Chasing AllieCat (7 page)

It was pretty dark by the time we pulled up to Scout’s Last Chance. Allie practically had steam blowing out her ears. The first thing I noticed was Thomas’s truck parked out front. Minus the cannon trailer. We hadn’t seen him since the uncles got out of jail.

“Look!” Allie pointed to the blue, flag-flying pickup, parked two trucks down from Thomas’s.

“Your uncle here?” she asked.

“Probably. He always is since he got out of the slammer.”

“We’re goin’ in,” she said.

She parked her bike against the wall of the bar and grill and marched up to the front door without even greeting Peapod. I quick parked my bike and followed. She yanked the wooden door open so hard it bounced off the outside wall.

Allie stood framed in the doorway, in her silver helmet, bug-like cycling glasses, and earrings, all her facial rings hanging out, with her fluorescent green jersey, black shorts, and lean tan legs so curved and muscled they could make most men swoon on the spot, with blood trickling down her cheek and her skinned leg. “Where
are
they, Scout?”

“Who?” Scout moved from behind the counter toward her. Thomas whirled around on his bar stool to face us.

Allie stepped inside and I followed. She whipped off her helmet and glasses and tossed them onto a pool table. She shook her white hair, ran one hand through it so it stood up, and scanned the room for the two rednecks. It was impossible to miss Allie’s entrance, but the two guys were sitting in a booth on the far wall, so they didn’t see who she was right away.

Allie spied them just as they realized who she was. One of them had the gall to lift a beer bottle in salute toward us. Allie said nothing. She snaked out her arm, snatched the cue ball off the pool table, and threw it so fast and hard I didn’t realize what had happened until there was a crash across the room dwarfed only by my memory of the cannon explosion.

“How’s that, you assholes?” she yelled, and charged them.

The white ball had lodged in the wood paneling inches in front of the pickup driver’s nose. It had hit the bill of his black Schlitz cap, knocked it off, and gone right into the wall and stayed.

“Ohmygosh,” I heard myself say.

Scout moved so fast two tables turned over. Ketchup bottles and napkin holders clanged to the floor and bounced. “Whoa, little lady.” Scout stepped in front of her and caught her by the shoulder. “Whoa.”

“Lady?” She shook him off.

He caught both shoulders and held on. “You just put a hole in my wall.”

“And they tried to kill us!”

Scout looked from Allie to me.

Allie struggled in Scout’s grip. “They drove off the road to try to hit us! We both hit the ditch or they’d have killed us.”

“What the hell? Watch it!” The driver, now hatless, his collar-length hair matted from his cap, tried not to look shaken. He took a swig of his beer. “Bikes. Shouldn’t be on the damn road at all.” He was skinny except for a beer belly. Allie had lots more muscle than he did. “Road’s for goddam
cars and trucks.
”

Allie pointed. “And
he
hit me with a beer bottle!”

“I wasn’t tryin’ to hit you,” the other guy said to Allie. He wore his hair in a long greasy ponytail under a Vikings cap. His pointy face, without much chin, reminded me of a reptile. “You just got in the way of my bottle.” Both men erupted in laughter, and clinked their bottles together in a drunken toast.

Scout looked over Allie’s shoulder at me, standing limp by the door. He saw grass stains and sweaty dirt, but no blood. “Sadie? You okay?”

I nodded.

Scout turned to face the two and drew himself to full height, still holding Allie’s arm. Thomas appeared behind Scout.

“Them bikes,” the ponytail reptile guy said, “they were hoggin’ the road and they wouldn’t move over.”

“That’s a bunch of crap! We have a legal right to be on the road!” Allie yelled. “And we were way over on the shoulder, and they left a big tire track
off the road
where they
tried
to hit me.”

Behind Scout, Thomas folded his arms over his ample stomach. I could see him flexing so his football-sized biceps stood out against the sides of his chest.

Scout moved toward the two men, who leaned away from him in the booth. “You two,” Scout said. “You’re outta here. NOW. You ever set foot in here again, you’re dead meat.”

“What about our food? We didn’t even get our burgers. And we’re not done with our beer. Besides, that little bitch almost hit me with a fuckin’ pool ball.”

“You weren’t listening, were you?” I’d never heard Scout sound so patient. Or so deadly. Like a rattlesnake ready to strike. “I said you’d be dead meat, and I meant dead. If I called the cops right now, they’d slap a $200 fine on you for littering. Just for starters. But cops don’t like coming to LeHillier, so I’d rather just kill you. Understand? So get out.”

He flipped his head in Allie’s direction. “She’ll eat your burger for you. I don’t want your stinkin’ money for the beer. Now get out. And if you try anything, you hurt my niece, your ass
will
be dead. Did I say
dead
again
?
I meant dead. And I have just the fillet knife to do it.”

They didn’t budge, but they were frowning, and now they looked scared.

“Come on,” the hatless, watery-blue-eyed driver said, getting up. “I think he means it.”

“You’re a tiny bit smarter than I thought,” Scout said. He finally let go of Allie, grabbed the reptile ponytail guy by the front of his shirt and lifted him out of the booth. The guy’s Vikings hat slid sideways. “Don’t come back,” Scout said.

The hatless driver lunged at Scout, ready to punch. Still holding the reptilian guy, Scout moved one foot so quickly, I only saw a blur. He tripped the hatless guy, who was so drunk he landed on the floor next to Thomas’s feet. “You forgot your hat,” Scout said. “Get it while you’re down there. Don’t leave it on my floor. I run a clean establishment.”

The guy looked up at both huge men. His eyes narrowed, like he’d spit at them if he had the nerve.

“Get under there, you wimp,” Thomas said, taking a step toward him. “Get your hat.”

The hatless driver reached around the bench seat for his Schlitz cap, smashed it onto his head, and stood up.

“Now, get out. Don’t
ever,
don’t
ever
come back.” Scout pointed to the door.

And they went.

Peapod, sprawled at his post outside the door, rose to his feet and growled so loudly the sound rumbled around the bar. The rest of the customers around the bar clapped.

We stood there, limp. Thomas wiped his face with his hanky. We could hear gravel spraying the side of the building as the truck took off.

Scout shook his head and pulled out a cigar.

Only then did I notice the kid sitting at the bar with a black shock of hair hanging over one eye. Now his mouth was hanging open. The kid from the gas pumps at the Blue Ox this morning.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Uncle Scout said. “Meet Joe.”

“Joe?” I swallowed hard.

In my filthy, grassy spandex, with my stinky, mucky, sweat-covered body, my bike helmet and filthy face, I stuck out my hand. “Hi. I’m Sadie.”

Twelve

Joe

June 14, continued

“Hi,” Joe said back to me, shaking my hand. My hand was covered in a thin film of dirt. He looked me up and down and grinned. “Sadie. Aunt Susan told me about you. But nothing this interesting.”

“Oh, great.” I said, feeling bright red under all the dirt. “This is Allie.”

“I figured,” he said, and shook her hand, too.

“Come over and look at this.” Thomas interrupted us from the rednecks’ vacated booth. “Holy smoke, girl, you have some arm.”

We all moved across the room to examine the ball lodged in the paneling. I was all too aware of Joe moving across the room right beside me.

“Holy crap,” Joe said.

Thomas reached out to touch Allie’s biceps in admiration.

She jerked her arm away, a reflex at his touch.

He dropped his hand. “Sorry.”

She shrugged. “Sorry about the wall, Scout. Want me to pay for it?”

Scout shook his head. “Are you kidding? I’m gonna leave it there. Forever. Now wash up and we’ll feed you.”

In the restroom, Allie and I scrubbed our faces, hands, and arms. She wiped down her skinned leg, then examined her cheek in the mirror. “Not too bad.”

“Want me to go find you a band-aid?”

“Naw.” She shook her head. “Battle scars are cool.” She grinned at me.

We slid onto bar stools, and my heart skittered when Joe moved his root beer over so he could take the bar stool next to mine.

Scout brought us the burgers, and a mountain of fries. I hadn’t enjoyed red meat much since I’d started working at the Blue Ox, but I was starving and this tasted like heaven. Allie chowed through hers, too.

Scout kept all of our mugs full of root beer. I was so hungry, I wasn’t even self-conscious eating in front of Joe.

Finally Joe broke the silence. “Sadie, I’d swear I’ve seen you before.”

I swallowed so much burger and bun, I coughed. Finally I choked out, “Yeah. At the Blue Ox.”

“Huh?”

“The truck stop. Where you got gas this morning.”

“Oh … ” He nodded, remembering. “That’s it. You were at the cash register.”

I nodded, still coughing and trying to swallow properly.

“You okay?” He grinned and patted me on the back. His touch was like electricity, and I felt my face go beet red.

“You brought a mountain bike.” I said. “You ride a lot?”

“Yeah,” he said. “And I hate redneck drivers, too. I’d rather be on trails where there aren’t cars. I couldn’t handle being a roadie. If somebody did that to me”—he nodded at us—“I’d want to kill ’em.”

“I do want to,” Allie said. “Didn’t you notice?” She popped three ketchup-soaked French fries into her mouth.

“I thought it looked like you wanted to miss, with that dead-eye aim,” Joe said.

“I
wanted
to kill ’em. I
tried
to knock his hat off,” she said with her mouth full of fries. “You race?”

“Yeah, a little,” Joe said. “Sport class.”

“There’re races here,” Allie said. “Great big local race on the Fourth of July. And there’s a NORBA race later in July. And a bunch in the Twin Cities.”

“NORBA? What’s that?” I asked.

“The National Off-Road Biking Association,” Joe answered.

“Fourth of July race is at Mount Kato—outside of Mankato, not too far from here,” Allie said. She looked at me. “Sadie’s doin’ it. Her first race ever.”

“That’s what
you
say,” I said. “I haven’t paid my entry fee or anything yet.”

“You’re doin’ it. You’ll be fine.” Allie leaned toward me and whispered, “Ridin’ through the chicken. Remember?”

I wondered how well Joe could ride, since he smoked and all. Instead of arguing more with Allie, I asked him, “What’s the ladder for? In your trunk.”

“I paint … houses, porches, rooms … anything. It’s been my summer job since last year, so I brought my stuff. Thought I’d get some work that way. Gotta make some money this summer.”

“Where are you from?” Allie asked.

“Phoenix.”

“Great mountain biking in Phoenix,” Allie said. “So why are you here?”

The fries sort of stuck in my throat.

Joe traced the sweat outline of his root-beer mug on the counter, slowly, around and around with an index finger. Any trace of what I thought was a swagger at the Blue Ox had wilted.

When the quiet got uncomfortable, Scout cleared his throat and said, “He just—”

Joe interrupted. “It’s okay, Scout. My parents wanted me to get away. In February my twin brother died. I don’t know if my parents wanted to get rid of me for the summer so I wouldn’t keep reminding them of him, or if they wanted me to go away and stop thinking about it. But—whatever—they sent me here. I agreed only if they’d let me drive up alone and bring my bike and my painting stuff.”

“Sorry,” Allie said. “What happened … I mean, to your brother?”

Now I wished I’d pumped Mom for more information. Aunt Susan had said it was a “horrible accident.” I imagined a flaming car and a kid trapped inside, a car smashed by a semi-truck. A kid on a bike smashed by a swerving pickup. Horrible accidents. A stray cannonball that blew up a parked motorcycle didn’t seem so bad.

“Hiking accident,” Joe said.

That didn’t explain much, but his answer closed the subject. I couldn’t quite imagine a horrible accident hiking. A bad fall? Cougar attack?

We chewed, swallowed. The place stayed quiet. I tried to study Joe’s face without looking directly at him. He’d seemed so cool and mature or something at the Blue Ox. Now I wondered if some of what I saw was just sadness.

“So,” Thomas said, forcing brightness into his voice. “On the Fourth of July, Scout and I will be doing a Civil War re-enactment in the parade, and we’ll shoot a Civil War Cannon during Rockin’ in the Quarry.”
Effective diversion
, I thought, and it was working. “You kids will have to come watch after your race.”

“They’re gonna let you shoot your cannon again?” I asked.

“The cannon, my dear,” Thomas said with a grand sweep of his hand, “has been relegated to ornamental uses, like parades and reenactments. I swore to Janie on the Bible. And to my lawyer, too. Only official capacities.”

Scout winked at me. “We might think of all sorts of official capacities.”

I couldn’t keep from laughing, then. “What’s
Rockin’ in the Quarry
?”

“The Mankato Symphony puts on a concert in a huge limestone quarry. They play the 1812 Overture and we fire the cannon at the appropriate time in the music.”

“Oh, great,” I said. “What can you blow up in there?”

Both big boys chuckled, shook their heads. Scout said, “That’s the point of having it in the quarry. Nothing. Besides, we shoot oatmeal cannonballs.”

“By the way,” I said, “speaking of that, why did Janie let you out of the house? I figured she hadn’t let you out of her sight since you got out of jail.”

Thomas grinned out of one side of his mouth and wiped his face with his hanky. “She’s gone. At her mom’s, overnight with the kids. Plus”—here he held up his mug—“only root beer to drink.” I knew Scout hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol all summer, either.

“What’s this about?” Joe asked. He winked at me. I could barely tear my eyes away from his face.

We told Joe the story of Memorial Day.

He laughed. “Holy crap. That’s not quite the way my mom heard it from Aunt Susan.”

“Be careful bringing it up around Aunt Susan,” I said. “It’s a very sore subject.”

Joe gave me a lopsided grin. “I s’pose. I think I won’t even mention it.”

“Good man.” Scout stood up. “Well, you kids should probably skedaddle. I have to coddle my other customers. This is a bar, after all. Miss Strong-Arm Allie, if you ever need refuge from another redneck storm, consider yourself welcome here. I’d be honored if you’d count me as your friend.”

Allie shook Uncle Scout’s and Uncle Thomas’s hands.