Written by Gene Cashman III

John Gilby nearly jerked the screen door off its hinges when he burst through and into the dimly lit establishment known affectionately as the Crow Bar. No one much looked up, much to John's dismay. "Hey fellas" he bellowed "listen to this horse sh..." but before he could finish a man barked at him "shut that danged door you're letting the ambience out." The bar erupted in laughter. John fumed. "Aw, you drunks don't got any sense left. I don't know why I even come round this dump." The same voice roared "cause you're a drunk too!" John sat quickly on an empty bar stool and anxiously rapped his knuckles on the worn wood surface "shot please" he bellowed out. The man behind bar nodded. John downed the drink and winced. "Goshdangit you idiot! You trying to kill me?" The barkeep kept cleaning a glass. "You hear me?" John hollered. The barkeep never looked up only stated "you never specified what you wanted a shot of." John pounded his fist on the bar "make it a beer then, smart guy."

The man next to John moved his stool a few feet closer. "I recon you've just been to meet with Mr. Habersham." John grunted. "Negotiating with him is like trying to grasp vapor. He creeps up on you like carbon monoxide, unassuming and grandfatherly. Next thing you know the boa is around your neck. Lights out, well, it's just lights out. Most impressive thing I ever got clipped by." John grunted and took a deep slug off his beer. "You know where he lives?" The man laughed a guttural laugh "what cha going to do, kidnap him?" John turned and stared a hole through the man's eyes. "Sumpin like that."

John Gilby was known in larger circles and with local bail bondsmen as "the baron" but his inner circle just called him John-boy. John had come back to Beaufort County for anonymity amongst old Marine buddies and what family he had left. He had a large gambling debt and owed many a bad man money up and down the Atlantic coast.

Easy money comes and goes, but for John he was on an extended dry spell. Most men like John disappear. Only a crazy few press on and despair usually follows them close behind. There is always the "man" keeping the books. Your best friend will turn on you when the bookkeeper comes around. The man and the bookkeeper in John's case was a Mr. Habersham. There had been an accidental meeting while John was doing a legit job in Beaufort. John was exposed and was now faced with a crucial decision. Cut bait and run or try to take a risky stand. He wanted to run because he knew no one much worried when a drifter disappeared. Yet, things had changed for him, emotions long thought dead stirred. John decided to use his few connections as leverage.

Big Jim cut the lights as the old Ford left the pavement and hit gravel and crushed oyster shell. The truck came to an abrupt stop at the water's edge. Two men tumbled out of the bed while two more fell out of the cab. Nick and Pappy just wanted to go fishing, Big Jim just wanted to get drunk and Nate, well he was just looking for trouble. The four men ambled up to the small dock and took stock of their situation. "Mighty fine night for a swim" Jim said through puffs on his Marlboro Red. "Sho'nuff is" replied Nate as he stripped his shirt mid-air to the water just a few feet below. Nate crashed the mid-night silence with a tremendous splash. The three men on the dock rolled with laughter at the sight of Nate's fleshy body struggling in knee deep water. "You sho is the fool Mr. Nate, sho is the fool." Pappy bellowed. Nate, too fortified with wine to appreciate the spectacle hammed it up by splashing about in the water as if drowning sending his companions into further fits of laughter. "What's next Nate?" the trio asked "water dancing?" "Well, that old bateau got any oars? I sure would like to see them stars out in the middle of the riva." Big Jim rolled his eyes teasing "Oh, you asking for trouble Nate, you know the folk round here don't take well to no joy-riders, even if it an old, rotten bateau." This was not an unusual Saturday night for the quartet, especially since Pappy's release from county jail. It usually began in some shack between Bluffton and Hardeeville and worked its way to the river sometime before dawn. Nick grabbed himself a nice bouquet of magnolia flowers and began to serenade his companions resulting in further laughs and snorts. Nate clawed his way back up onto the dock and set the agenda for the remainder of the evening. That's when John stepped from the shadows. "You're late."

"Ain't seen you in a while John-boy," Big Jim said in his big voice as he ran his thumbs up and down his coverall straps. "I wasn't expectin to get no calls from ya either." John stood rigidly as Pappy, Nate and Nick crowded nervously around him. "Who is this joker" Pappy blurted out; his long index finger planted firmly in John's sternum. John resisted the urge to slap his finger away. He knew these men were rough and he had no shot in a fight. Big Jim chuckled, "we go back aways, worked the Savannah riva together, then both did a stretch in BCDC." Pappy retracted his finger. "What you want?" Big Jim pulled a zip-lock bag from his pocket. "This has all you need." There was a silent pause. "This don't work and you go back to lock-up and lose it all. I'll deny it all too." John nodded and disappeared back into the shadows.

John drove with the windows down. It had been hard to catch his breath after running through the woods. The smell of the night, the pine filled the cab of his truck and calmed him down. I am a lucky man, he thought. He wasn't of course-but he could have been. In this moment and on this night he was focused on making sure he righted a few wrongs. He knew he'd pass the Crow Bar on his way to Habersham's. He began to doubt his plan, to think he needed to stop in for some liquid courage. As he pictured his friends on their bar stools, he felt more trapped then ever. He pushed the gas pedal until his wolverine boot met the floor board of his truck. John was all in. He didn't even notice when he passed the neon lights of the Crow.

The truck seemed to make an inordinate amount of noise on the pebble drive. It made John nervous. He turned the wheel sharply and hit the brakes. The abrupt stop caused the zip lock bag to slide from the bench seat onto the floor. John quickly reached for the package failing to put the truck in park. As a result his old chevy rolled into a thicket of wild bush and came to an abrupt and jarring halt. "Daggummit" he cursed. He secured the package and cursed some more. When recovered and calm he pulled a folded and faded 8x10 photo from his jacket. A remorseful sigh left his lips. He quickly light a cigarette and stared at the image for a few minutes. It was quite and he listened to the tobacco burn when puffed. The lines to Springsteen's song Straight Time overwhelmed his thoughts and urged him on. He pressed the light on his cell phone and tossed it back on the seat. The truck door slammed loudly but John had already disappeared into the night.

Habersham was alone in his big house sitting at a simple farm table. His wife and children away visiting family in Florence. Habersham's fat fingers worked a rotisserie chicken like a dealer works a deck of cards. A lone free hanging bulb illuminated a narrow portion of the kitchen. It's decorative shade broken the week before by his son's errant toss of a ball in the house. He never heard the latch on the back door open. Habersham belched as the warm co-cola he was drinking got the best of him. A floor board creaked and John Gilby emerged from the darkness. Habersham reached for his gun but John knocked it to the floor. "What you up to boy" he snarled. John stared. Habersham moved to stand up. "Uh Uh" John said as he put a hand on the man's shoulder. "In due time sir."

John dropped the plastic bad on the table in front of Habersham. Neither man spoke. Habersham studied it for a long time before pulling its contents out and spreading them on the table. "My gosh" he uttered from ashen lips. John didn't drop his guard. "I want to disappear and I don't want no more trouble for my girl." The words hung in the air. "I can't guarantee" but before Habersham could finish John tossed another paper onto the table. Habersham went a whiter shade of pale. "You got it, my word, never again. You've disappeared." John picked up the contents from the bag and the paper he threw down. "Not another assault on me, Big Jim or our families, ever." Habersham responded "get gone; it's over. Leave and never come back." John once again disappeared into the night. He heard sirens wailing in the distance. He wandered if Habersham heard them too.

John pulled his truck up to the Crow Bar. He was there to say goodbye. He opened the screened door to a familiar sight and sound. Looking for Love crackled from busted out speakers. He gave the place a once over and turned to leave when the bar tender asked him if he wanted a beer. John walked over and threw a hundred dollar bill on the bar. The bar tender looked him in the eye for the first time ever. John smiled "be seeing you turkey's." He turned and walked out the door. His tab finally settled.

His next stop was a dark trailer off I-95. He pulled in the drive and lit another cigarette. The stared and the same old picture wiping tears from his eyes. He couldn't go in, but in his heart he knew what he'd done that night would take care of his little bumbly bee for life. In the coming months her grandmamma would be getting a few checks made out to her granddaughter with explicit instructions to invest the money in bumbly bee's name. Even though he couldn't see her, it gave him great satisfaction and peace. He put the truck in drive and drove towards the I-95 South ramp stopping in the parking lot of a large fireworks retailer. His whole life behind and suddenly before him he thought about a good night's sleep. Gravel kicked up as he put the pedal down towards Brunswick and ultimately Jacksonville and Miami beyond. A man freed between the lines.