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Randall
RANDALL PAUSED AT THE stop sign and checked the GPS for the address of his next client. He nodded to Mr. Churchill who was waving at him from a plastic chair in front of his barbershop.
“C’mon in, I’ve got a seat for ya!” The older gentleman lifted himself slowly from the chair, straightened his clothes and pulled a small black comb from his coat pocket.
“Aww, I think it’s too late for that.” Randall rubbed his hand over his smooth scalp and laughed.
“I’ll trim up that moustache. You looking raggedy.” The barber joked as he beckoned to Randall and stepped inside the shop.
Randall parked the car at the corner, dropped a quarter in the meter and set the alarm. It would be nice to take a break and shoot the breeze with the man everyone called Uncle Church.
The shop had been in business as far back as he could remember. They always offered free haircuts for the children at the start of the school year and anyone headed to a job interview. Easy going and always smiling, Mr. Churchill offered the fellas a warm place to land at the end of a long week, a big screen T.V. mounted near the ceiling to catchup on the scores, and the worst coffee in town. Randall accepted a cup and took a stroll along the back wall of the shop examining each piece of baseball memorabilia.
“What’s the season looking like, Uncle Church?”
“I think we got a chance for the playoffs. This gonna be our year.”
“You say that every year, man.”
“Yeah, well, this is the year, though. Mark my word.” They laughed as they both knew the Ragin’ Reds would never make it out of regular season with their ace pitcher on the disabled list awaiting rotator cup surgery. Randall took a seat and lifted his chin as Uncle Church swirled the cape around his neck and draped it across his chest.
“Don’t mind me if I fall asleep. I haven’t been getting much of that at home lately,” Randall said as he settled down and got comfortable. How many naps had he taken in this chair?
“Sure, understandable. How’s the little man?”
“He’s doing great. Giving his mother a hard time. Stubborn.”
“Wonder where he gets that from.” Uncle Church grinned.
“Well, maybe from me a little bit.” Randall pulled out his phone and showed him a picture of the baby with Traci at his christening.
“Oh yeah, that’s definitely your boy,” he said squinting at the screen.” You know my oldest girl was a preemie. She outgrew all my other kids but that first year was rough.”
“It was touch and go with R.J. for a minute, but the doctors say he’s meeting all the benchmarks and there’s nothing to worry about. He fought like a tiger in the NICU. I think the nurses were happy to see him go.”
He laughed but reliving the memories of baby Remy in the hospital for weeks after his birth on this side of the struggle reminded him that it was more than a relief. It was a miracle. “Naw, they did an outstanding job. I owe them a debt of gratitude, no doubt. But my boy showed ‘em what he’s made of.” He put his phone away. “Like my Pops used to say, Wells men don’t quit.”
“So, why did you?” Uncle Church raised his eyebrow and tapped the embroidered Wells Security logo on the arm of Randall’s navy polo shirt, then got to work lining up the edge of his moustache.
The question was like a jolt of electricity hitting Randall’s spine. It wasn’t as if he had never heard it before. As a matter of fact, he had grown accustomed to answering it and had a twenty second response that he recited on cue each time. But this time it was different. This time it was from someone he respected like a father. It was as if he could hear Pops’ voice inside the chest of this man. And it stung.
The barber gently pushed Randall’s chin to the side, angled the trimmer above his lip and continued the delicate strokes. Randall pulled his face away slowly and looked up at Uncle Church. Eye contact, like a man. No. Like a son.
“It was time,” Randall said and straightened his back against the seat. “I wanted to build something of my own.” He looked away. “For my future.”
He recalled how Traci always complained and paced the floor each time the local news headline would pop up about Keeferton Municipal Police actions in the community. “Guns everywhere,” she would say, and she wasn’t wrong.
He lifted the cape from his chest and handed it to Uncle Church. “I was thinking of my family. I have a son now. And my wife wasn’t crazy about the job. My leaving the force gave her one less thing to worry about.”
“But she married a cop. What did she expect?”
“Yeah,” he said and brushed a few stray hairs from his slacks, “but it was different when she saw the work up close. Then she turned vegan and ... you know how that goes. The latest thing is she doesn’t want us to wear shoes in the house.” He raised his hands in feigned surrender. “I’m just trying to keep the peace, man.”
They both laughed. It felt good to speak freely and exhaled some of the stress.
“I hear ya. I just wish you had stayed on. After you left, a lot of other good men quit.”
“Yeah, I know. It’s unfortunate.” He didn’t want to talk about it. The department was turning to a wasteland and he was concerned about the impact it would have on Keeferton at large.
“I heard Dorsett is out, too,” Uncle Church said and shook his head.
“Well, the chief has been planning to retire for a while. He’s been taking off a lot, using up his leave. But, yeah, he’ll be the next one to go.”
Mayor Thompson appeared on the big screen. He was standing with Lieutenant Hayden speaking to the public about imposing a curfew in “certain neighborhoods” of Keeferton.
“This clown.” Uncle Church switched the channel to an amateur boxing match and muted the sound. “If he hadn’t mishandled that Empire Row situation, I wouldn’t be half as worried about my place right now.”
“Well ...” Randall knew where this was going.
“You don’t go in and raid a bunch of houses and then don’t arrest the ring leaders. What kind of plan is that? They just splintered off into more neighborhoods and now we’re dealing with trouble everywhere.”
“People in the community have got to help shut down these gangs along with the police, you know. It takes everybody working together.” Randall shrugged. He really didn’t want to talk about it.
“All I’m saying is,” the barber raised his voice and poked his finger into Randall’s shoulder, “if you had been on the force, it wouldn’t have been handled like that. I know that much. What’s that African proverb? ‘Don’t put down the stick until the snake is dead.’ Something like that. You gotta chop the head off or leave it alone. Am I right about it, or not? Now look at what’s going on.”
Randall listened to the old barber and former combat veteran because he respected the man. And, because he was right about what was happening. KMP had been hemorrhaging experienced officers and the latest police actions made great headlines but ended up making more headaches for the residents overall.
“And another thing,” the barber continued and handed Randall a mirror, “they come here and create a problem just to sell you the solution. You mark my word. I know a thing or two about how they operate, you know.”
“If anybody bothers you Uncle Church, let me know. Alright?”
“Well, I was gonna ask you about some help.” He lowered his voice and glanced toward the door.
“You want a man here?”
“No, more like installing one of those security systems.”
“Gotcha, there are a few options I can show you. I’ll drop some of my brochures off later today.”
“Good, let me take a look at what you got. You know they broke in Tobias’ Dry Cleaners five doors down from me about two weeks ago. He don’t keep no money onsite, so they trashed the place. I don’t want to take no chances of losing my stuff.”
“Yeah, can’t lose those Ragin’ Reds jerseys. They’re probably worth a few million, right?” Randall winked and gestured toward the display case. He paid the man and headed out the door.
“This our year, son. I’m telling you!” Uncle Church pointed the scissors toward him and laughed. He followed Randall outside, sat down in the chair again, and waved to the passersby.
Randall popped the door locks and climbed in the front seat. He wedged his phone back into the dash holder and twisted his neck until he heard the crackle sound. He needed some time at the gym and a deep muscle massage. And, a day off.
“Good God, yes,” he whispered. “I need a day off.” As much pressure he felt meeting with clients all over the county and getting his security firm off the ground, it felt good to drive through the community and connect with the people he had known during his years on the police force.
Mayor Thompson was nothing like Gundry. He was absent from all the local community meetings, left early when the KMP had to brief him on issues and only focused on publicity stunts and press conferences. Chief Dorsett had gone into early retirement mode and was taking extended amounts of time off. That left Lieutenant Hayden in charge and morale had dropped like a rock. Rumor had it that it was Thompson who made the choice of Hayden and was forcing Dorsett out.
In any case, Randall and many others saw the handwriting on the wall. It was time to find another police department to join or branch out into a new career. Randall had selected the latter and the Wells Security Firm was incorporated and within weeks had a half dozen solid clients on the books. Several KMP officers worked part time as guards and his brother stepped up to help with the security system installations.
Brad had refused to move in with them on Spring Street asserting that if they could pay to modify their house to accommodate his physical needs, they could do the same for his cabin at Wyman's. So, that's what happened, and he was happy as a clam living in the woods. “The stubborn jackass,” Randall muttered under his breath and chuckled. In the end, it was a great help for Traci. Brad served at the management office onsite, handled basic maintenance and booking the cabin and boat rentals. Things were going along smoothly until Doretha died.
It wasn't totally unexpected, but it happened at the worst possible time. With Traci in the last trimester of a high-risk pregnancy, it put a lot of pressure on Randall to hold things down. Thankfully, their mother’s death had brought the brother’s closer together. If Brad had not been around, he wasn’t sure how he would have gotten through the last year.
S&K had offered Traci full maternity leave and the option to continue working from home after the baby was released from NICU. It had been tricky helping her to balance everything, and to understand the difference between what she wanted to do and what she needed to do.
Traci found her passion working in the community as an advocate and organizer. The woman stayed full throttle and hyper-caffeinated in addition to being sleep deprived. It was his number one priority to catch her before she imploded from stress and help her dial it back on a daily basis. At long last, they had agreed it was time to look for a buyer for Wyman's. Once R.J. turned one year old, they would discuss whether Traci would stay employed outside the home which is what she wanted. Another stubborn one.
He looked at her first formal business card that he had taped to the dashboard and smiled. When Simon, Kinsey and Co. took over the Friends of Magnolia Grove Foundation and made Traci the Managing Director, she was over the moon. That promotion was nothing to sneeze at. She earned it and he was very proud of her. Plus, it put her on equal footing with Ray Winston at the company and that gave her more freedom to express her ideas.
Randall twisted his neck again and worked his shoulders until he felt the muscles loosen. Yeah, it was great for her career, but the high-profile work for S&K and the management of Wyman’s campgrounds left little time for their family and meant that something had to give. His phone buzzed and the contact picture of Traci and R.J. popped up on his screen for a video chat, again.
“What about this fire pit thing?”
“Yes?” He managed a smile instead of becoming defensive.
“Well, when were you going to tell me about it?”
He took a deep breath. “Listen ...”
“I'm listening. I always listen, Randall. Not like someone else we know.”
“Okay, here's the thing. These small decisions, I'm just going to handle them. Okay? You've got your hands full with the baby and work and the doula telling you stuff you gotta take care of, and what not.”
“Yeah...” Her voice and countenance softened. Her anger never lasted long, if you caught it fast enough. She lowered her voice and continued, “but ... it's like my opinion doesn't matter around here anymore. I can handle things, too. You know you should still include me.”
“Of course you can. You’re amazing. You can handle anything.”
“You don’t believe that. I don’t even believe it.”
“Who single-handedly petitioned for state funded lead abatement for the residents of Magnolia Grove? Now all the people living in those old houses can feel safe. Who did that?”
“I did ...” she muttered.
“Who got the Youth in Place home buyers program started to help get more young people involved in rehabbing vacant properties and owning their first home?”
“Randall ...”
“Who?”
“Me.” She sniffed and wiped her face. “Sometimes I feel left out, though. That’s all I’m saying.”
“Tracinda, let me deal with it. I was just thinking, the guys could fix up the backyard so we can all enjoy it and relax. The fire pit will be nice to have when the weather cools off again. You love the fireplace in our bedroom, right? It'll be just like that, but outside.”
“Yeah ... that'll be nice.” A little flutter of a smile appeared on her face. “You're right. I'm sorry. I'm just so ...”
“Beautiful.” And just as he expected, she began sobbing, then stopped and wiped her face, inhaled a deep breath, blew him a kiss and ended the call.
A day in the life. He chuckled and started flipping through his box of company flyers and brochures. He found one that matched what he thought would work best for Churchill’s Barbershop and attached his business card, then took out a pen and jotted down his personal cellphone number.
He looked up and noticed some activity at another store front nearby. Mr. Tobias was talking with several men, then he hung an “Out of Business” sign in the window and the men departed. Randall glanced over to Uncle Church who was watching the scene unfold. He locked eyes with Randall, then he stood, picked up the chair, carried it inside his shop, and locked the door behind him.
Randall closed his eyes and whispered, “Don’t get involved.”
