just turned when he saw Robert pull a pistol and shoot

Jerry. He had watched in shock as Jerry picked up Robert with a single hand and

threw him head first into the dirt.

It seemed for the moment as though everything was quiet. Mr. Atkins had come up

to see what damage had been done when two other men had come out of the house

with guns. Jerry had reacted by stepping between them and Mr. Atkins, taking a

third bullet in the process. This had been to the gut as well. Even after

getting shot, he had thrown one of the men to Henry. Jerry had hit the last man

with a backhanded blow to the head that had snapped the neck just before he

collapsed from a final bullet to the leg.

The cops had arrived about the time that Jerry had dispatched the final gunman.

Panic had reigned after that as neighbors came running out of their houses

protesting the arrests of everyone including Henry, Otis, and Mr. Atkins. Things

had been heating up until Mr. Atkins had silenced the crowd with a single shout,

giving control back to the police.

The investigation had lasted most of the day with the police finding significant

quantities of drugs in the house. Mr. Atkins made the case that the men had gone

to ask them to close the crack house when the boys had opened fire upon them.

The police had been satisfied with the evidence and released them without taking

them away.

The paramedics had treated Jerry as soon as the ambulance arrived. Things had

been touch and go for a long time. The gunshot wounds had torn up his abdomen.

His intestines had been hit and that had led to a major infection. His stomach

had been shot and the bullet responsible had just barely missed his spine.

Jerry listened to the story amazed at what had happened. He knew that there had

been another casualty of which Henry wasn't aware. The rage within had died

during the fight. He didn't know if that was a good or a bad thing. It had been

with him his entire life.

Henry said that Bill had tried to come to his rescue when the first gunshot had

been fired, but Martin had held him back receiving a black eye in the process.

Martin had understood and wasn't angry, sure he would have fought just as hard

to come to the rescue of his mother.

The update had reassured Jerry significantly. At least he had acted out of

self-defense, only loosing control over the rage after getting shot and having a

second gun pulled on him. He said, "Thanks, Henry. You're a good friend taking

care of me and Bill like this."

"Hey, no problem. You kept a lot of us from getting killed," replied Henry. He

was silent for a moment and then said, "They had planned to kill Mr. Atkins, but

Kenny decided to shoot you first."

Bill returned with two cups of coffee, handing one to Henry before sipping from

one himself. He sat down and asked, "Did you tell him about Martin?"

"Yes, I did."

"I was sorry afterwards, but he wouldn't let me come to help you. He says that

he understands, but I feel real bad about it."

"You tried to protect me and he tried to protect you. That's what friends do.

They protect each other," replied Jerry, receiving a nod of approval from Henry.

The look on Bill's face suggested that was exactly what he needed to hear.

It was an hour later that Henry left with Bill saying that they had to eat

dinner and get back to the house. Martin stopped by the hospital. It wasn't

until he had seen Martin, that Jerry even gave a thought to work. Martin told

him that they had hired Carlos just in time, but that Mr. Sinclair had come down

to help manage the store while he was in the hospital. In response to the news,

Jerry asked, "What does Mr. Sinclair say about this mess?"

"He hasn't said anything to me. He was impressed with the shape that the store

was in when he came in. Mentioned something about it being one of the best run

stores in the chain," answered Martin. Mr. Sinclair had arrived with the

expectation that the store would be a shambles. Instead, he had found Martin

taking orders, Mike pulling them, and Karen going over the inventory. The

paperwork in the office was up to date.

"Well, I hope he doesn't fire me."

A voice from the door interrupted them, as Mr. Sinclair entered the room and

said, "Read the newspaper article about the event. Either you have a good

publicist or people in your neighborhood really like you."

"Must be the former," Jerry joked and tried to laugh, but the pain in his

stomach stopped him.

"I doubt that." Mr. Sinclair moved over to one of the chairs and sat down to

watch Jerry. The big man had surprised him. A year ago an ex-employee was ready

to sue him for creating a hostile workplace. Now the people who worked for him

backed him to the hilt. Before it had looked like a normal store, but now it

sparkled. The employees were talented and confident of their abilities. They

didn't hide their mistakes or blame others for problems.

Jerry asked, "How is the store doing?"

"Busy. Carlos was able to pick up another repair shop as a customer. Karen has

the inventory system ready to go for daily use. She's populated the database and

is training Abe and Sammy how to check in stock when it arrives. I was really

impressed with her setup," answered Mr. Sinclair. He had been pleased when he

learned how Jerry had handled the whole situation. He had not only given Karen

the responsibility for installing the system, but had given her the authority as

well.

"She's a smart woman," replied Jerry. He smiled as he said, "We'll see if she

can train this old dog on how to use the system."

"Seems to me that you'll have lots of time to read the instruction manual now,"

said the boss with a chuckle. Jerry wasn't use to hearing Mr. Sinclair joke.

Getting serious, he said, "Your staff is pretty sharp. I particularly enjoy Abe,

he's a good hard worker."

Martin smiled at the assessment of his brother. His brother had been growing up

a lot over the past year. His grades had improved and he was taking his

responsibilities much more seriously. As a result, he had developed a sense of

self that allowed him to resist peer pressure. His choice of a motorcycle had

demonstrated that independence of thought. He commented, "Jerry has been a good

influence on him. He's rebuilding an antique Indian Motorcycle."

Jerry had forgotten about that and asked, "He got it?"

"Yeah, it's a real wreck."

Mr. Sinclair sat back and asked, "What is the deal with restoring all these old

vehicles?"

After glancing at Jerry, Martin answered, "I don't know about Jerry, but it is

an important lesson for Abe and me. We live in a neighborhood filled with old

junk and felt hopeless that we didn't have anything new. Jerry helped me rebuild

that Caddy and all of a sudden I had taken something worthless and turned it

into something that was very valuable. In the process, I learned a valuable

skill and a lot about myself."

Mr. Sinclair thought about it and realized that Jerry had used the cars as a way

of teaching self-respect. He replied, "I never thought about it that way."

The three talked some more but Jerry was having trouble following the

conversation. His eyelids kept fluttering as he fought off the desire to fall

asleep. After a while, he lost the battle and nodded off.

Martin looked over at Jerry and said, "He's fallen asleep."

"Yeah," replied Mr. Sinclair. He looked at Jerry in the bed. The big man looked

a lot smaller and much more vulnerable now. He asked, "Tell me something. How do

you really feel working for him?"

"I'm probably the wrong guy to ask about that," replied Martin.

"Why?"

"I can't separate how I feel about him outside of work and at work," replied the

young black man. Less than a year ago, he had been unemployed. Now he had a job,

a new car, his mother had a new car, and he had savings. The two cars were a

result of work performed outside of the job.

"I guess you like him."

"Oh yes. In a way, he's the father that I never had. He always has a positive

word of support when things aren't going well. He uses a low-pressure sales

approach, giving advice only when asked and not expecting me to follow it. He's

strong, but is scared to death of misusing that strength. I think that is a good

thing," replied Martin in a thoughtful manner. He wondered where this

conversation was heading.

"Would you say he's a good leader?"

"I'm not sure what that means," answered Martin as he thought about it.

Leadership was a rather different kind of concept in his neighborhood. Most of

the leaders were people that were strong enough to force their point of view,

physically if necessary. A few other people, like Mr. Atkins, led by reputation

based on a past willingness to use force.

The answer surprised Mr. Sinclair and he didn't know what to think of it.

Clearly it was an honest answer. Nodding, he said, "Interesting."

Jerry stirred as a nightmare of the experience flitted through his mind. He

shook as though trying to ward off some danger. He uttered a groan and then

settled down returning to a peaceful sleep.

Martin shook his head and said, "So strong and yet brought down by a couple

ounces of lead. It makes you think, doesn't it?"

"Yes, I would say so. What are your plans for the future?"

Shrugging, Martin answered, "I've been thinking about going to school. Jerry is

always talking about the lack of opportunities that he had because he hadn't

continued his education. He really pushes education and uses himself as an

example of what happens if you don't take it seriously."

"So what would you study?"

Martin said, "I'm thinking that I'll take business courses."

"Why?"

"I like this business, but I'd like to go a little further in it than Jerry. I

don't mean to talk bad about what he's done, but it would be good to be more

than a manager of a local outlet when I hit forty." Martin and Jerry had talked

about that many times while restoring the cars.

"What makes you think you can go further than Jerry?" asked Mr. Sinclair curious

to learn who had motivated him in that direction.

"Jerry said so," replied Martin.

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