Chapter 47

Okay, I’ll admit it. My life isn’t where I expected it to be. First off, I left Langford, never wanting to return, except for the occasional holiday visit. But now, I was back and trapped.

Then, I most certainly did not expect to be running The Langford Review while trying to save my mother’s house from foreclosure. Plus, I had gotten fired from a job that I liked, but did not love.

Finally, and this is a little more personal, I was not happy with my personal life.

I was getting old, alone and instead of embracing life, I was pushing it away. Everybody always says to live every day like it is your last one. That’s not been my philosophy. I’ve just been living everyday, trying to get through to get to the next one, hoping somehow it will be better.

These were some of the thoughts running through my head as I cowered underneath my desk in what would be considered by some a fetal position. No, I wasn’t sucking my thumb. But if I thought it would help me get out of this by sucking it, I would have.

The sound of the intruder walking into the building and crunching the broken glass was one I would always remember, especially if my life only lasted the next minute or two, which I feared was going to happen.

I looked around for a weapon. Sadly, a newspaper office isn’t a great place to find something to defend yourself with. There are Xacto knives, but darned if I know where one is. Plus, you would have to get close to the assailant to use it. I didn’t want to get anywhere close to whoever was stalking me.

I had a phone in my hand. Yeah, it was a cell phone, so it wasn’t what I would consider a good weapon, other than when some women use it. I could throw it at him, but knowing my aim, I would probably miss and break something else.

He probably was a little more accurate with that gun. The footsteps were getting closer. They were slow and deliberate, the kind only a trained killer can make, my mind was thinking. What kind of brutal monster was here, looking to end my life? I pictured him as somebody off a gangster movie, one of those big lurking thugs who looked like NFL linemen used to look when it was okay to be big and fat. A white Nate Newton look-a-like, I guessed.

I had goosebumps in places that I didn’t know you could have them. I was trying to hold my breath, but that isn’t easy to do when your heart is racing faster than a crotch rocket driven on an empty highway by some teenaged idiot on speed.

The killer’s shadow emerged around the corner of my desk. He was getting closer. Now, he was walking on the concrete my father was always too cheap to cover with carpet. The glass was left behind, now it was the sound of feet shuffling on concrete.

He stopped beside my desk. I’m sure he knew exactly where I was hiding in the way only assassins know. Would he shoot me? Or use his bare hands to rip my still pumping heart out of my chest cavity? I decided a bullet would be much better.

But I didn’t want to die cowering under my father’s desk. If I was going to go, by gosh, I would go out fighting. Enough of this cowardly lion stuff, I tried to use to motivate myself. Myself decided it would be better to stay hidden, but I overruled it.

I edged out from under the desk, crouched down and suddenly propelled myself up. The assassin would get more than he bargained for with one Michael Hunt!

My jump took me right in front of the killer. I raised my right arm to hit him with my flip phone. I had imagined how evil the killer must look, but I wasn’t prepared for this. It was much less. It was…Nancy?

I don’t know who was more scared, me or her. We both let out a little scream, but mine was a manly one, of course. Her disco doo even wiggled.

“Don’t hit me with your flip phone!” she pleaded and threw her arms up in front of her face.

I looked up at my arm and saw the deadly flip phone poised to deliver a serious pounding. I lowered my arm and realized that must have looked rather idiotic. But why would Nancy shoot at me? Was she that angry I rejected her? She must be like that chick from Fatal Attraction, you know, the one who killed the kid’s rabbit after her lover quit pouncing on her.

“I won’t!” I hollered back. We were both hollering despite the fact we were roughly two feet from each other. “I’m sorry that I don’t feel the same physical attraction for you that you feel for me!”

“Huh?”

“Isn’t that why you shot at me?” I couldn’t figure out where the phone call telling me to leave it alone figured in.

“I didn’t shoot at you. I was driving by on the way home from church and saw the truck stop outside and shoot the door. After he hauled butt away, I came in to make sure everything was all right.”

“Oh, thank you.”

“Have you called the police?” she asked, staring at where the bullet landed in the wall.

“No, I thought you were coming to kill me.”

She started crying. Nancy leaped forward for some reason and threw her arms around me. She nestled her head in my chest, resulting in her hair sticking me in the face. It was what I imagine it would be liked to get stuck by a porcupine.

I raised one hand and patted her on the back.

“I’d never kill you…Mike!”

Oh gosh, she had moved from Mr. Hunt, to Michael and now it was Mike. She looked up at me with her eyes and I realized she expected to be kissed. That is how it always happens in the movies, at least the ones made-for-TV that she is so fond of watching. Her eyes closed and she puckered up her lips.

I noticed she had too much lipstick on. She stayed in that position for several seconds, expecting my lips to meet hers, I guess.

Finally, she peeked out one eye. “Well?”

“Well what?” I asked, still patting her on the back.

“Aren’t you going to kiss me?”

“Not now, I’m thinking.”

I could feel her shoulders droop. Her whole body started to shake. I realized with some remorse, she was going to start crying. I would rather face a bloody assassin over a crying woman any day. Why couldn’t I just kiss her? Yeah, Nancy would probably expect more, but at least then she wouldn’t be boo-hooing like a little baby.

She dropped her head and I saw the tears falling down her rosy red cheeks, the result of way too much makeup.

I rolled my eyes and put my hand on her chin and raised it. I gave her a quick peck on the smacker and she stopped crying. She also tried to get close but I jerked away.

It was not the best kiss in the grand history of kissing, but she was satisfied and had stopped crying. Now, she was almost bubbly. Later on, I would have to fight off her advances again, but I did not plan on getting poked by her head hairs in the face again.

“Call the police!” I commanded.

I didn’t like being shot at, but I started thinking about what this could mean. Here, I had just survived the death of my father and now people were shooting at me!

Yep, I could really work the sympathy angle now. How could somebody not buy an ad now? I could just imagine the conversation.

AD BUYER: We’re really not looking into advertising right now.

ME: I understand. Yeah, the times are tough but we really need your help after losing my father and the nut case shooting at me.

AD BUYER: How about if we buy two full-page ads this week?

ME: That would help soothe the pain!

No, I did not like doing this. But I also did not like seeing my mother lose her house. I was desperate, okay? Yeah, maybe I did enjoy it just a little bit, but not too much.

I had to think like a public relations flack. This udder needed to be milked dry. I wanted every person in Oklahoma to know that one Michael Hunt, professional journalist, had survived an attack on his person. Brewster, my former boss who fired me by telling my mother, would be envious!

“Then call 911, the sheriff and any authority figure you can think of,” I said.

“Won’t they come with just one call?” she foolishly asked. Now wasn’t the time to be sensible, woman!

I was like the Nike ad. “Just do it.”

“Okay!” she smiled, and actually winked at me while walking to her desk. I wasn’t positive, but felt like there was a little more jiggle in her posterior region as she strolled away.

Now, I had to act distressed, yet brave, for the authorities! I sat down in the chair, leaned on the desk and buried my head in my hands.

“Are you okay?” she asked, and started to walk back over to comfort me or something.

Dang the luck! I had fooled her.

“Yeah, just a little upset,” I lied and shooed her back to her desk with the wave of my hand. “Go ahead and call people.”

“Who else do you want me to call?”

“Anybody you know. We need to spread the word that somebody’s been shooting at their newspaper!”

She called the local police first, followed by 911. Nancy then advised the county sheriff’s office, the highway patrol and for some reason I could not fathom, OG&E, our electric company.

“Why’d you call them?” I asked. “We don’t have a power outage?”

“You said to call every authority figure.”

“That’s our electric company.”

She looked hurt. I was too harsh on her. Nancy was just doing what I asked. There, in the distance, I could hear it! A siren! Coming in our direction! I could imagine all heads turning as they watched Langford’s finest go zipping by, lights a flashing and sirens wailing in the night.

Hopefully, that would attract the curious. In small towns, fire trucks and speeding police cars were almost like an invitation to the people to follow and get in the way so the cops and firemn could not do their work. People should be calling each other by now, trying to figure out what was going on. The scanner started to pick up traffic.

The first police car skidded to a stop out front. I raised my head and peeked out what used to be our door. Yes! They left their lights on! The police were here, attracting more attention. This was too good. If only we had a web site, so I could assure our worried readers out there in cyber land that yes, I was shaken, but had survived.

Cars were starting to pass by in front. They would slow and I could see the heads of people looking inside, wondering what all the fuss was about. Many of them were talking on their cell phones while slowly driving past, no doubt telling others that something exciting was happening at the newspaper. I wanted to hang a banner out front telling them somebody was shooting at their acting newspaper publisher. But in reality, it was an attack on all of us, not just me.

Okay, most people could care less. But I wanted outrage! Where were the armed citizens defending our pride and honor? Then I realized most of them were probably drunk at The Last Call, and I certainly didn’t want them walking around with loaded weapons. That would not be good.

I watched as Langford’s pride and joy, our very own police chief, the honorable Chief Arnold came rushing in. I probably would have felt a little better if he had not been shoving what appeared to be a double meat cheeseburger from the Sonic in his mouth as he came in. Chief Arnold should come rushing in, packing heat, with that gun up and ready to go.

After some consideration, I decided he was probably a lot less dangerous with a double-meat cheeseburger dangling from his mouth than a gun pointed any where in my vicinity. He was walking like there was a corncob stuck up his rear.

I noticed he was carrying a Route 44 drink in one hand. This is the motherlode at the Sonic, the biggest drink you can hoist. It helped wash down his cheeseburger. He took another bite and walked inside. Outside, other cars were arriving with flashing lights. A fire truck arrived outside. This would also attract attention and spread the word, but I didn’t know why.

Nancy looked over at me and shrugged her shoulders. Apparently, the fire crew decided to come without anybody calling them. Maybe it was procedure. Anytime some nut fires a loaded weapon into the newspaper office, round up the men and make sure nobody needs a Heimlich procedure or something.

She was still working the phone hard. I had never been so proud of her. I gave her the thumbs up signal. She licked her lips, a slow movement that I guess was supposed to be sensual.

I had never seen such a long tongue. Gene Simmons from Kiss had nothing on her. That was almost repulsive, like that of a lizard.

Chief Arnold was standing beside me, also watching Nancy. I think he appreciated it more than I did.

He swallowed a bite that would choke the ordinary human being. Chief Arnold started to say something, but had to take a gulp first. I hoped he wouldn’t choke on the cheeseburger like he had the tobacco that one night. He took a long pull off of the Route 44 before beginning to speak.

“What’s up?” he asked, looking around the office, but paying most of his attention to Nancy. She had stopped licking her lips after seeing him watching her, but I think he wished Nancy would resume.

I told him the whole story, only leaving out how I was almost scared enough to wet my britches. That fell into the whole “need to know” category, one that he was not included in.

He walked over to examine the wall, still walking like something was wrong.

“Why are you walking like that?” I asked. We had a teacher who walked like that. The students always used to say she walked like a corncob was stuck up her rectum

“Aw, I got this big old rash right on my..." he paused after noticing that Nancy was listening, "... well, on my nevermind.”

I noticed how close the bullet came to hitting my father’s picture of Bill Clinton that I had forgotten to take down. Jimmy Carter and his big teeth almost got winged also.

“Boy, that feller’s got some big teeth!” Chief Arnold commented, staring at former president Carter.

“I was sitting right here,” I stressed, wanting him to realize how close the bullet came to hitting me.

“Never did see what the chicks saw in him,” our police chief had moved on to Clinton’s picture. “Course, you never know what’s under the hood till you pop the top, eh?”

I refused to be drawn into a conversation about Bill Clinton’s equipment. This wasn’t about him. This was about me and how somebody was shooting at me. Chief Arnold didn’t seem all that concerned. Of course, his rather ample rear was at the Sonic shoving food down his face and eyeing the young carhops and not getting shot at, either.

I looked up at the wall and saw there were also some pictures of former governors that needed to go. There were no republican politicians on my father’s wall. Soon, there would not be any democrats either.

“Say, didn’t you tell me that you got a call right after the shooting?” he asked.

“You mean the attempted murder?”

“Whatever. Didn’t you get a call?”

I stopped to gaze outside. There were two officers standing at the door, making sure all the gawkers kept their distance. A large crowd was gathering now. My stomach was tingling. I had to appear brave, yet somewhat on the edge. I started making large motions with my arms. Chief Arnold looked at me like I had gone insane.

“Yes, he did!” I said. “The caller told me to ‘leave it alone’! I’ll never forget the caller’s voice! It was so…ominous!”

Actually, the dude could call and place a classified ad for a yard sale and I wouldn’t recognize him, but Chief Arnold didn’t need to know that.

The first of the sheriff’s deputies had arrived! I tried to look distressed, but continued gazing outside.

“You expecting somebody?” Chief Arnold asked.

“No, why do you ask?”

“You keep lookin outside?”

“Oh, no, I’m just amazed at all the people. Just think, the killer could be out there!”

“He ain’t no killer till he actually murders somebody.”

Well, that let all the air out of the balloon. The sheriff came walking in, followed by the OSBI guys! Man, this was too great!

They gathered around and listened to my story again. Nancy was still working the phones. I had no idea who she was calling now. I noticed she had the phone book open and must be randomly calling people to tell them what happened.

I noticed one of the OSBI guys looking at Nancy’s hair. He viewed it from several angles and shook his head. It did defy the laws of gravity.

“Do you have caller ID?” the sheriff asked.

“No, we’re lucky the phone isn’t a rotary dial.”

“I guess we can track it through the phone company, but that will take time.”

The OSBI guys were examining the hole in the wall. I planned to never cover that spot, at least as long as I had the paper, which I hoped would not be too long.

“Check out that dude’s teeth!” the younger agent commented, pointing at Carter’s pearly whites.

Various community leaders had answered the call. When their community was hurting, they were here. Plus, that way they could tell everybody what they saw and gave their interpretation of the event. You got bonus points for the closer you were to the event when the network of gossipers and commentators were in action.

Somebody got a call in between Nancy’s outgoing calls. She answered the phone and looked at me.

“It’s somebody from the Fort Smith paper,” she said.

Give me the dang phone, I wanted to scream. I motioned for her to bring me the phone, just before hearing the unbelievable response.

“Mister Hunt is too busy to be talking to you right now.”

What? I wanted to scream. Woman! I waved my arms and the various leaders were looking at me like I had stroked out.

“Hang on,” I heard her say. My prayers were answered.

I took the call from some young writer. She didn’t seem to know you-know-what from Shinola, all I cared about was that she got my name right, along with the name of the paper.

“Are you traumatized?” the reporter asked.

I let in sink in and paused, to heighten the effect.

“Why yes, it was a very, uh…” I couldn’t think of the proper word! Finally, I settled for one. “…traumatic.”

“Gosh!” she actually said.

I broke off the call by telling her the authorities needed to consult with me. Actually, they were sitting around talking to each other and appeared to be telling jokes, not that the media needed to know that.

When I got back to the desk, I heard a commotion from outside. An ambulance crew was attempting to come in, carrying a stretcher! I glared at Nancy, but she shrugged. This also wasn't her doing.

The two EMT's finally got past the deputies guarding the front door. They were two men who were dressed alike. The first man appeared to be in charge.

"Where is he?" the man hollered.

"Who?" I asked.

The EMT looked at me like I was dumber than a box of rocks.

"The guy who got shot!"

"Nobody got shot."

"Somebody called us and told us the writer..."

"Acting publisher, actually."

"...was shot."

"No, they missed," I informed him.

"Are you the man who they shot at?" the second EMT asked.

I stuck my chest out bravely. "Why yes, I am."

They rushed to my aide, not that I actually needed any.

"Please sit down, sir!" the first one requested.

I did as they asked. The second EMT got out a little flashlight and pointed them in my eyes.

"How do you feel, sir?" he asked.

"Does my HMO cover this?"

"Don't worry about that. This one's on us, sir!"

Man, I feel honored. They prodded and probed for a few minutes and pronounced me rather fit for a 42-year old chunky white guy with receding hair who had been shot at less than an hour earlier.

"Thanks," I said.

"No, thank you, sir!" the second EMT said, like I was some kind of hero. They headed back toward the door and all the nosey people who I hoped would want to read about my exploits. I happened to notice a look of disgust from Chief Arnold.

My cell phone was ringing. That meant one person and a call I did not want to answer. Somebody from another newspaper might call!

But you can't disregard calls from your mother, no matter how much you would like to. I opened the phone and stepped away from the authorities, who had moved on to discuss the physical attributes of the carhop who delivered Chief Arnold’s dinner.

“She was swinging some big sticks,” he offered.

I didn’t quite get the point of that and didn’t waste any time trying to figure it out. I moved aside, opened my phone and hit the button.

“It’s okay, Mom!” I said. “I’m fine. The bullet missed.”

“What are you talking about?” she asked.

What? My mother didn’t know that somebody was shooting at her son. There had been a breakdown in the network. All the old women did not know yet. I glared at Nancy, blaming her without actually saying something. She had pulled out a pocket mirror and was inspecting her hair.

“Mom, somebody shot at me tonight!”

“Oh, okay, but that wasn’t why I called.”

It wasn’t? What could be more important than her son getting shot at?

“What did you need?” I asked, the disappointment weighing heavily on my tired shoulders. I might even give in and let Nancy give me a back rub.

“I can’t find M.J.,” she said, and I realized there was something more important than getting shot at.

Chapter 48