Casualties (17 page)

Ruth flew toward the desert in the far left lane. Other drivers, in no particular hurry now that it was past rush hour on a weekday, pulled their cars out of her path with the blare of a horn. She drew up behind a gray tractor-trailer and found herself staring at the face of a giant cartoon pig. When she pulled out to pass, she saw along the truck's side a mural of four pink pigs in running shorts under the words
Pork Run Express, Speediest Swine in the East, West, North, and South
.

Looks like the driver needs to do some laps herself.

Robbie, at twelve, would have said it just like that. Then he would have hooted at his own joke. She could hear him as if he were right there in the passenger seat. Ruth's foot came off the gas and for a moment she and the woman in the truck's cab looked straight at one another. The woman frowned over a pair of sunglasses too small for the cheeks beneath them, then gave Ruth the finger.

Ruth hit the gas harder. She was heading toward places she'd never been: Victorville, Barstow, Baker. Soon, she'd be passing the
turnoff to Death Valley. She'd never taken him there after all. There was never the right time.

when its your time its ur time don't have to look for it u can get blown up in your cot or just sitting on the can.
The fragment from Robbie's journal surfaced, jagged and sudden. More tried to follow. Ruth pushed the pedal down. She raced past hundreds of stolid brown houses planted in concentric circles around strip malls and industrial parks. She bored through the haze that settled over all of them in thick drifts, trapped by the San Bernardino mountains.

She raced into the openness of the desert.

—

Lenny's ancient Ford 150 pulled up next to the giant turquoise buffalo in the parking lot of the casino.

“Here we are, Casey. Good luck, now.”

“I don't need luck, Lenny. I need money.” Casey knew it was a lost cause. He'd been working on Lenny all the way from the trailer park. Twenty miles and not a dime to show for it. He pushed open the passenger door and held on to it until he was standing on the pavement, steady on both feet.

“Like I said, Case. Good luck.” The old man grinned. Then his eyes widened. “Watch out!”

The roar of a car engine almost drowned out Lenny's warning. Casey turned in time to see a dark blur heading for him. He tried to climb back into the truck, but he was too slow. The car clipped the rear of the truck's bed. He lost his balance and tumbled to the pavement. Brakes screeched and grit strafed his face and neck.

“You okay?” Lenny's voice boomed like a foghorn in the distance. When his face came into view, Casey saw the whites of his eyes behind his glasses.

“Think so.”

Casey was sprawled on his side. The pavement scorched his
cheek; grit scraped his eyelids when he blinked. His stump bounced like a ball coming to rest; he knew the pin sticking from the end of the silicone sleeve was waving like a fucking antenna. Shit, not again.

“Where's my leg?” He twisted toward his stump, cursing the stupid pin release. He must have landed right on it. At least he was already on the ground. Lately all he had to do was bump it and the prosthesis would drop away, usually taking him with it.

“Oh, God. Are you all right?”

“If he is, it'll be no thanks to you,” Lenny growled.

Casey craned his neck backward to see who Lenny was talking to. A thin woman in a black skirt, dark glasses hiding half her face. She was shaking like it was thirty below zero, even though she was wearing a denim jacket and it had to be breaking a hundred degrees.

“Jesus Christ.” Lenny started for the casino.

“Where are you going? You can't leave.” The woman grabbed Lenny's arm.

“Let me go, lady. I'm gettin' some help and right after that I'm callin' the cops.”

That was when Casey saw the car. A Jaguar XK8, crouching like the big cat it was named for, not thirty feet away. A little dusty and bruised after hitting Lenny's truck, but it still purred money.

“Hang on, Len. Hang on. Let's not make a federal case out of this. I think I can move a little. Help me up.”

The woman looked wired, everything tight and shaking at the same time. He had to calm her down, bring her in.

“Don't try to move, Case,” Lenny said. “What if something's broken?”

“Maybe if the lady gives you a hand, you can get me up and we can see what's what.” Casey leaned up on one elbow. “Can you get my sunglasses over there, ma'am?”

She twisted her head from right to left.

“Right there,” Casey said, pointing to a spot by his knee.

She edged past him, her calves at eye level. No stockings. No
tan. Slim and strong. She worked out, he bet. Probably had her own very expensive personal trainer.

“Thanks. Now if you get on one side and Lenny takes the other . . .”

Lenny's mouth pursed like he was sucking on a particularly tart lemon. But the old man did what he was told. Casey reached his free arm toward the woman. She hesitated, then walked over to his right side and crouched down.

“That's it,” Casey said. He pulled himself up while they steadied him. When he was leaning against the passenger seat of Lenny's truck, he saw the woman wipe her hand on her skirt. Good, he was bleeding. That would make it easier.

“Your arm's all scraped up,” Lenny said.

“I see that, Len. Looks like your truck got a little scraped up, too.”

He glanced at Lenny and then the truck bed and bumper, which crumpled a little more than usual and bore a fresh scrape in what was left of the paint. Lenny followed his glance and frowned.

“And now, ma'am, my leg. If you don't mind.” Casey gestured toward the limb lying on the pavement. She stared at the short metal rod with the socket on one end and a battered black sneaker on the other. “Don't worry, it doesn't bite.”

She bent down and picked up the faker in both hands, nearly dropping it when she touched the metal.

“Hot already, huh? Sun works fast out here.” He worked hard to keep his voice light, conversational. He needed her guilty, not afraid. He needed her to calm down.

She brought him the faker, holding it by the socket. Her hands shook.

Casey made a show of examining it, checking the socket, looking for something he could hang his demands on. Then Lenny jumped in.

“What are you going to do about this?” Lenny wheeled around and gestured toward his truck's fender. Casey wondered just which of the dents his friend had picked out to show the woman.

“I'm . . . I'm sorry.”

“Sorry isn't going to fix it, is it?” The old guy sure didn't sound like any kind of smooth DJ now, did he? Old man cranky was all Casey heard.

“I'll pay for it,” the woman said.

Now we're talking
, Casey thought. He continued to run his hands over the metal bar and peer into the hollowed plastic that cupped his stump. He'd have to clean out the grit, but if he squinted hard, he could see a scratch that was not there before.

“You'll need my insurance information. It's in my purse.” She turned toward the Jaguar.

“I don't want to wait around for some insurance company,” Lenny said.

The woman stopped and looked at them through those huge sunglasses. She seemed to focus somewhere beyond Casey's shoulder and, unaccountably, shivered.

Casey spoke up. “I figure it'll take a couple thousand to fix, don't you, Len? They'll have to put a new one on and paint it too.” He knew the old man couldn't get $2,000 for the entire truck.

Lenny tugged his ear. “That'd about do it, I guess.” His eyes flicked from Casey to the woman.

“And then there's this leg, not to mention the medical care I'm going to need, x-rays and that.” He made a show of examining the socket and then sat back and began to roll up his pant leg until the silicone liner and the pin were clear. He felt the woman's stare but when he looked up, she glanced away. He grabbed the end of his shirt and started to wipe out the inside of the socket.

They were almost there. Casey wished he could see her eyes. They would tell him how close he was. Beads of sweat lined her upper lip. For someone with a lot of money, she looked like shit. Why was she wearing that jacket in this heat? Maybe she was covering track marks. Or bruises. Shit, he hated bullies.

He had to get a grip. She wasn't his problem. The rent would
come due again in just a few days. He had to eat. And there was Emily to consider. He positioned the socket over his stump and stood up, pushing until he heard the pin click. He took a couple of steps. “That noise wasn't there before,” he said. This time he wasn't lying.

“I don't have much cash with me,” she said.

“Look, it's hot out here. Why don't we all go inside, talk it over?”

She hesitated, straightened her shoulders a bit, getting a handle on herself, he thought. Not a good thing.

“I'll get my purse,” she said. She turned her back on him and started walking to the car.

“Lenny'll get that for you.” Casey started to motion to Lenny, but the old man was way ahead of him. He darted after the woman with more speed than Casey thought he was capable of.

She half turned back to Casey. “He doesn't need to—”

Lenny brushed past her, jerked open the door, and grabbed the keys out of the ignition. He dangled them for Casey to see. Then he shoved them into his pocket and reached back into the car. “This your purse?”

“Yes.” She held out her hand for it but Lenny shouldered it, an ugly brown thing shaped like a sling.

“I'll carry it for you, lady. Let's all just head on in to where it's a little cooler and get this settled.”

—

Ruth watched the men move off. One more inch in the wrong direction and she could have killed one of them, or both. The force of the near miss sent a shudder through her.

She should follow them, she knew that. A hot gust lifted the hairs on the back of her neck. The asphalt scorched her soles through her thin sandals.

How had she gotten here? The gas pumps. That was it. She'd pulled off for gas, but something had distracted her.

Behind her came a roar, then the clatter of metal. She whipped
around as screams shot through the noise. She remembered now. A roller coaster had burst out of the roof of the casino just as she'd passed. She'd thought she was hallucinating, but it was real. She'd driven through miles of nothing to a huge pink casino with a roller coaster. There'd been a giant sign near the highway with the words
Blue Bison Hotel and Casino
surrounding the head of a turquoise buffalo like a crown. If this had been here when she and Robbie drove through nearly a decade ago, she didn't remember. Since then, she'd always flown to Vegas and never looked down.

She watched the men disappear through the doors under a pink arch. She should go on alert, track down whoever was in authority and report the men. She should call her insurance company. All the “shoulds” pounded against the wall of fatigue that grew thicker with every passing minute. Soon all the decisions she'd left behind would catch up and pound her too.

Ruth knew there had been a time in her life when this would be laughable, a story to tell Neal or Terri over a drink, a story that would end with her winning, and the two men nursing their wounds, maybe in a police station. Now, though, she just wanted them to go away as fast as possible. The roller coaster roared once again. As the hideous thing snaked back into the building, Ruth began to walk toward the casino.

—

Over here, Miss Nolan,” Casey said, loud enough to get to her through the sirens, dings, buzzes, bells, and whistles of the gaming machines lined up like infantry across the casino floor behind them.

He shoved her license back in her wallet—no cash at all, not a single bill, incredible—and limped toward her. He picked up a sharp smell beneath the perfume or soap or whatever it was she used on her body. Nervous sweat. What was he dealing with here? Maybe he was wrong about her. Shit, maybe she'd stolen the damn car. Maybe she
was as broke as he was. Maybe he should just walk away from this whole enterprise. Fuck it. Might as well play it through. “Let's go into the bar. You can buy us a drink while we settle up.” She nodded. He guided her between two banks of machines to an alcove lined with big wooden booths. They found a booth and sat down. She said nothing as Casey ordered himself and Len each a beer.

“What about you? You must be thirsty standing out there the way you did. You like margaritas?”

“I don't care.”

He could not read her eyes; she still had the stupid glasses on. He ordered her a margarita on the rocks. Then he took the purse from Lenny and plopped it on the table.

“Okay. Let's talk.”

“You can have anything you want.”

Casey felt his jaw go slack. Beside him, Lenny let out a long, low whistle.

No longer sure who was leading the negotiations, Casey settled for stating a fact. “That's fine, but you don't seem to have much cash in there. You'll have to get us some.”