The Return of Bucket Smith
Chapter 4
The clerk handed the keys to Room 203 to the man who walked with a limp. “It’s upstairs and to your right. You will at least have a good view of our town.”
“Thank you, sir,” said the tall, slender, and slightly gray-haired man. “You’ve been very kind.”
Hotel Cordes was the oldest inn in town. Most of the visitors passing through town stayed out near the interstate. There were three motels just off the highway, and all three came with more up-to-date accommodations.
There was nothing wrong with Hotel Cordes. It was clean and well-kept, and Wilbur Hopkins had been a clerk at the establishment for a good twenty years. Hopkins received his check on the first of every month, and the check came from Johnson Properties, so he was well aware he worked for Stoney Johnson.
Hopkins watched the man push the elevator button, lean on his cane, and wait for the door to open.
“It takes a little time, but it’ll be down soon,” said the clerk as he motioned upward with his pen in his right hand.
The elevator opened, and the new passenger entered, allowing the door to close. Hopkins shook his head and said, “See, I told you so.” The hotel clerk looked down at his ledger and muttered, “That man looks familiar.”
Herman Smith surveyed his new room. A queen-sized bed, a television, a circular table with two chairs, a bathroom with a shower, and a dresser. That about covered it, he thought. He opened the curtain and the sliding glass door, which led to a small patio complete with a wrought-iron table and two chairs.
He sat down for a moment and took in the view of the town of Cordes Junction. Off in the distance, he could see the cemetery, Maggie’s final resting place. A tear rolled down his face. He uttered in a low voice, “I’m so sorry, Maggie.”
Herman had parked on a ridge near the cemetery and witnessed Maggie’s funeral. He had wanted to walk down there, pull Bucket aside, and tell him how sorry he was about the loss of his mother.
He wanted to release all the guilt he was feeling and fill in the blanks for the young man who was not only grieving over the loss of Maggie but was in agony with more questions than answers.
Herman was on the run. When wasn’t he? He couldn’t make himself leave town. He had stayed up all night. He drove and drove. Finally, he pulled off to the side of the road. When was this going to stop? When the sun came up, he stopped at an all-night diner in Mayer, ate breakfast, left the eatery, and got in his car.
He turned on the ignition and pulled up to the highway. If he turned left, he could head to Las Vegas and then maybe on to Oregon or Washington. It didn’t matter. He could turn right head to Cordes Junction and ease the pain of a young man whose life was in shambles.
Herman turned right and, thirty minutes later, checked into Hotel Cordes, unsure, afraid...and with no idea of what to do next.
Herman plopped down on the bed. He was tired. He was always tired... tired of running, tired of living a lie, tired of looking over his shoulder. He fell asleep, and the nightmare began again.
How would he explain to the young man where it all went wrong? Leaving Maggie was the worst decision he ever made. The poker tables led to his destruction. Oh, for a while, he lived the high life with a winning streak that would carry him from the backroom tables in the bars along Whiskey Row in Prescott to the seedy tables in LA and finally to Las Vegas and the big-time, where thousands could be won or lost in just one hand.
He made a name for himself in Las Vegas. He was so skilled in his profession that sponsors came calling. Sponsors who would stake him — give him all the money he would need to keep in the GAME. The kicker: Herman would pay the donors back and then some.
The sponsors were members of a Mafia organization that ran the streets of Las Vegas. If you tried to pull a fast one on them, you were history. Herman crossed them once, and that was enough to send him into a tailspin and a life on the run.
And if things weren’t bad enough. He wasn’t alone. He had befriended a female dealer by day and a card shark by night. Together, they worked for the organization.
The two fell in love. They were indeed two peas in a pod. Flame Flattery was a beautiful redhead, and if you were unlucky enough to be playing at her table, chances are you were watching her and not the cards in your hand.
The decision to take their money and run was Flame’s idea. There certainly was enough to start a new life in another city, another state...another casino somewhere far away from Las Vegas. So, Herman went along with the idea, and they made their getaway, heading for the Coast of California.
A year went by without a hitch. He got a job selling cars in downtown LA. The money wasn’t coming in fast enough, and Flame was pregnant. So, he found himself in a couple of easy-to-get-into games against some novice players on the south side of LA.
He got on a winning streak. Things were looking up, and Flame gave birth on a beautiful spring day in mid-April to an eight-pound, 10-ounce boy.
Two months later, the couple’s past caught up with them.
Herman saw the doorknob turn, and the next forty seconds flashed by quickly. Still, to this day, those seconds are so embedded in his mind.
.
Herman reached for his revolver, but the taller of the two men got off a shot, and the bullet hit Flame just below her right ear. Blood spattered on the apartment wall as Herman rolled off the bed and fired two shots — one hit the tall man right between the eyes, and the other caught the smaller figure square in the chest.
Herman heard his son's cry. He rushed into the baby’s bedroom, picked up the child, and held him tightly. Flame was dead.
He glanced at the clock. It was midnight. The streets were clear.
He knelt beside Flame. “Oh, my God,” he cried out. He grabbed the car keys, covered the baby with a blanket, rushed down the stairs, got in his car, and he was gone.
*****
Hopkins sat in the back room, agonizing over where he had seen the gentleman in Room 203 before. Hopkins was a hotel clerk by day and a town historian by night. He collected just about every newspaper article concerning the town of Cordes Junction.
He figured that somewhere in those many albums of his would be a clue to just who the man in Room 203 was.
He was right.
After an hour of shuffling through page after page of articles, Hopkins came across a wedding photo and a caption that read: Herman Smith from Prescott and Maggie Haggerty, a resident of Cordes Junction, were married today at the Courthouse in front of the Honorable Judge Criner. Witnesses included Greta Criner, Joe Arano, and Mayor Walker.
“I knew it,” Hopkins said out loud. He reached for the phone, looked up the number, and dialed his boss, Stoney Johnson.
Herman had fought off another nightmare and somehow, with the help of a bottle of Jim Beam, fell back to sleep.
He was startled by a knock at the door. He looked out the sliding glass door. He must have slept all afternoon. He jumped up, reached for his revolver, and quickly made his way to the door.
“Who is it?” Herman shouted, clutching the gun high above his head.
“It’s Stoney Johnson. Please, Herman, let me in.”
“Stoney, what are you doing here?”
“I’m here to help you, Herman. I’m here to help you. Open the door.”
Herman reached for the lock, pushed it down, and Stoney entered the room.
“Why are you back here, Herman? You’ve picked a great day to make an entrance.”
“I can’t run anymore, Stoney. I need to set the record straight. Pay my respects to Maggie and ease the pain of a young man who must be going through hell.”
“My God! Bucket has enough on his mind today without you showing up.”
“Stoney, I have to come clean. My days are numbered. It’s time, Stoney, it’s time.”
“Grab your stuff. Let’s get you checked out of here and out to the ranch. Whatever you need to say to Bucket, you should say it now. I will set up the meeting.”
Chapter 5
Herman followed closely behind Stoney’s Cadillac. His eyes were fixated on the license plate ahead of him, which read: Stoney 1. Herman tried his best to stay within fifty feet of Stoney’s vehicle.
The two cars pulled off the interstate, rolled through the gate, and onto Stoney’s property. The license plate on Herman’s vehicle read AZ 649-43.
Stoney rushed Herman into the den.
Stoney was beside himself. Twenty-four hours ago, Bucket sat where Herman is sitting now.
“My God. You look like you need some food in that belly of yours. I’ll get Alexandra to make us some sandwiches. You sit tight. I’ll be right back.”
Herman looked around Stoney’s den. How can one man have so much and another so little? Choices, he thought. Stoney made all the right moves and took all the right turns on the road to a happy life.
Herman knew he had made the wrong turns...over and over again. He had followed a crooked road, and it had led to nothing but destruction. His lies were going to end soon, and the sooner, the better. The clock was ticking. He could feel it. All the agony for everyone would soon come to an end.
Stoney returned to the den, along with Alexandra, and enough food to fill a whole bunkhouse full of Stoney’s cowhands.
Herman was hungry, but he would need more than a couple of sandwiches and a shot or two of Stoney’s whiskey to give him the strength needed to come clean to his son.
“Stoney, I’ve been on the run so long. I don’t know where to begin,” Herman said as he looked into the face of the only man he knew who could guide him through this and help him find a way to ease the pain of his son.
“Her name was Flame. We met in Las Vegas. We both had found our way into the sleazy underworld of The Strip…”
Stoney listened.
Earlier in the day, he had convinced Bucket that Maggie wasn't his mother. He had shattered the life of the young man who had been bombarded with the shock of his life when he learned the woman he had just buried wasn’t his mother...and that his father wasn’t his father.
Stoney reached for the phone. Herman sat quietly with his head lowered. He felt like he had just lifted a 200-pound barbell off his shoulder. He listened to Stoney’s conversation.
“Joe, I need you to find Bucket and Julia and get them back out to the ranch.”
“Done!”
Joe had last seen Bucket and Julia at the hospital emergency room and had assured them that Bucket would at least have the burn on his hand examined.
The couple then returned to Cherry Farms to get some rest. Bucket was drained physically and mentally. Julia was worried about him and persuaded him to close his eyes and get some sleep.
She made him some tea, sat with him on the sofa, and then finally led him to the bed in Maggie’s room.
Julia closed the door, curled up on the sofa in the living room, and fell asleep.
Suddenly, she awoke and saw a flashing red light pulsating through the living room window.
Startled, she jumped up and opened the screen door. It was Sheriff Arona.
“Joe, what are you doing back out here?”
“It’s Stoney. He wants you and Bucket to return to the ranch. It’s important.”
“Why? Bucket just fell asleep, and I’d like to keep it that way. He’s exhausted.”
“Julia! Herman Smith is out at the ranch.”
“Oh, no. I can’t believe this!”
Joe had persuaded the couple to go with him in his police car.
With lights flashing, Joe sped down I-17. Julia sat in the back seat, and Bucket sat in the front passenger seat, staring out the window.
Bucket grumbled, “Why is he here? Why now? I’m not sure I can even look at the man.”
Joe looked at the speedometer. He was hitting 85 miles an hour.
They reached the Johnson gate in no time at all — at least twenty minutes sooner than it would have taken in Bucket’s old pickup.
The squad car rolled over the cattle guard, and five minutes later, the ranch house was in sight.
A strange car was parked in front of the house. Bucket motioned to Julia. “The license plate on that car. It’s the same number on the piece of paper in the jewelry box.”
Julia looked at Bucket. “My God!”
Stoney met the three of them at the front door.
“Thanks, Joe. You did well. I’ll take it from here.”
Stoney put his right arm on Bucket’s shoulder. “Son, there’s more you need to hear. Inside are the answers to all your questions. I think you should go in there alone. You need to do this. I know you’re angry and have a right to be, but the man in there is lost, too, and needs to be found. I promise you, you’ll walk out of here free of it all.”
Bucket walked slowly into the den and sat down in the first chair he saw. He looked at the tall, gray-haired man, and as Stoney had put it, the man looked lost, tired, and beaten.
“Herman Smith?”
The man turned. Tears ran down his cheek.
“Bucket?”
Herman moved forward to the edge of his seat and looked directly at Bucket.
“I‘ve wrestled over and over in my head what to say to you, where to start, and I will have the guts to let it all out. I must begin when I first met Maggie. It was at a dance hall in Prescott…”
Bucket adhered to Stoney’s advice and sat there patiently with his eyes focused on the mouth of the man across from him.
Herman, who had earlier relived his past with Stoney, now needed to do it all over again — only this time, he was facing a young man just six feet away from him, and it wasn’t just any man. It was his son.
Herman left no stone unturned, from his gambling addiction to his inability to settle down to his Las Vegas underworld connections. He let Bucket know of the hook the Malfonso Family had on him and Flame. He spoke of the gun battle in LA and the murderous rampage of the two men who ended the life of Flame Rafferty.
And the baby, yes, the baby, and how they left LA and drove through Imperial Valley, on to Yuma, and Wickenburg. Then, to a hardware store just outside of Prescott, which sold oversized steel buckets.
And finally, to Cordes Junction and the dirt road leading to Maggie’s house.
“It had to be done. I knew you’d be safe in the hands of the most loving person I knew...Maggie Smith.”
“Bucket, the baby was you, and you ARE my son...”
Bucket lowered his head and sobbed. “I don’t think I can cry anymore.”
Stoney sat on the porch with Julia, Alexandra, the girls, and Sheriff Arona. He looked west toward the darkness. He heard the rider. He couldn’t see him at first, but he heard the sound of the galloping Palomino, ridden by his foreman Dusty Rhoades.
The Palomino and its rider entered the compound and raced past the corral. Dusty was out of the saddle just a split second after in the reins.
“Stoney, there are three vehicles parked down the road. It looks like about six of them, and they all have rifles in their hands.”
Stoney noticed Bucket and Herman in the doorway, both with concerned looks on their faces. He looked at Herman and questioned him, “Are you sure this is over just money?”
“A lot of money. Close to a million,” Herman said. “But there’s more. One of the men at the apartment was Alfonso's brother.
“My God!” Stoney yelled
.
Stoney looked around. There wasn’t much time, but maybe just enough time.
.
“Dusty, get all the men together. Could you make sure they’re armed? He threw a set of keys to his foreman. “There are enough rifles in the glass case in the main guesthouse. Get ‘em."
"Bucket...Herman, here are the keys to the basement. Through the first door by the kitchen, there are a couple of repeaters and a shotgun down there...and plenty of ammo.”
“Damn, Stoney. Have you been expecting a war around here?” yelled Bucket.
“No, not really, most of them are collector’s items...most of them have never been fired, but there’s always a first time!”
“Herman, you get all the women down to the basement and lock them in, and get your butt back up here. Your Mafia war ends tonight!”
“Joe, pull your squad car inside the barn and prepare yourself.”
Stoney positioned his men.
Fully armed, Herman and Bucket headed for the barn and found their way to the loft. Stoney and Dusty headed for the roof.
"There is plenty of cover there.
Stoney was angry. This was not his fight, but this was his ranch, and he wasn’t about to let some casino pinheads from Las Vegas come in and destroy what had taken him years to build.
It got deadly quiet.
Alfonso’s men would come right down the dirt road. Stoney figured they weren’t smart enough to go at them from another direction. There was one way in for them and one way out...in a coffin.
Bucket moved a couple of bales of hay for additional cover. It wasn’t a foxhole, but it was close to one, and soon they would come at them; only there wouldn’t be as many as Joey Henderson and his platoon had faced just twelve months ago in Vietnam.
Herman sat back on a wooden slab near the window of the barn, put his newly acquired rifle on his shoulder, and looked at his son. “I’m so sorry, Bucket. I know I have no right to call you son, so I will call you Bucket.”
“Yeah, it is probably better if you did,” said Bucket, who, at the moment, was more worried about staying alive.
“When I saw Maggie’s obituary in the Prescott paper, I think I knew what I had to do, but if it wasn’t for Stoney, I don’t think I could have pulled it off.”
“I was laid up at the Hotel Cordes overnight. The hotel clerk must have recognized me and called Stoney. I wanted to come clean, go to Maggie’s gravesite, and come clean with you. I needed help. I guess I’ve always needed help, but it had always been easier to run.”
Bucket squirmed, repositioned his body, and looked down the dirt road. Nothing. No car lights, no men with rifles in their hands...nothing but darkness.
“You’ve had it rough, Herman. I guess I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes,” Bucket said.
“Yes, it hasn’t been easy for you, either. I was always on the run, but I’d pop into Prescott now and then, drive over, and check up on you. I even saw three, maybe four, basketball games. You were something else.”
“You saw me play?”
“You bet I did. You played great, and when you left for boot camp, I was there at Sky Harbor, too, hiding... watching you board your flight.”
“I can’t believe all this,” said a shocked Bucket. “All these years, living a lie.”
“Until now, Bucket. “Until now.”
“When this is over, and it’ll be over soon, I promise you. Go to the basement and grab a hold of your gal. Hold her tight and build a life together. You’ve had enough misery for a lifetime, Bucket. Enough is enough.”
Bucket looked at the man across from him, and he just had to ask, “What was my mother like?”
“I don’t think we have enough time for me to tell you about Flame. Yes, she was a card shark, tough as nails, hell-bent on following the same path I was on. She loved you, even though she held you in her arms for just two months. She lived a life with the hand that was dealt her. In many ways, she handled it better than I did. You have her eyes, her guts, but you have Maggie’s upbringing, and that’s what made you what you are today.”
“And what is that?” Bucket questioned.
“A fine man, a leader. A human being who will go on and make something worthwhile out of your life.
I wish I had something to do with that. I had nothing to do with it, but I’m here now, and I’ll do my best to keep you alive. I can shoot. I’ve had plenty of time to practice.”
“So can I. So can I,” said Bucket, as he checked his ammo and took another look down the road.
“Then, I guess those guys out there are in trouble,” said Herman, releasing his first smile in a long time.
Alexandra looked at a worried Julia and the two girls. “We’re going to be all right. Stoney will get us out of this. When you hear five raps at the door, followed closely by another five, it’ll be your Dad. It’ll be Stoney. I promise you.”
Julia wondered how Bucket was holding on. He had been through so much, and now he must deal with a group of thugs from Las Vegas trying to shoot up a ranch and everybody in it.
She knew Bucket would save them. He was the most equipped to do so. A war hero who had plenty of shooting medals in his duffel bag to prove it. A duffel bag that was still unpacked was lying in the doorway at the Cherry Farms house. Oh, she thought, so much has happened in the past few days. It seemed like a lifetime had passed by her.
Stoney was the first to see them. He motioned to Dusty. He took out his flashlight and signaled his men on the ridge and the three men in the barn.
The Alfonso gang left their cars behind. They were all dressed in black and acted as if they were out for a late-night stroll.
As they entered the compound, they scattered. The first shot came from the man on the right, and the bullet sizzled by Bucket’s right ear.
“Here they come!”
Fire rang out from the ridge north of the corral. The six men fled for cover. Stoney let loose from his spot on the roof and caught one man just above his left knee.
“I’m hit,” the man yelled out.
“Stay down,” another man said. “They’ve got men on the ridge... some in the barn and some on the roof of the main house. This isn’t going to be a walk in the park!”
Bucket thought he saw movement on the south side of the corral.
He looked again, and sure enough, he found his target. He slowly pulled the trigger and waited. The bullet found its mark and exploded into the dark figure in the corral. The man grabbed at the fence post but fell to the ground.
“Jesus!” another man yelled out. “They got Kelco. He’s gone!”
Another round of fire rang out. A cowhand on the ridge was hit. The five men who were left fired at will toward the roof of the ranch house. Stoney fired back but took a bullet in the shoulder. Dusty grabbed him, and both men crawled to the north side of the roof.
“A cowhand has been hit, and I think Stoney has taken some lead in his shoulder,” Bucket shouted.
Two men charged the ranch house, but Herman fired three shots, and the last bullet caught the man in his right thigh. The other man tried to reach the porch, but Bucket dropped him with one shot as he fell back and bounced off Stoney’s Jeep, falling face down to the ground.
Another man had reached the entrance to the barn and tried to unlock the latch. He was greeted by Joe’s squad car. The vehicle, with the red light blazing, barreled through the barn door and took out the intruder.
“Sorry about that,” Joe said as he turned the man over and felt his pulse. “He’s done.”
“There’s just two left,” Bucket yelled out as he glanced over to Herman.
Herman was gone.
Herman jumped over the squad car, passed by Joe, and headed for the corral, yelling at the top of his lungs, “Come and get me!”
Bucket realized his father was calling them out. He grabbed onto the rope, slid down, and hit the ground running.
The two Mafia men fired in unison and unleashed a volley of bullets into the chest of Herman Smith. Herman went to his knees. He looked back, searching for one last look at Bucket. His rifle slipped from his grasp, and he fell to the ground.
Stoney fired from the rooftop and took out the man on the right.
Bucket kept walking straight toward the last black-suited man standing and fired six shots into his chest. The man pulled the trigger four more times, but every shot went skyward. The man staggered, took two more steps, and landed on top of Herman's body.
Bucket rushed to Herman’s side, grabbed hold of the man, and tossed him aside. He was still breathing. Bucket looked into the eyes of the Mafia hitman, who was searching desperately for his final breath…his dying words, “I got my man.”
Bucket held the man close, looked into his eyes one more time, shook him, and then pushed him back to the ground.
Bucket reached for his father. Herman held out his hand and looked into his son's eyes. “Enough is enough, Bucket... it is time to go."
“You can call me son, Herman. You can call me, son!” Herman smiled and closed his eyes.
Bucket held his father close as two helicopters hovered overhead.
A row of police cars with lights flashing rambled over the cattle guard, sped down the road, and entered the compound. The officers brought the vehicles to a stop, got out of their cars, and, with guns drawn, eyed the scene in front of them. The gun battle was over. It looked like something you would see in the final frame of a Western movie. Only this was Stoney Johnson’s ranch, not a movie set.
Alexandra, Julia, and the girls listened. First, it was five knocks and then five more. They opened the door, and the Johnson girls fell into the arms of a wounded Stoney, his left shoulder covered in blood.
Julia rushed up the stairs, out the front door, and into the arms of Bucket.
“It’s over, Julia. “It’s over.”
Bucket looked up at the sky. He then looked north toward the town of Cordes Junction. In his mind, he could see the cemetery at the top of the hill, which overlooked the normal, peaceful town he grew up in.
He remembered the beautiful flowers he had placed in front of Maggie’s gravesite just days ago.
Bucket lifted his right hand toward the sky, “Rest in peace, Maggie. Rest in peace.”
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