The Folds Read online

  “No playink!” Adolph resumed. “No laffink! Unt you! You fill slip heah! Unt…not mek a pip!”

  The perfect boy lowered the sheet from his face. Tommy sat on the edge of the bed for a moment and stroked his son’s hair, rubbing his forehead with his large hand. “D’jyu know I’m proud of you?” he asked, leaning on his elbow across Danny’s stomach. “My boy! The big man! Hittin’ home runs for all the girls to see!”

  Danny sat up and gave five to Tommy, then proudly exclaimed, “Maaaan, I am good!”

  “Listen,” Tommy softly instructed. “I want for you and me to spend a little more time together. Some things I wanna talk to you about.”

  “Dad, I know about that kinda stuff!” Danny said, embarrassed, but smiling.

  “Well, I know you seen a lot of things,” Tommy admitted, “and maybe you know more than I think you do. Maybe I need some advice from you? Hmm? I just wanna talk to you about the man you’re becoming and the man you’re gonna wanna be someday. Like your granddad. Okay?”

  Danny nodded in agreement.

  “Now get to sleep. We all got a busy week,” Tommy instructed before leaving the room.

  Danny looked to the doorway as the light was turned off and heard his father say, just like he did every night, “I love you.” He curled up on his side for a moment then rolled onto his back. Minutes later, he was quiet and motionless, flying with Superman and riding his horse with Gene.

  MONDAY MORNING

  Monday, 5 a.m. The water pipes that ran through the old thin walls separating the bathroom from Danny’s room gurgled to life. Danny was once again roused from a deep sleep upon hearing the vibrating pipes as the water made its way up from the basement and passed through the shower and sink valves in his mother and father’s bathroom.

  He lay motionless and tried to go back to sleep, but to no avail. Once a month, all DPS troopers gathered at their district headquarters for a mandatory meeting. The meetings started at 7 a.m., and it was at the very least a forty-minute drive to the city. So every four weeks, Danny couldn’t help but wake up early with Tommy and Sarah.

  After a few minutes, the pipes stopped their rattling and Danny’s room slowly began to fill with the dim purple light from the oncoming sunrise. Something caught Danny’s attention. He realized that the sound of vibrating pipes had been replaced with that of soft voices, speaking simultaneously.

  Danny crawled out of bed onto his hands and knees and slowly inched his way across the creaky wooden floor. He placed his ear against the metal grate of the heater vent. The voices were coming from his parents’ room.

  He gently turned the bronze handle and gingerly opened his door. The glow of his parents’ bedroom light could be seen underneath their door. He quickly tiptoed down the hall and put his head to the floor to see if there was any movement inside. He tenderly nudged their door with a muffled groan of the hinge. The nightstand lights were on and both closet doors pulled almost completely open, with Tommy and Sarah inside each. Danny approached his father’s door; he curiously watched Tommy in the morning ritual of polishing his belt and holster. As he buffed the leather to a fine luster he recited, “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want, He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters…”

  As Danny listened, another voice could be heard chanting from inside his mother’s closet. Walking a few feet to Sarah’s door, he pressed his ear to the frame, struggling to hear what she was saying. Sarah, too, was reciting, “Our father, who art in heaven, Hallowed be Thy Name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven.”

  Danny stood between the closet doorways, listening to the two prayers of his parents. In unison they proclaimed their faith and requested strength along with guidance and wisdom. Like a tennis match, both Tommy and Sarah unknowingly returned each other’s volleys of prayer:

  “He restoreth my soul: He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name’s sake.”

  “Give us this day our daily bread. Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation.”

  “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me.”

  “But deliver us from evil. For Thine is the kingdom, and the power…”

  “Thou preparest a table for me in the presence of mine enemies: Thou annointest my head with oil…”

  “…and the glory.”

  “My cup runneth over.”

  “For ever and ever.”

  “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord…”

  “Amen.”

  “…forever.” Tommy inserted the last of the six bullets in his revolver and commented, “The whole armor of God.”

  A few minutes later, Tommy and Sarah offered their morning good-byes and kisses to Danny, who, by that time, had quickly made his way back to bed, faking his sleep. Tommy started down the stairs as Sarah backed out of the room. Danny rolled over and whispered, “I love you, Momma.”

  “I love you, too,” Sarah whispered. “Make sure you get yourself up to the bus on time for day care at the church. Your daddy and I won’t be here to take ya. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Danny answered groggily.

  Sarah headed downstairs and out the door.

  Danny sat up in his bed, leaned over to his window, and pulled back the blind to watch his mom and dad pull out of the driveway and into the early morning sunrise.

  Sergeant Scott Huddleston was the epitome of a Texas law enforcement officer. Standing six-foot-three and weighing two hundred and forty pounds, he was a man’s man: an excellent marksman with a revolver, even more deadly with a rifle and scope, a rancher, and a former boxer and football player. Scott was seventeen when he first parachuted into Germany during World War II and by eighteen had seen more than his fair share of the darker side of life. He commanded respect when he spoke. His word was always the last word, his word was the law, and he knew the law backward and forward. Scott finished his officer’s training in Austin an astounding five weeks prior to the rest of his class. He now served as a district sergeant for the Texas Department of Public Safety and oversaw the commanding lieutenants for each of the county precincts in his district. So once a month he scheduled a “meeting of the minds” to discuss news in the Texas DPS, Texas law, and the like.

  The meeting room seated around a hundred. Traditionally, Tommy, Jason, Ron, John, Casey and other officers from their county would all sit together. Officers from other counties did the same. The meeting was nearing its end and from the podium in the front of the room, Sergeant Huddleston blasted, “All right, you brainless imps, last thing. Listen up. I want you to meet your new on-staff investigator, Cleo Farley. He’ll be working with the DPS through the apprenticeship services of the Texas Rangers.”

  Tommy and the boys sat up straight to see to whom he was referring.

  “Specifically,” Sgt. Huddleston continued, “Mr. Farley will be working in conjunction with local and county law enforcement agencies representing the counties of Van Zandt, Henderson, Anderson, Navarro, Kaufman, and Dallas. Cleo finished his fast track for training in Austin recently. He’s a native Texan, graduated in December with honors, and receiving master’s degrees from UT in both criminal science and behavioral neuroscience. Behavioral Neuroscience? What the blazes is that?” The room grew deathly silent as Sgt. Huddleston glanced up over his glasses to the front desk, waiting for a response.

  Tommy and the boys watched Cleo Farley nervously rise from his seat and turn to the crowd of stern-faced strangers. He stood silently for a moment, the focal point of a predominantly white group, minus Ron, before turning back to Sgt. Huddleston. “It’s the study of how and why the brain likes what it does and how and why it helps in determining what we do and don’t do. Why someone will like candy, some like the color yellow or a particular singer, a place. How a time of yea
r or season relates to someone’s intellectual creativity and activity or their psychological dormancy. It’s a new thought process on the ideas of thought…and I think it has a promising application to the intervention and reduction of crime.”

  The silence was maddening.

  Sgt. Huddleston, Tommy, Ron, and the other DPS officers sat with blank expressions on their faces, as if waiting for some type of real, human explanation of what was just said. Embarrassed, Cleo slowly took his seat and exhaled a deep breath of regret.

  “So, Mister Farley…” Sgt. Huddleston queried, “how do you like to be addressed? Farley? Cleo? Mr. Farley?”

  “Butch… It’s Butch, sir,” he replied flatly.

  “Butch, huh? That’s quite a departure from the actual, isn’t it?” Sgt. Huddleston retorted.

  “Yes, sir,” Butch agreed. “But I feel comfortable wearin’ it just the same.”

  “Well, you ladies make yourselves presentable and welcome the detective. Show him how we do things downtown. Dismissed!” the sergeant bellowed.

  The room was suddenly bursting with the sounds of scooting desks and chairs while bodies hurried to leave. Butch remained seated, smiling to himself in silent anticipation while placing the last of his paperwork in his satchel. When he finally stood to turn and greet the members of his new family, he became disheartened as the last few officers shuffled out the door.

  He was alone in the room.

  Butch left the meeting room to enter the main hallway of the local HQ. When he approached a group of troopers gathered at the vending machines, he smiled, straightened himself, and prepared to speak. The confidence on his face once again faded as the officers looked him up and down, then turned away in quiet disapproval.

  A boisterous “Tommy Lee Albright!” and a slap on the shoulder brought Butch back to life as Tommy entered the hallway from the men’s restroom.

  Butch, startled and taken aback, extended his hand to the tall, blond, brazen Tommy. “Farley. Cleo Farley.”

  “Butch, though, right?” Tommy confirmed.

  “Butch. Yes…yes… ’Scuse me. Right,” he replied, lost for a moment

  “Cleo? Where’d that come from?” Tommy asked as the two of them strutted down the hall.

  A warm smile finally graced Butch’s face as the anvil was ever so slightly lifted off his shoulders. “Aw,” he reluctantly explained, “Mom and Dad thought it’d be nice to name me after my great-granddad. Didn’t go over so well in junior high…not the most masculine of names, you know? It’s like being named Percival or Felix.” He laughed out loud at the mere pronouncing of the names.

  Tommy stopped in mid stride, turned to Butch, and declared, “My great-uncle’s name was Percival, God rest his soul!”

  “I…I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to…” Butch stumbled on his words as Tommy leaned over and began to laugh, pushing his hand against Butch’s side for support.

  “I…I…I’m,” Tommy imitated, perpetuating his own laughter.

  Butch was only ever so slightly amused. The two continued walking.

  “Well, puke, how’d ya like Austin?” Tommy asked.

  “Puke?” Butch replied.

  “Yeah, Puke. The new guy—freshman, green guy, rookie, bottom man on the totem pole.”

  “Um, training was good. It was pretty intense, though, trying to think about how to apply all that I just got through learning in school. Like this one time—”

  “Yeah, basic was tough, for a while,” Tommy interrupted. “But you get used to the format in a couple o’ weeks then it lightens up some.” The two men stopped at the end of the hall near the men’s and women’s locker rooms. “You been assigned to a district supervisor yet?”

  “Uh, I, uh, I’m supposed to meet with Huddleston later today to find out,” Butch answered.

  “Well, if you need anything or have any questions, give me a holler. All right?” Tommy extended his hand and firmly shook Butch’s.

  “Yeah…sure. I’ll give you a shout. Thanks.”

  Tommy turned to enter the men’s locker room. Butch again stood alone in the empty hall.

  “Oh, hey!” Tommy called, lunging out from the locker room door and slapping Butch on the shoulder again. “You gonna do fine. Nice to meet ya!”

  Before he even reached his friends in the back of the locker room, Tommy loudly alerted all of his coming, “All right, boys, feast your eyes on this.” As he entered the row of benches and lockers, he opened a legal manila envelope, turned it upside down, and started shaking out its contents. John, Ron, Jason, and Casey all gathered in close to see what the hubbub was about. A plastic bag slowly emerged from the paper envelope, containing a rare Superman comic; a number three issue to be exact. Like Jason holding his prized golden fleece, Tommy held up the red and blue superhero in his original plastic sheath.

  “Whoo! Oh, yeah! Whoa! Slick stuff, chief!” and “Where’d ya get that?” emanated from the curious quartet.

  “Big D a couple of months ago,” Tommy answered with wild-eyed pride as he displayed the invaluable digest. Like a group of little boys, all the grown men clambered to see the cover. “They been holdin’ it for me. Sarah and I been saving for a few months to get it. Cost an arm and a leg, but it’ll be worth more in the future.”

  “When ya gonna give it to him?” John asked.

  “Oh, prob’ly Saturday ’for we head to Texoma,” he answered. After contemplating his words, Tommy added, “And I was thinkin’… Why don’t we have the boys come with us?”

  “Awwww! Tommy! What?” The foursome groaned in disbelief.

  “You know this is the only time for all us to be together!” Casey blasted.

  “Casey…” Tommy lamented while shaking his head. “You sound just like Sarah! ‘You know this is our only time to be alone’!”

  “You know what I mean!” Casey exclaimed. “C’mon! This is prob’ly gonna be the last fishing trip of the year for all of us!”

  “That’s why it’s all the more special,” Tommy interjected. “It’ll be all the boys’ first time with us and be on Danny’s birthday. How old were we when we on our first trips? Ten? Eleven? Well, they’re about that age now ’n they’re want’n to go fishing. And all the boys can go with all their daddies at one time.”

  The four grown men began to resemble sulking teenagers not getting their way.

  “Ya said anything yet to Sarah or Danny?” Jason grunted, slumping against the locker.

  “Not to Danny,” Tommy answered. “I wanted to check wit ya’ll first, but Sarah knows what I wanna do. Well?”

  “Now that means we gotta behave!” John quipped as he stood up. “An’ I don’ wanna behave. I been planning for months on not behaving. I really need to not behave!”

  “So are we supposed to just bring ’em with us to your house on Saturday?” Ron chimed in.

  Tommy looked at his lifelong friends and with a large, white-toothed grin simply answered, “Yup!”

  The plan was in motion.

  100 YEARS AT THE VFW

  Friday night, July 22. The stars were just beginning to shine in the purple eastern sky as the sun neared the western horizon, hanging low, wide, and dark orange. The smell of smoked brisket and ribs floated above the sounds of hundreds of children playing in the park next to the old, domed corrugated metal VFW hall. Fireflies skimmed the surface of the stock pond while mockingbirds sang from the trees.

  Inside the hall, the centennial celebration dance was in full swing. Tommy, Sarah, their friends, and almost the entire town populace crammed themselves into the local landmark. The townsfolk feasted on a spread of red beans and rice, brisket, ribs, potato salad, jalapeño cornbread, and homemade tortillas. To drive another nail in the coffin, large hand-sewn dish towels covered up two tables worth of homemade apple cobblers, velvet cakes, pecan pies, and chilled canisters of ice cream. The masses sipped cold, sweet sun tea and Shiner Bock as they listened to Lynnly Ives and her band.

  Tommy was his usual self in a crowd: the center of atte
ntion, telling stories, and being the practical joker. He stood as he finished telling the one about pulling over a drunk driver. Demonstrating with his own beer in hand, he reenacted the scene. “So he falls out of the driver’s door, can’t stand, can’t focus on where I’m standing, can barely say nothing. He moved to the front then slides down the tire well, looks up at me with this confused look, and says, ‘You can’t site me. This ain’t even my car!’” The cluster of ten friends all laughed, taking swigs of their beers.

  Just about that time, Lynnly hollered to the crowd, “How ya’ll like the Cotton Eyed Joe?”

  The benches and tables cleared as hundreds of patriotic, well-soused Texans took to the plank wood dance floor. The fiddle player chopped out a continuous choo-choo rhythm, waiting for more to pack the square. Tommy and the boys didn’t even put their beers down as they grabbed their wives and bullied themselves through the energetic mass.

  The song started out slowly, but quickly picked up speed. The ten friends, along with all in attendance, were happy to be dancing arm and arm, kicking and yelling, sweating and laughing, as they struggled to keep up with one another. The song soon ended, and Lynnly and her band were immediately bombarded by a roaring applause.

  “Thanks, ya’ll!” she gratefully said. “We gonna tune up and slow things down a little.”

  Ron threw Tommy over his shoulder, spinning him around while Tommy continued to sing, “What you say? One more time!”

  The two buddies laughed and spilled their beers as Sarah called out over the noise, “Tommy? Tommy Lee!”

  “Yeah, baby?” Tommy answered, dismounting Ron’s shoulder. “Now what you say, baby? One more time!” he sang with a seductive smile, shaking his hips and placing his roaming hands on Sarah’s waist.

  “Hon!” she firmly stated, brushing away his paws. “The waltz is about to start, can ya dance with Grandma?”

  “Sarah!” Tommy said with a moan.

  “Please?” she pleaded. “She never gets to dance anymore, and all the men who are her age…well…can’t. It would give her such a thrill! This night ain’t ever gonna come again for her. Please, baby?”