Final Act by Dianne Yetman (best free ebook reader .TXT) 📕

“Fine”, Kate said.  “She’s 91 now; lives alone in her trailer and still brags about how she paid her mortgage off in less than 15 years.  That was over forty years ago of course.”

“How’s her health?”

God, mother, why can’t you just shut up?  Kate dug her knife into the meat’s joint with such force the veggies slid off the side of her plate.

“She’s had a mild heart attack and was hospitalized.  The doctor suggested she might want to consider going into a senior’s home when she is released from the hospital.”

“Having had dealings with Hanya’s grandmother through the joint committee on land allocation, I feel sorry for the doctor,” James said.

Joan questioned Sandra on a new psychological theory she came across in a recent magazine and the conversation flowed easily through dessert, coffee and brandy.

After the meal finished and the family members had dispersed, Kate and Sandra moved to the library and sat in the matching wing chairs angled towards the blue flickering light of the propane fireplace.  Outside the upstairs corner bedroom and the large windows that afforded a wonderful view of the back yard, the library was Kate’s favourite room.  She was hoping it would exert its usual calming effect.

“I love your family, Kate; they’re refreshing, entertaining and intelligent.  You’ve had a privileged childhood, no doubt.”

“Things aren’t always as they seem Sandra.  Anyway, I have something to ask you and I’m not sure where to start.  This is not going to be easy for me, feel free to interject any time.  I’ll tell you my sad tale.”

Surprisingly, once she began to talk about Gordon’s ultimatum, her load began to lighten, something deep inside opened and she began to talk.  Forty minutes later, she laid her head back on the chair, emotionally exhausted.

“That’s quite a story, Bunkie.  Glad to see you’re ready to talk.”

“Not to my credit, I don’t want to lose my job.”

“Whatever.  Society views anger as an immature and uncivilised response to frustration, threat, violation, or loss.  Keeping calm under provocation is considered admirable.  This conditioning is toxic and can lead to violent outbursts, misdirected anger, or repression of all feelings of anger.  I believe you’ve managed to bottle yourself up.  For what reason, I don’t know and I suspect you don’t either.  Right?”

“Right.”

“Okay, that’s a start.  How about a referral to the expert I told you about. I’m not going to recommend you however unless you are dead ass serious about getting help.”

“I am.”

“Okay.  I’ll set things up and get back to you. Any questions?”

“None.  And thanks.”

The two women stood, embraced.  Kate walked her to her car then returned to the house, said her goodbye’s, got into her car and headed for the apartment hoping for a good night’s sleep.

***

Roger had followed his doctor’s orders to the tee except for getting a good night’s sleep in his bed.  Stretched out on the couch, one arm dangling towards the floor, one leg stretched out over the arm of the couch, the sound of the phone woke him. Answering machine kicking in, he recognized the voice.

“Hello, Hazel, it’s me Roger.”  He jumped up so fast he saw stars.  “Hazel, are you there?  If you are, say something, it’s not like I can call you back.”

He heard a chuckle.

“Woke you didn’t I.”

“Yes, doesn’t matter. What’s up?”

“The masked bandit’s back in the neighbourhood.”

Roger’s heart skipped a beat.  “You sure Hazel?”

“Of course I’m sure, wouldn’t be calling you if I wasn’t.”

“Where are you calling from?”

“I’m in the hostel.”

Roger glanced at the clock – 9:45pm.

“I can meet you there in 15 minutes.  Okay?”

“Okay. Don’t dawdle, the hostel has a curfew.”

Ten minutes later, they were seated at the corner coffee shop. The expresso gave Roger the needed jolt.  Hazel was eating a cheese croissant but milk had been her choice of beverage.  He looked at the deeply lined, rough face, hands with who knows what under those finger nails, and smiled.  Roughness of body never bothered him when he knew it hosted a good heart.

“I’m not going to waste any time Annie Oakley, I need to get you back before midnight.  Tell me what you know.”

“It was around 8 or so, just starting to get dark.  I knew it was going to be a cold night, could feel the frost in the air, so I decided to bunk at the hostel.  I was heading downtown when I spotted the bandit talking with Old Crow. He got that handle due to his ability to scavenge.  It’s said he could find a 1929 penny in a hoarder’s stash faster than it takes a drunken man to piss against a wall.”

Patience, Roger, patience, she’ll get there.

“Any how, like I said, the bandit was flapping away to him and the Crow was shaking his head.  I wanted to get in for a closer look but this gang of youngsters, drugged up, in love with themselves and the world, was walking by. Blocked my view and when I could see again, the bandit was gone.”  She gave a snort of disgust.  “As far as I could tell, looked the same as always.  Tall, skinny, that big black coat down to the ankles, damn; I’d give anything to have those huge pockets.  I mean, I couldn’t fill them in two days of rummaging.  Big black shoes on the feet, had the thickest soles I ever saw, they were thicker than Big Mike’s homemade steak sandwiches.”

“You’d make an excellent detective; those eyes of yours don’t miss a thing.”

“Neither do my ears but I couldn’t hear.  Had to stay back so I wouldn’t be spotted.  I went into the park, stood behind the care keeper’s hut.  I could see them but they couldn’t see me.”

“Clever.”

“They talked for another few minutes and