Nathan's Clan of Deadheads Read online

  “You’ll find a wad of cash in an old shoebox under the cold-water sink. Use what you need.”

  That task out of the way, all he could do was hope that today would be a day Zach pulled the solar and satellite equipment out to the clearing into the winter sun. “Or this might could be a long wait,” he said, repeating the gaze around the room.

  He needed a plan. First some decent clothes to fit the lifestyle, not only at the Ritz but for any nightlife he chose to indulge in. The opening time for the shops in the Tower Center left him with a few hours to kill. He thought about getting an exercise routine started but a sudden exhaustion overcame him.

  He spent a good twenty minutes standing under the spray of hot water, then toweled dry and plopped down on the bed. Despite a mattress he found much too soft, with marked indentations that felt like a chasm, he fell into a deep sleep.

  He stood in the woods not far from the family home in Baltimore, hunting for dead wood to cut for use in the kitchen stoves. It being the most strenuous chore anyone would allow him since surviving the mine explosion almost a year before. Movement among a clutch of saplings caught the corner of his vision. He shrugged it off as a squirrel dashing off to safety. A moment later, a man appeared. At first Nathan thought he might be a runaway slave, with his threadbare and unkempt clothes, and unruly hair. But the man didn’t look to be someone on the run, he stood stock still and stared with an eerie intelligence reflected in the brightest eyes Nathan had ever seen. And the strangest of all, he appeared a bit hazy, transparent; Nathan could see the saplings behind him without leaning to peer around.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Sumpin’ ain’t right ’bout you. Don’t lookit me that way. You knows what I’m sayin’. It ain’t right. What you doin’ ain’t right.”

  Nathan shuddered awake. Sweat poured from his body. The dream again. It cropped up every so often, and always the same, the old black man accusing him of doing an awful thing. This time, the visage seemed familiar but he couldn’t quite place him.

  Picking up his phone Nathan checked the time. He’d slept for more than six hours. Grabbing the case off the extra pillow, he wiped his face and underarms dry. He rubbed at the goose bumps that invaded his arms and legs. His skin still clammy, he showered again under steaming hot spray until the skin turned red.

  In the small bathroom, hunger rolled through his stomach. “I hear you,” he said to the image in the mirror. He grabbed at the love handles around his waist and slapped the soft belly. “But, Erick, my man, we have got to get you into shape.”

  The Ritz had an exercise room but he needed to find something in the interim. It could be a week or better before his new license arrived. “’Course,” he mused as he dressed, “good luck finding a gym that will let you in without proper identification.”

  Strolling through the shopping center, he bought more fast food just to fill the pit in his stomach. Lord! how he longed for a good meal. Then he made his way from store to store buying what he needed, and he needed everything from toiletries to underwear; top to bottom, as his mama used to say. The diversity of merchants, with direct access to the hotel made the Ritz the perfect choice. Even his bank had a branch if he needed personal service.

  Loaded down with bags, he walked back to the motel, using the stairs for good measure, and put everything away. Dress shirts and pants hung in order on the rack of the small closet cubby, skivvies and casual things went into the dresser. Personal items sat on the small counter space in the bathroom. He placed the soap, shampoo, and shaving needs in a row onto the ledge of the tub.

  To plan ahead for dinner, his mind wandered to the places he’d passed in the mall. Should he hit Morton’s Steakhouse, which in reality was nothing more than a chain restaurant, or check out what might be available in the Horseshoe Casino? A chime from his cell phone brought the decision-making to a halt.

  Though it couldn’t be anyone else, he looked skyward and muttered, “Please be a response from Zach.”

  —I hate to break it you, buddy, but tomorrow is Thanksgiving. You’ll have to sit tight until next week. ~Zach—

  “Well, don’t that beat ever’thing. Shit.”

  Chapter 28

  Jenna sat next to Marvin in their usual booth at Epstein’s while Tommy and Mike ran through the place dropping plates of food on tables. She offered again. “Come on, let us help. It’s silly for us to be sitting here like this.”

  “Dude, no. This was our idea, and our pleasure,” Tommy said, as he slid a plate across a nearby table to a ghostly diner.

  Glen, Tommy’s assistant on days the diner was closed but hosting a full house of deadheads, stood behind the counter. A row of turkey carcasses lined the space next to him. “I could use some help back here, scooping potatoes and stuffing.”

  “I’m on it,” Mike hollered over his shoulder.

  In a rare moment of inactivity, Tommy gazed out the window. “I wonder where Nathan is? I thought for sure he’d be here today.”

  “Anyone who would not take advantage of this is crazy. And, if you ask me, he seems a bit off,” Marvin said.

  “Oh, I don’t know… I kind of like him.”

  “That figures, hippie.”

  Jenna turned her face up at Tommy. “I don’t know, but I’d sure like to see him.”

  “For what?”

  “Never you mind, Marv.” She waved him off. “It’s nothing you need to know about.”

  “Oh, here we go. You seem to have an awful lot of secrets lately. Why is it that you—”

  “Dude! Zip it. Don’t you dare spoil my feast,” Tommy interjected with an unlikely glare.

  “Yeah, Brody,” Mike said over the din of conversation. “You can go off on a rant later.”

  “Don’t encourage him. He rants and pouts enough already.” Jenna elbowed Marvin. “I haven’t heard Nathan since the park incident.”

  Tommy stopped midstride on his way to retrieve a pot of coffee and whirled around. “What does that mean?”

  Her ability to sense the dead may not have been as acute as Jason’s, or Nancy’s, but once she had come face to face with someone she could pinpoint their location within a fair radius. Jenna knew Nathan watched from the periphery of the crowd the day Teresa stood in the park with them to accept those who desired the peace she offered; an option he didn’t take. Jenna still had her concerns despite Jason’s blanket statement of freedom to the crowd. To cover for her own slip of the tongue, she cleared her throat. “Nothing, really. I meant no one seems to have seen him, or heard from him. I need to…I need replacements in Cincinnati. I thought maybe he could help me.”

  “What about me?”

  A long, exasperated sigh escaped Jenna. “What about you, Marv?”

  “Why can’t I help? Why don’t you ever ask me?”

  “Done.” Loaded down with four plates, Mike placed them on the table, and slid over next to the window. “Come on, Tommy. Stop fussing and sit.”

  “Fussing?” Tommy grabbed at his chest. “You wound me.”

  “And, yet, you don’t bleed.” Mike pointed to the empty spot on the bench. “Sit. Eat.”

  Marvin laughed along with the rest of the deadhead crowd. “Laurence Olivier, you’re not,” he said, directing the comment to Tommy. Then he twisted in his seat. “Seriously, Jen, I can help if you’d let me.”

  “You,” Jenna asked. “What in the world do you think you could do?”

  Marvin’s shoulders slumped. “Nothing, I guess. Never mind.” He pushed his plate of untouched food to the center of the table, stood, and backed through the bench. “I need some air.”

  Jenna heaved a sigh as she watched him leave the diner. “I don’t know what to do with him. I told him. I told him a hundred times, I have a lot on my mind and my position has to take precedence. He insisted on getting married, I went along with it, and look what it’s gotten me.” She pushed her plate away. “I’m sorry, guys, I’m not in the mood anymore.”

  “Jenna, wait,” Tommy grabbed a
t the sleeve of her jacket. “It’s simple.”

  “What I do is far from simple.”

  “No, that’s not what I mean. You’re off doing your thing, he gets left sitting around moping. Mike and I do this,” Tommy said as he swept a hand over their dinners. “Even though we always include him when we head to a movie, most of the time he’s not interested in them.”

  Mike nudged him. “Get to the point.”

  “Dudes, he’s bored.”

  “I’m sorry, do I keep him from doing what he wants to do?” Jenna tossed her napkin over her plate.

  “He did nothing except pine over you until you kicked it and joined us over here. He’s no different than anyone who crossed over so young. There we were being useful, doing something we enjoyed—well, most of us enjoyed what we did in life—and wham!” Tommy grasped one of Jenna’s hands. “He wants to be around you, but most of all he wants to feel needed, like he’s doing something useful, something worthwhile.”

  “Whoa. Listen to you, all serious,” Mike interjected.

  “Scoff if you want. But, I am dead serious about this.”

  “No one’s scoffing. It’s just not…you. You’re usually the optimist in this group.”

  Jenna gazed out the window, and saw no trace of Marvin, but she sensed him a few streets away. Well, she’d deal with it when she saw him at home. On one hand, what Tommy said made sense. He did love his work at the ad agency. His daily rush out the door made it evident, and death left him no options on that front. On the other hand, it seemed ridiculous to her to have to worry about him. Married bliss? Evidently, not in this lifetime.

  “Well, I’ll think about it. Though I have no idea what he could do to assist me.”

  “You never know. He’s a bright guy, Jenna. He never mentions it, but he graduated Harvard near the top of the class. He’s a great idea man. You find yourself in a pickle of some kind, he just might have a solution for you.” Mike put his empty plate under Jenna’s. “Tommy, my man, that meal was superb.” He leaned around Tommy, and hollered out, “Glen, good job. Thank you.” A chorus of thanks from around the small diner echoed his.

  Glen stood at a table nearest the kitchen. “You’re welcome. There’s plenty here, folks. Help yourselves to seconds.”

  “And thirds,” Tommy chimed in. “Moe won’t like finding a bunch of turkeys in here when he opens up Monday.”

  “Hey, speak for yourself,” someone uttered from the middle of the room to rolling laughter.

  “That’s it, Dixon. You got KP!”

  The room burst with laughter, and broke into a flurry of activity. When Tommy and Mike finished an inspection an hour later, they announced the place resembled a perfectly set and arranged restaurant. Tina wouldn’t need to fill even a single salt shaker.

  As they walked through the locked doors Tommy hugged Jenna. “Happy Thanksgiving. Think about what I said.”

  After returning Tommy’s hug and greeting, and after she made the same exchange of wishes with Mike, Jenna left for home. Thinking about Marvin, Nathan, and her responsibilities as the head of a new sect of Keepers, was all she’d been doing. What more did anyone want from her?

  Chapter 29

  A bitter gale off Lake Erie made it too miserable for most, but Nathan figured he could use the time on Thanksgiving Day to explore the vicinity. He walked the mostly deserted streets of downtown Cleveland past shops and stopped in at a bar or two, also pretty much empty. When hunger struck, he found a small café. He tried to savor each bite, but culinary wasn’t a word he would use to describe the gray slab of pork on his plate. Even smothered in “our own special homemade BBQ sauce” didn’t improve the experience. He washed it down with a bottle of lukewarm beer, and shuddered at the thought that some folks might actually consider this good.

  None of it dampened his anticipation of being able to get back to life once he acquired proper identification. The city beckoned him with promises of a fine winter. LeBron had returned to the Cavaliers, the Lake Erie Monsters, the new American League hockey team might be fun, he could browse through several art museums, and Playhouse Square’s immediate offer of Irving Berlin’s White Christmas might ease the nostalgia for home and family. Heck, he might even stay long enough into the Spring to see Kinky Boots, the new show promising to set the theatre world on fire.

  Black Friday sales held no interest; he had what he needed for the time being. Besides, the pushing and shoving, being jostled around, and the chances of a deadhead running smack into him, well, no thank you. He ventured out for breakfast, lunch, and dinner at the coffee shop of the casino. He could get in there without dealing with the throngs of shoppers in the mall. On Saturday morning after grabbing a fast food breakfast sandwich and coffee, he wandered down to the Tower Cinema. Wild, Into the Woods, and The Theory of Everything looked interesting, but none opened until later in the month.

  Saturday bade no better. Sitting around and waiting about bored a body to death. Maybe he should’ve stayed in Dayton for the holiday weekend. Tommy probably cooked up a real feast. Nathan sighed. His daddy would tell him, “Well, I s’pose you should’ve thought about that before you jumped on that lame horse.”

  After a light breakfast of yogurt and coffee and a brisk walk through the mall, he walked to the lakefront. Pushing his nose skyward to a thin cover of clouds, he breathed in the crisp air, and watched the gulls. Life on this side smelled sweet, tasted sweet—well, for the most part—and he wanted to wallow in it. He stood close. So close. His frame of mind soured at the thought. Not even the long circle-route back to the hotel where he planned to change for lunch lifted his mood. He launched himself into the lobby and headed for the stairs.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Crockett.”

  His mood soared. He turned and expected to find the clerk holding out a package, and even walked toward the desk. The man pointed to an alcove in the lobby. “There’s a gentleman here to see you.”

  Zach rose from the chair and headed across the lobby. “Nathan. How you doin’, buddy?”

  Nathan grabbed him in a hug, and clapped him on the back. “Like a baby itching to get out of the womb. Am I ever glad to see you. You brought my license?”

  “I did.” Zach reached into an inner jacket pocket and pulled out an envelope. “I figured there ain’t nothing to do, what with a blanket of snow keeping the hills warm. I might as well deliver this in person.”

  “Thank the Lord. I’s about to start gnawing at my arm to get out of here.” Nathan turned to the clerk. “No offense.”

  The clerk smiled. “I get it.”

  “Oh, you’ll be needing a copy of this.” Nathan pulled the new license, and walked it over to the clerk.

  “I suppose this means you’ll be checking out?”

  “Most likely. But, leave it be for now.” Nathan waited. As he accepted his license he slid another crisp bill into the clerk’s hand. “For bein’ so kind to a stranger.” With business taken care of, he turned to Zach. “Are you hungry?”

  “Well, now, I might be able to cram something in on top of the bag of peanuts from the plane ride, long as I can grab a smoke on the way.”

  Nathan returned his attention to the clerk. “What’s the best place you can recommend for a meal?”

  The clerk posed in thought. “Depends on what you want, I guess. The Blue Seale Grille, over on St. Clair, specializes in seafood, but I hear they do a mean steak.”

  “I believe that’ll do. What do you think, Zach?”

  “Is it far?” Zach tossed out.

  After a shrug, “Not really. About a twenty-minute walk. But you’ll need a reservation.”

  “I think I can handle that. Thank you.” Nathan woke his cell phone, perused the website, then highlighted the phone number and hit Dial. “Yes, ma’am. I’d like to make a reservation. … Yes, ma’am, in the Board Room, please, if it’s available. … For two people, yes ma’am. … Would half an hour work?” He nodded. “Thank you, I appreciate it.”

  A low whistle came from behind
him. “Must be some occasion you’re celebrating.”

  Nathan turned and winked. “It most surely is. In fact, I might could declare this my birthday.”

  Out on the street, away from misunderstanding ears, Zach drew an oval in the air in front of Nathan’s face. “I like it by the way. It suits you.”

  Despite the quick walk to the restaurant, Zach managed to suck down two cigarettes, and was on his third when they stood at the front door. “Trying to make up for the trip here.”

  “Well, either put it out, or smoke faster. I am dying for a decent meal.”

  “Hold your horses.” Zach took another long drag, then tossed the smoldering butt to the gutter.

  Nathan placed a hand against Zach’s shoulder and nodded toward the street. “No, sir. Pick that up and put it out properly. Just because we ain’t in West Virginia, and there’s concrete instead of trees to worry about, doesn’t mean you can toss that to the ground.”

  “Sorry.” Zach stomped on the ember, picked up the butt, and shoved it into the watch pocket of his jeans. Nathan held the door open, and followed him in.

  At the reception desk, the woman curled her nose. “Can I help you?”

  Nathan recognized her voice, and didn’t appreciate the dour expression or the haughty attitude. It put his hackles in a tizzy. “Yes, ma’am, I believe we have a reservation.”

  “You’re the man who called? I’m sorry,” she said, “but the room isn’t available. I made a mistake.”

  Nathan looked past her to a sprinkling of patrons in an otherwise empty dining room. He pulled his credit card and new license from his wallet, and handed them to her. “I don’t believe you did. And, if you insist, let’s call a manager over. Maybe he’ll change your mind.”

  “We have a dress code here, Mr…” She glanced down at her list. “Mr. Crockett.”

  “If you’ll pardon me, ma’am, that’s precisely why I asked for the private room.”

  “You and your friend might want to go…clean up a bit first, and come back. Then maybe—”

  Trying to stay pleasant, despite the rising blood pressure, Nathan said, “Let’s call the manager over, shall we?”