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Sunday, August 28, 2022


SHORT STORY By Thomas Shess

He heard a woman scream. 
She was close by. 
Tom Gresham jumped off his office sofa. He had been asleep.
Light from the hallway shone through his opaque glass door.  He couldn’t remember any of the tenants in the two-story building working so late.
So far, the only one he knew involved with the building was the property manager, who was based downtown.  As for the other tenants, he hadn’t met any of them in the three months since he opened his investigations agency. 
He grabbed his snub nose .38 from his desk drawer and moved into the chilly hallway.
The office door at the far end of the hallway was wide open.
Lettering on the glass door read Emily Slater Tax Services.  Inside a radio was playing softly.  Fresh coffee was mixing with the aroma of stacked duplicating paper. 
He stepped inside.  Contents of her purse had been rifled through and dumped on the floor.
Gresham stopped cold.
He heard a stumbling overhead that sounded as if a heavy box was being dragged
across the roof,
Gresham flashed on how the landlord had avoided fixing the lock on the main door downstairs.  It was open 24 hours.  Any jerk could come off the street and see her alone.
Gresham reached to the top of the stairs.      
A woman was struggling with a transient. “Stop it.  Just let go of me,” she was furious. The bum had his arm around her head. 
            “Let go of her,” Gresham shouted.  He pointed the gun at the man’s face.
            “This is no business of yours,” the bearded man turned.  He was holding a small paring knife at the woman’s jawbone beneath her right ear.     
Gresham put his index finger to his lips. He didn’t want her to scream again. Steadily, he moved forward. “Drop the knife!”
“You’re no cop.”
“Last time.  Let go of her.”
“I’m dealing with this scene, man.  Go mind your own business?”
Gresham cocked the Smith & Wesson.
“You take one more step and she gets cut—bad.” The bum drew a thin line of blood on her neck.  She grimaced.
“You’re a second away from having five bullets into your ugly face.”
“Brave man.”
“Braver than you.  I’m not the one holding a knife to a woman.”
“Don’t step any closer!” the bum shouted.  He moved the knife away from her
throat and pointed it toward Gresham.
That move freed the woman’s right hand. Instantly, she lashed at his face scraping
long nails across his forehead.
The man howled in pain. Blood from the gash on his eyelid blurred his vision. She followed with a fierce uppercut under his chin.  His tongue was mashed between his teeth.  Blood flooded his mouth.
The heavy knife hit the floor.
Gresham kicked the knife away
Released from his grip, she slammed her knee into his crotch.  The blow blew the
air out of his lungs.  Her nails tore at his ear as she pushed him to the asphalt covered roof.
She wasn’t finished.
Hell bent she yanked the man’s head into the air by his greasy hair then
slammed it hard on the metal corner of an air-conditioning vent.  Blood poured from his scalp.
“Whoa, whoa. You got him down.  Slow down.” Gresham pulled her away.
The woman was drenched in adrenaline.  “I got five kids at home.  I’m working
my ass off through tax season and this bastard wants to get cute.  I’ll show him what cute is.” She pulled away from Gresham only to step around him to kick the bum in the ass.
“That’s enough.  You clean his clock any more and no one will believe he attacked you.”

Emily Slater, her dark hair now pulled back into a ponytail, sat on his sofa sipped the tea he had made for her and the two investigating cops. 
            She glanced at Gresham, who was sitting on the corner of his desk.  “You smoke?”
            The patrolwoman saw the unlit cigarette in Emily hand and handed her a small book of matches.
“Thanks.  Doctor tells me I shouldn’t smoke. If I thought it made a difference, I’d stop.”
Gresham noticed no sign of her calming down.
 The bum, however, had sustained enough damage that the woman officer called
the paramedics.  The gash along the back of his head needed stitches.
            Emily blew her smoke away from Gresham. “They seemed disappointed that I wanted to press charges against that scum?”
            “No, they were concerned that his blood might be on you, on me or on them.  The guy probably has every known disease,” he said and noticed discoloration under her eyes.  Two classic shiners were making their debut.
            “You should go to the emergency room.  He cut your neck.”
            “The paramedic took care of it.”
            “Look, that knife was ugly.  You have to get a tetanus shot at least.”
            “I have a doctor’s appointment every day this week.  I’ll have them take a look at it.”
“You need the phone to call anyone?’
            “No, I called my boys while you were talking to the officers in the hall. I told them I’d be late getting home. They’ve been going through hell lately and now this.  I didn’t have the heart to tell them over the phone.  I’ll tell them when I get home.”
            “How old are they?”
            “Fourteen, 12 and the triplets are ten.”
            “That is a basketball team and one monster food bill,” Gresham smiled.
            “They’re all I got.”
            “What are you going to tell them?”
            “The truth.”
            “That always seems to work,” Gresham said.
            “Thanks for everything you did tonight,” she said, “I thought I could handle him sooner. I did what he told me and kept waiting for an opening.  He was stronger than I thought. And God did he stink.”
            “Actually you handled yourself nicely once you got away from the knife.”
            “I took a couple of self-defense classes at the Navy wives club.  Are you sure you don’t have any smokes here?”
            “I’d offer to drive you home, but I don’t have a car.”
“Really.  You’re an odd duck. I thought everyone had a car?”
“I just moved her from San Francisco.  I didn’t need a car there and I...”
She interrupted, “That’s OK, I’m parked on the street. Thanks for the tea it hit the spot.”
Gresham took a long look at her face.  He hadn’t seen such discoloration happen
so quickly.  “Maybe you should go see a doctor—your eyes and cheeks are getting really bruised.”
“The medication I’m on makes any bruise I get really ugly.”
“I’m sorry.” Gresham thought for a second then decided not to ask any more
personal questions. But he did wonder if there was a husband or boyfriend in the picture. If so why wasn’t he here?
“Look, you’ve been an angel,” she repeated, “I’ll bring the donuts tomorrow.”
“I think you deserve a day off.” Gresham walked her to her car.

The postman stuck his head into Gresham’s office.  “Did the tax lady go out of business?  I can’t get anymore mail into her box downstairs.”
            “I don’t know? I’ve been out of town.”  It was then that Gresham realized it had been more than a week since Emily Slater beat the bum senseless.  In that time he’d gone to and returned from San Francisco.
            The linebacker-sized postman shook his head.  “She’s such a nice woman.  Hope she’s not back in the hospital.”
            “Really?”  Gresham saw sadness in the man’s face.  
            The postman continued, “She told me she has leukemia.  Bad stuff.  She’s been in and out of remission.  She’s such a good person.  Every cold day she makes me coffee.  I don’t get too many chances to sit for five minutes.  But she’d always ask about my family.  She makes everyone feel like family.  And, I keep drinking her coffee and delivering mail from clinics, hospitals, doctors, and insurance companies—you name it.  It just ain’t fair.” The postman spoke slowly in a baritone that made his words seem like a news broadcast.
            “She have a husband?” Gresham asked. 
            “Jeez, that’s the worst of it,” said the mailman.  “Kids are all on Social Security, plus what’s left of the Navy insurance. Their father was a Navy flight instructor.  I don’t know the details but it was a training accident.”
“How long ago was that?”
            “She told me once, I forget.  But it has to be at least ten years.  She told me she was pregnant with her triplets when it happened.”
“That’s a lot of punches for one family to take,” Gresham said. “It has to be tough
on her—having all those boys.’
The postman didn’t answer.  Instead he wore a helpless expression.  “Say, I
almost forgot my job. Sorry, man.  She was on my mind because I got this letter for you from her.  I’m not so god damned nosy all the time. I just feel like she’s family,” he repeated.
Gresham took the letter.  The return envelope was on Emily Slater’s stationery.
The handwriting looked like one of her boys addressed it.
“Wait,” Gresham said to the postman.  “What’s your name?”
“Bill Anderson.”
“Wait. I’d like you to be here when I open this.”
Both men’s faces were solemn.
The clumsy, but neat handwriting turned out to be a dinner invitation.
Gresham smiled.  “It’s not bad news.”
“Good,” the postman’s shoulder’s straightened up.  “That’s good news.”
Gresham read on. “Thank you very much for helping our mom the other day.  We would like to invite you to dinner on Friday, February 12 at 6:30 p.m.  We would appreciate the courtesy of a reply.”  A stamped envelope was included.
“They just invited me to dinner,” Gresham smiled. “All five boys signed it.”
Bill Anderson grinned.  “A personal thank you--that’s something special. That’s great, I can’t get my kids to pick up after themselves.”

Emily Slater and her boys lived at the end of Granada Avenue where the North Park community ends and becomes Switzer Canyon.   On the south side of the wide shrub choked canyon is Burlingame, another bungalow neighborhood near downtown San Diego.
            It was an upscale two-story early 20th century craftsman home with some paint chipping happening on the window frames and the upstairs roof fascia, but the lawn and shrubs were trimmed and green.  The sun was about an hour from setting basking the city
in its famous Mediterranean glow.  It was a light that inspired artists to either grab their paintbrushes or their golf clubs.  From the side of the house the view was of the nearby municipal golf course.
            A small plaque was posted above the doorbell.  It read: The Dunlap House, 1915.  Historical Landmark No. 139.
            A teen, almost Gresham’s height answered the door.  He was wearing dark slacks, a white shirt and a tie that most likely his mother picked. “Mr. Gresham, welcome aboard, sir. I’m Josh Slater.”
            Gresham didn’t pay attention to the firm handshake, instead he looked at the receiving line.  Five sons oldest to youngest, tallest to smallest stood in the foyer of the gumwood paneled home.  They were dressed the same as Josh.
            “Gentlemen, thank you for the invitation.  You have a beautiful home.”  Gresham arrived wearing gray slacks, a red vest sweater over a white shirt and blue tie.
            The triplets smiled.  The one at the end of the line looked confused.  He whispered to his sibling.  “He’s not wearing a coat.”
            The middle triplet smiled and turned to his brother.  “Then, don’t ask him to hang it up in the closet.”
            Josh pointed toward the dining room, “A famous architect named Douglas Dunlap designed the house in 1915.  Mom said to give you a tour. She’ll be down in a minute.”
            Gresham admired the rich ruby color of the wood wainscoting.  The walls of the adjacent living and dining room were painted in tans and muted green.  Hardwood oak floors were covered with Gingko patterned area rugs.
“Mr. Dunlap and his family lived in this house for a long time.” Josh said.
“It’s our house,” said the second brother.
Josh stopped.  “This is my brother, Douglas.”
“Doug. Call me Doug.”
Gresham shook hands down the line.
“Doug doesn’t like to dress up.  He’d rather be killing aliens on his computer.”
Gresham smiled.  “What kind of computer?”
“Gateway 4500.”
“Nice.  That’s close to what I have.  Mine’s a 3200.”
Doug, who was only three inches shorter than his brother, smiled revealing a
mouth full of braces.  “That’s cool.  My mom has one like that in her bedroom.”
            Doug Slater stood behind the triplets, who were eager for their time in the spotlight.  They squirmed.  Josh put his hand on the head of each brother as he introduced him. “This is Matthew…”
            “Matt. I’m Matt.  Pleased to meet you.”
            Gresham shook hands.  The ten-year-old had a firmer grip than his older brothers.
            “This is Mark.”  The triplets were identical.  Gresham was trying to associate each with the different color of ties.  “And, this must be Luke.”
            “No.  I’m Michael.”
            “Ah, of course, my pleasure. Is it Mike or Michael,” Gresham shook the silliest hand.
            “Mike, the Monster.” Josh said.
            “Are you going to be our new dad?” Mike asked bluntly.
Josh rolled his eyes. “Mr. Gresham is our guest for dinner.”
Gresham actually was ready for such a question. “You have a wonderful father. 
No one will ever replace him.”
“Thank you, sir,” Josh grabbed his brother by the ear.  “I’m sure there’s something for you to do in the kitchen.” He marched Mike out of the room.
“We’re in the Majors already.” Matt stepped forward.
            “Little League?”
“Yes sir.”
“That’s great. Do ten year olds get to play with the 12 year olds.”
            “Unfortunately,” Doug said.
            “But, we play just as much as you do,” said Mark.
The younger Slaters didn’t share the darker coloring of the eldest brother.  Instead they had reddish streaks to their brown hair.  Josh’s complexion was pale, while the other brothers had ruddier skin.  All five had a row of freckles crossing ear to ear across high cheeks and perfectly shaped noses. 
            The dining room table was a stunning piece of shining oak.  Place mats instead of a tablecloth revealed the subtle beauty of the patterned inlays, a design that was repeated in the eight chairs.  The place settings were precise. The china and crystal glassware had distinctive Frank Lloyd Wright designed. A massive lantern shaped period chandelier was muted and gave off a gold light
            It was not an architectural style Gresham was familiar with, but in the short time he had been in North Park, he admired the neighborhood’s upscale bungalow chic.
            “You’ll excuse us, sir, we have things to do in the kitchen,” Doug shepherded his brothers to the back of the house.
            Josh returned.  “I hope you weren’t too mortified by Mike.”
“I am having a good time.  I can’t remember the last time I had a home cooked meal.”
Next to the living room was a large parlor that had French doors leading on to a large wrap around front porch.  The walls were covered with family photos.
            Josh led Gresham to a series of framed photos on a cellaret.  He pointed to a uniformed naval officer who was standing next to a small boy.  “That’s me and my dad.  All of these photos are of me or Doug with dad.”
            Gresham leaned forward. “That’s an F-14.”
            “Yes sir, he’s standing on the deck of the U.S.S. Constellation.  He was a fighter pilot in the Gulf War then became a flight training instructor.  He taught other pilots how to land on carriers.”
            “I can’t think of a more difficult job,” Gresham said.  He could see from the photos that the younger Slater men looked very much like their father.  Only Josh had the delicate features and coloring of his mother. Gresham looked around the room.  Framed were many of his father’s medals, including a framed letter of condolences from the President.
“What’s your father’s name?
            “Michael Edward Slater, Jr.  He graduated from the U.S. Naval Academy.  That’s where I want to go.”
            Gresham looked at Josh.   There was no sadness in the boy’s face.  “I was told your father was killed in a crash.”
“A first timer missed a wave off, sir.  The rookie pilot panicked.  A large crosswind surprised him and he slammed it into the deck.  Dad went down with him.”
“I’m sorry, Josh.”
“That was his job, sir.  I hope to do the same thing.”
“Keep your grades up and you won’t have any trouble.” 
“Yes sir.  Mom said you’re a private detective.”
“That’s what I do for a living.”
“Have you always been a detective?”
“I was a cop for 20 years in San Francisco.”
 “That’s a tough job, too.” Josh said.
Gresham smiled. “So what’s for dinner?”
“Roasted chicken, brown rice with gravy.  Spinach salad sautéed fresh
carrots and cut green beans and Parker House rolls.  Do you drink wine, sir?”
“No.  Water is fine.”
Josh pressed a button next to the light switch.  Then he pointed to another photograph. “Dad was awarded a Navy Cross.”
“What did he do?”
“That was for the Gulf War.  He was the wing commander and they didn’t lose one jet off of the Constellation.”
“Makes you pretty proud of him doesn’t it?”
            “Yes sir, but…” Josh didn’t finish the sentence.
            Mark or Mike or Matt interrupted.  The youngster was wearing a white apron that hung down to his ankles.  “You rang,” he grinned.
            “No wine.  Cranberry juice and San Pellegrino water.”
            “Yes, master.”
            “You guys run a tight ship here.  Your mom must appreciate it.”
            “It ‘s easier to run a neat house than it is to find things in a messy one,” he said.
            “Is that your line.”
            “No.  It’s mom’s.”
            “How is she feeling?”
            “My mother has terminal cancer, sir.  We’ve been told by the doctors she has about three to six weeks to live.”
            Gresham was stunned at Josh’s bluntness. It wasn’t an answer he expected.
            “I can’t tell you how sorry I am to hear that.”
            “Hear what?” Emily Slater said softly as she walked into the parlor.  Gresham was stunned.  She was beautiful. She absolutely glowed.
            “Josh was telling me you’re not feeling well,” Gresham finally said.
            “I’m fine.  Dinner is about to be served.  Did Josh give you the executive tour?”
            “Yes, I am impressed with your boys and your husband’s accomplishments.”
            “I’m blessed to be surrounded by good men,” she smiled. She was wearing a dark mahogany colored dinner gown with a matching jacket that elegantly complimented her pale complexion.  Her hair was fuller and much more styled that the last time he saw her.  He know figured that she might be wearing a wig.
            “I’m so glad you could make it,” she grabbed Gresham’s hand and led him to the kitchen.  “They’ve been working like bees since your RSVP.”
            “This is great.  Is this all their work?’
            “Yes. I’m more buttoned down than their father would have ever been with them.  But I want them to be gentlemen.”
            “You’ve succeeded, Emily.”
            “I hope so.” She led him into the kitchen.
Standing with her back to the counter was a very attractive woman in her late 20’s, who had a remarkable resemblance to the boys.  She was dressed for dinner while the four boys in the kitchen still had aprons on.  Gresham laughed to himself.  He could now recognize Mike.  He was the one with the reddened ear.
            Douglas was slicing the roasted chicken, while the triplets were filling the salad bowls and carrying them out to the table.
            “This is my sister Marie.”
            Gresham reached across and shook her hand.  There was pinkness to her skin that was crowned with auburn shoulder length hair.
            “You look beautiful, Emily,” Marie said with a perfect smile.
            “That—can you believe was my real hair color.  I’m so jealous.” Emily pointed to her sister.
            “You’re both gorgeous,” he smiled and realized it was Emily’s real hair. 
            “Emily, I see you brought us a charmer.”
            “The men invited him,” Emily nodded to her sister with a hint of a chiding gesture.
            “Doug, shall we sit down?”  Marie said as she picked up the rolls.
            “Parker House rolls,” Gresham said, “I haven’t had them in years.”
            “Very Midwestern,” Marie said.  “We’re from Nebraska.”
At dinner, Gresham learned that Marie was a government attorney, who had recently moved from Lincoln to San Diego.           Now, she lived with the family.  There was hint of a divorce, but Gresham was avoiding as many conversational landmines as possible.
He learned the boys shared all household responsibilities.  Josh handled the bookkeeping for his mother.  They organized the shopping, including constant runs to the supermarket.  And, although, he was only 14, Josh could drive the SUV if necessary.
The younger boys were in charge of cleaning, laundry, dish washing, trash collecting, cat feeding, landscaping and anything that needed to be fixed.
Gresham walked to the kitchen with Marie, carrying his dessert dish.  The boys were busy clearing the table.  Douglas was making coffee and Josh was loading the dishwasher.
“They’re classy kids.  I can’t believe how efficient they are,” Gresham said to Marie.
“Believe me they weren’t this way.  They were the biggest collection of piggies that I had ever seen.  They were a mess.  And, their schoolwork was falling away, especially Josh.  They were well on their way to being regular punks.”
“I don’t believe it,” Gresham said, “This isn’t something that they can fake.  They’re perfect.”
“When Emily knew her cancer had returned she sat them all around the kitchen table and told them she was dying.  She had invited one of Josh’s teachers, who is a priest from Saint Augustine High to help break it to the boys.
“Father Nick worked with their grief.  This didn’t happen right away, but soon the boys realized what they had to do.  Basically, Father Nick told them that life wasn’t always fair that God must have had a bigger need for their parents,” Marie said.
  “Emily asked me if I could help Josh and Doug raise the triplets.  I moved out here in a heartbeat.”
“That must have been complicated.’
“I lost a fiancé.  The guy’s going to be Governor some day, but family comes first.”
“I saw first hand, Emily is a fighter.  She’s battling this isn’t she?” Gresham
 “Of course, but what can she do?  The Navy has brought in some of the top
cancer doctors to handle her treatment.  They’ve been great, but so far she hasn’t caught a break.”
            “No, but she’s done the only thing she knows how?’
            Gresham looked puzzled.
            “She’s made sure she’s left me five gentlemen to run the household.  I think I’m a very lucky woman.”  Marie cleared her throat.  “I want to thank you for helping Emily that night on the roof.  I stop thinking about what could have happened.”
            “That bastard was lucky I was there because Emily was about to put him into bum heaven.”
            “DA is going after felony charges.  The guy has serious prior convictions for assaulting women,” she said.
            “The slime met his match.”
            Marie turned to see her sister enter the kitchen.
            “I thought for a minute they put you to work,” Emily said as she carried in a glass of red wine into the kitchen,  “Can I interest anyone in a glass of port?”
            Gresham smiled.  “Water’s fine besides I was telling her my life story.’
            “He was not.  I was telling him how proud I am to be your sister.’
            “Well, if you keep this up I’m going to need the entire bottle,” Emily toasted them.
            The triplets were making short work of the dinner dishes.  Douglas was storing away the leftovers into the refrigerator.
            A triplet stepped on the hem of his apron.  Josh grabbed him before he fell to the floor.
            “It’s just not your day, is it, Mikey.” Josh said with emphasis.
            The best grin of the evening came from the red-eared baby raccoon.
            “Coffee is served,” Douglas said.  “Decaf, OK?”
            “Perfect,” Gresham said.  “Lead the way.”
            Josh linked arms with his mom escorting her to the parlor as was fitting for the oldest man of the house.

One in a series of previously unpublished original fiction by Pillar to Post blog.

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