Authors: Reavis Z Wortham
Careful to watch the speed limits, Rocky steered through Barstow. Crow rode easily in the back, hands resting on his thighs. They ended up at the parking lot in front of the Skateland roller rink.
Only a few cars were scattered around and no one paid them any attention as Crow swung off the Hardtail and waited for James to pull up in his car. He was out in a split second. “What the hell went on in there? Did you find her? Who's this guy? Why did you leave so quick? The cops barely had time to show up.”
Crow held out a hand. “Slow down. Was it you that called the cops?”
“Sure was.” James didn't take his eyes off Rocky and the silver earring in his left ear. He'd never seen a man with an earring before. “I didn't like that place one little bit, so I went back to that gas station we passed and made a call. I told them my fourteen-year-old daughter was in that bar. They came pretty quick.”
Rocky frowned at Crow, who wanted to be mad because the arrival of the police might have caused problems. Instead, James' unexpected move saved his bacon.
“What do
you
have to do with this?” James radiated anger, but it had no effect on the biker. “What do you know about my daughter?”
As if James wasn't grilling him, Rocky absently dug a red bandana from his back pocket and twirled a finger. Crow made sure his back was away from the road while Rocky lifted his shirttail and pressed the bandana against the cut. That done, he answered James. “Cool down, man. I'm on your side.”
“Take it easy, hoss.” Crow pulled the bandana tight with his shirt. “He was there when things got out of hand. If it hadn't been for him, I'd be dead and on my way out into the desert to dry up and blow away.”
James aimed a finger at Rocky. “He's one of them motorcycle gangsters.”
“He knows where Pepper might be.”
Like he'd been slapped silent, James gaped a moment, then swelled up again. “Did you have anything to do with her being there?”
“Dude, you are
angry
.” Rocky rolled his eyes. “I've never laid eyes on the girl.”
“James.” Crow's voice was sharp for the first time since they met. “Rocky'll tell you what he knows if you'll let him.”
He took a deep breath. “I'm listening.”
The biker jerked his head to the north. “I heard them say they have a house here in town. One of the girls invited me to party with them.”
“Where is it?”
Rocky shrugged. “I'm not sure.”
“Oh, great! You think we'll go door to door and ask people if a motorcycle gang lived there?”
“Man, would you back off? I need to get my bike out of sight. I'm going to pull it around back there. Then we're going to wait in your car and watch the highway. Those guys'll come by on their way to the house, and we'll follow them. But I need to get this thing out of sight right now, and Crow needs to get in the car before somebody asks him why he's bleeding.”
“Good idea.”
Crow opened the passenger door as Rocky kicked his bike to life and disappeared around back of the huge Skateland building. When James dropped into the seat, his demeanor completely changed. “Great idea. Now we're getting somewhere.”
“Following them to the house will be the easy part,” Crow said.
“Why?”
He winced when the bandana pulled the cut. “Because if she's there, and not by choice, getting her out's gonna be a bitch.”
Pepper finally arrived back in Flagstaff with the aid of an elderly couple driving from California to Missouri. She felt like screaming again when they saw the sign for the Tomahawk Trading Post and pulled off the highway. She wanted to go home, and here they were stopping for souvenirs.
“I need gas, Little Missy.” Earl's blue eyes in the rearview mirror reminded Pepper of her Grandpa. “I haven't seen a Conoco station for a while, and Mama wanted to pick up a couple of things for the grandkids.”
He pulled up to the ethyl pump behind a pair of ten-foot-high plaster Indians. A sign beside them read, “San Francisco Peaks, 32.9 miles.” In that moment Pepper realized she was as close to anything named San Francisco that she would reach.
Her energy drained away. Ready to cry, she sat with her knees together in the tuck-and-roll-covered backseat.
“Honey, why don't you go in with me and get something to eat?”
Pepper knew the woman had other plans, most likely to call the police and hold her there as a runaway. Neither of the adults believed the story she spun about being separated from her truck-driving brother one stop back.
“No, thank you. This is where I'm supposed to meet Bobby Clifford. We always said that if we got separated, we'd meet up at the next town.”
“That's a hard, dangerous life for a little girl.”
“I'm seventeen. That's an adult inâ¦Arkansas.”
“You're awful little for seventeen. Why, you haven't even filled out yet.”
“I come from a family of late bloomers. I'm all right, really. Thanks.”
While Earl filled the gas tank, “Mama” gave her shoulder a pat. “Well, if you're still here by the time we leave, I might need to call someone.”
“You won't.” Pepper pointed at a dusty eighteen-wheeler pulling up to the diesel pump on the far side. “There he is! Bobby Clifford!” Catching sight of the gesturing girl with an eagle feather woven into her hair, the truck driver gave her a friendly wave back.
“See? Bye, and thanks!”
She trotted past the giant plaster figures and an out-of-place totem pole. She ducked behind a covered wagon with two kids sitting on the seat. Their mother snapped a picture with a Polaroid. Catching the familiar and surprisingly comforting aroma of fresh manure and hay, Pepper was drawn to a weathered pen made of rough boards.
“Welcome to the OK Corral.”
“Authentic Buffalo! Do Not Pet!”
She glanced back to see Mama gone and Earl alone at the pump. She rounded the corral and sank down out of sight, overwhelmed with homesickness. A ragged old buffalo lay in the pen devoid of shade. The water trough was empty, with no sign of hay or grain.
Eyes closed, the bull's head drooped.
Pepper's eyes welled. “You poor old thing.”
Her mood shifted as anger took over. She found a cheap plastic water hose attached to a faucet. She stomped around the pen and twisted the handle. When the water gushed out, she dragged it across the open space and shoved the end through the slats and into the dry trough.
Smelling the water, the buffalo huffed and struggled to its feet. It crossed the pen and nosed the gurgling water, then drank deep. Seeing red, Pepper stomped around the building and found a feed barrel. She flipped the top off and filled the bucket beside it.
Half a dozen trips later, the feed trough was full. Tourists snapped pictures of her as she broke a bale of dusty alfalfa and threw the whole thing into the pen, scattering the squares.
A tourist wearing a cheap tourist cowboy hat from the gift shop pointed at the buffalo. “Can I pet it?”
Her eyes flicked to the “Do Not Pet” sign. The old Pepper that she thought was almost gone resurfaced. “Sure.”
He turned to a plain woman standing beside him. “See? I knew those signs were for show. They put them up so the buffalo seem dangerous. It's all for the tourists who don't know different, right?”
Signs.
Little bluebirds dusted in a corner of the corral.
Pepper paused, thinking about the different kind of signs which had been in front of her nose for the past few days. She absently touched the eagle feather in her hair and came to a decision.
“Mister, Old Buff there is as gentle as a kitten. See those little bluebirds dusting there at his feet. He's so easy going, he don't care about anything.” She flashed the tourist a brilliant grin. “Climb on over there so she can take your picture. Get on his back if you want to. He won't care.”
He gave her a frown. “You sure it's all right?”
“Of course it is. It'll make a great picture. But one thing, though.”
“What?”
“I'd turn that hat around. You have it on backwards.”
His wife snickered as he took it off and replaced it. “I was doing it for a picture.”
Pepper winked. “I knew that.”
As the man reached for the latch to open the gate, Pepper left, heading down the street toward the twin rows of motels and cafes.
There was a spring in her step, because she was going home.
Cale made a complete turnaround and found his true calling, taking care of Ned. Frightened at the shape the old man was in, he stuck close, bringing him water to wash down the aspirin that seemed to do no good. Whenever Ned needed assistance, Cale was right there.
A string of motorcycles rumbled past Skateland not far away. Down Route 66, past motels sitting shoulder to shoulder with names like The Cactus, The Torch, and of course, the Route 66 Motel, James and Crow slumped down in the front seat of the car and watched the line of roaring Harleys.
Rocky positioned himself in the middle of the backseat so he could see. “There they go.”
Without having to be told, James waited until the last bike passed and pulled in behind them. He wasn't worried that they'd see him. The traffic had increased on the busy highway and he blended right in.
The last bike was driven by Griz. He had a rag tied over his nose like a bandana that had slipped down from his forehead. It was stained dark with blood.
James slowed to let them get ahead. They didn't need to worry about losing the gang. With the windows down on the sedan, the roar was like following a jet.
Griz's brake light flashed and he entered a neighborhood of small houses. James followed them for another block and then saw the taillight flash again as Griz stopped in a yard full of bikes.
“Y'all get down. I have to drive past. If I turn around, they might notice.”
Rocky lay flat across the backseat and Crow ducked. It was dark enough that when they passed, only James' silhouette was visible in the car. Trying to take in as much as possible without turning his head, he passed and stopped in front of a vacant house a block away.
“Now what do we do?”
Crow sat up. “Sneak a few peeks in the windows when it gets dark.”
James shook his head. “You'll get caught.”
“We don't have much choice.”
James took a deep breath. “I can't believe I'm saying this, but we need to wait until tomorrow.”
Crow studied him with newfound respect. “I'd think you'd want to go blasting in there.”
“I do. But somebody'll get hurt or killed, and I can't afford to lose either one of you.”
Rocky rested his arms on the seat back. “Hey man, I told you I'd help find the house. That's all.”
“He's right.” Crow nodded. “He's done his part. It's you and me again. The best thing to do is wait until they leave tomorrow. With the numbers down, we stand a better chance of getting her out, if she's in there.”
James put both hands on the wheel. He needed something to hold himself steady. “She is. I can feel it.”
Cody went back to Leland Hale's house. This time Melva was home and had the lights on inside. He killed the engine and got out. A cat shot off the porch and disappeared under the derelict truck.
Once again being careful of the rotten steps, Cody stepped up on the porch and knocked on the door. “Miss Hale? Melva? It's Sheriff Parker.”
He saw someone moving past the window and waited, standing to the side. The wooden door opened and Melva peeked out. Dim light spilled out. “What is it sheriff? What's wrong?”
“Howdy, Melva. Is Marty home?”
“You don't see his truck out there, do you?”
“No ma'am.”
“Then he ain't here.”
“I didn't figure. Can I come in for a minute?”
She thought about it for a second, then stepped back. Cody hooked a finger in the screen's handle. It opened with a rusty squall that he didn't remember being so loud. He pushed the wooden door open against the wall and gave the crack a quick glance to be sure nobody was hiding back there.
The radio was on, playing music through a filter of static. Melva returned to the couch and picked up her crocheting. Romance magazines were still scattered around the coffee table and couch. Cody stayed by the door, shifting from one foot to the other.
“Have you seen Marty lately?”
“He comes and he goes. Now that he ain't workin' no more, he's gone most of the time.”
“Did he lose his job?”
“The lake started to fill up, so they're done.” She giggled. “I don't know what he's gonna do for money now. Might have to move. I don't intend to, less I have to, but I'm 'bout tired of feedin' 'im.”
“You've lived here a while.”
“Yep, since before Charlie run off.”
“Marty was little.”
“Yep, Charlie brought me here from New Boston, probably to get closer to the river and them beer joints. That place was a misery.”
“The beer joints aren't good places, that's for sure.”
“I was talking about New Boston.” Her annoying giggle burst from her chest and was gone. “Lost two daughters there. Food poisonin', but them joints are trouble, too.”
The small community was seventy miles east of Chisum. Cody glanced out the front window, watching for headlights in the dim light. “I didn't know that. I'm sorry.”
She kept crocheting. “After the girls was buried, my husband took the baby and run off, but he didn't want Marty. I'm tired of raising him, but he won't leave.”
Cody frowned. “That was Charlie?”
She giggled. “No, Harry Clay.”
“I'm confused.”
“I's married 'fore Charlie, to Harry Clay. He never could keep a job, then he run off and took my baby. Don't know where he went. Charlie come along and we married.”
Cody wondered if she'd officially divorced Harry Clay before she and Charlie wed.
“Did you work there in New Boston, before Marty came along?”
“Had to. Took a job in the tomato house packing 'maters. That's where I met Charlie.”
Cody shook a cigarette from the pack and lipped it out. “So Marty's the only one of your kids you have left.”
Melva pulled a long string of yard from the skein beside her. “No. I have an older girl, but she don't have nothin' to do with me. I never was married to her daddy.” A giggle. “Ain't that a scandal?”
Cody wondered how many husbands and kids Melva'd had through the years. “Do you know where she is?”
“Waco. She went to Waco after I helped deliver her baby that was born dead. It was a blessing, 'cause when it was born she wasn't married and there was no way she could have raised a baby. The Lord works in mysterious ways.” She giggled. Her strange behavior grated on Cody, and he could see why it was a chore for Miss Becky to gin up enough enthusiasm to visit. “Like Leland gettin' killed the way he did. I reckon his time was long past when that truck hit him.”
“I guess you figured everything should have worked out for y'all when you came here from New Boston. Starting fresh and all. I'm sorry it turned out this way. I hope you can keep up with the farm.”
“Probably need to sell it. I doubt we'll get what we paid for it.”
Cody frowned. “I'd think you'd make enough money off the sale to pay it off with a little bit left over.”
She giggled, but this time it was one he recognized. It was punctuation of fact. “We
oughta
make enough. It's paid for. But it wasn't Leland's nohow. Me and Charlie bought it with some insurance money. He run off after we got settled in, and
then
I married Leland. I won't be able to keep up with the taxes when they come due, though. We've been behind on them for six-seven years or so, and the gov'm't won't wait much longer. Letter in there on the table makes it so. I hope I can get the money out of Leland's life insurance policy, then we won't have to move.”
“You paid cash for this place?”
“Yes I did.”
“Y'all must have done pretty good in New Boston.”
“We wasn't doing good, but Harry Clay had policies on both the girls.”
Cody felt like his head was spinning from all the information and he paused for a moment as cogs clicked into place. He started to ask another question, but headlights turning off the highway made him pause. Instead of Marty's truck, a sedan passed, driving slowly down the muddy road.
Melva giggled again, then took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. “I wish I could do without these spectacles, but they seemed to help my headaches.”
“You farsighted?”
She giggled. “Nor nearsighted neither. It's hurting something fierce right now.”
“You probably need more light. You should get a stronger bulb.”
“It ain't the light. I keep a headache all the time, but some days it gets so bad I have to go to bed. I hit my head when a horse throwed me into a fence post when I was fifteen and it's hurt ever since.” She giggled and replaced the glasses. “Well sir, after I got up, I marched myself right in the house and got Daddy's pistol and shot that damned horse right between the eyes.” She stretched out more yarn. “That's the gun that went off and killed Daddy later almost a year to the day.”
Cody needed an ashtray. Finding none, he flicked the long ash into the palm of his hand.
“Use the floor. Ashes from a cigarette ain't no wors'n ashes from the stove.”
He figured she was right about that. The wood stove's door was partially open and ashes littered the floor underneath. It was an odd dichotomy. The house was clean and tidy in a number of ways, but in others, it was downright dirty. The sink and counter was full of unwashed dishes, but the table was dusted. The living room was fairly tidy, but magazines littered all the furniture, and newspapers were stacked at the end of the couch. The rug under the coffee table didn't have a spec of dirt on it, but ashes and bits of charcoal made the floor in that corner gritty.
Instead of dropping the ash, Cody kept it in his palm and added another.
She produced another giggle. “It don't matter none.”
“What doesn't?”
“I'll find me another husband sooner or later. I know what men want.” This time Cody would have thought her giggle was self-conscious, but he decided it wasn't. “I'm gonna put me an ad in the personals in one of these magazines and 'fore you know it, I'll have me another man. That helps my headaches.”
“Being married?”
“In a way.” She lowered her voice in a little girl whisper that sounded creepy coming from a woman nearly sixty years old. “It's the relations that takes this headache away for a little while.”
Giggle.
Feeling uneasy at the turn of the conversation, Cody used his thumb and forefinger to grind out the cherry on the cigarette butt. “How many times you been married, Melva, to know that much about men?”
“Five, no, six, if you count my first one when I wasn't but sixteen, but he run off on me not a month after we took our sacred vows. There's been some men in between, if you know what I mean.”
Another set of headlights lit the dirt road. This time the vehicle stopped for a moment, then backed up and drove off.
“All right.” Cody opened the door, forgetting the ashes in his hand. “Gotta go.” He was off the porch in a flash and running through the rain. Starting his car, Cody backed out of the yard, his headlights sweeping across the house, the broken-down truck, and the propane tank near the fence.
He hit the highway, fishtailed slightly on the wet pavement, and shot away to catch the truck that turned out to be Ike Reader, who'd driven by to check Leland Hale's fence.