Authors: Reavis Z Wortham
Wearing Cody's cuffs, Marty sat with his feet through the hole in the porch. Soaked and muddy, Melva was in the back of John's cruiser. Standing with one foot on the floorboard, John was once again wearing his yellow slicker. “I'll follow you to town.”
“You go ahead on.” Cody eyed Marty. “I'm gonna have a talk with this dumb bastard before we leave.”
John nodded and dropped into the seat. “You think this rain might hold you up a little?”
“That's exactly what I was thinking, big guy.” The brief exchange spoke volumes.
As John backed out, Cody opened the trunk of Deputy White's car, sick at his stomach over what he was about to do. He came back with a roll of duct tape. “You're under arrest for a whole list of things, buddy. Number one is murder. Number two is attempted murder of a peace officer. Then you have assault, evading arrest, attempting to flee, and I probably have you for jaywalking somewhere.”
Marty shrugged. “Don't mean nothing to me. Who says I killed anyone?”
“Someone who knows you. You've been accused of two murders.”
“I didn't kill anybody. What you have ain't the truth. Anybody can point a finger. You don't have any proof.”
“Proof enough that you shot at me. You don't do that for jaywalking.”
“It's the damn hair trigger on that pistol. Sometimes it'll go off when it's cocked. I was running. I didn't intend to shoot at you.”
“You shot at John.”
“It was an accident, too. I don't remember cocking it.”
“Well, you did. Now, fess up about the murders and where I can find John T.”
Marty found a point on the ground at the bottom of the wallow and studied it. “I don't know about any murders, nor John T.”
Cody twirled the roll of tape on his index finger. “You know, I saw how good this stuff sticks yesterday, so I got me a roll. I learned something in Nam that most folks around here don't know.” He tore off a long piece and knelt in front of Marty. “You can spend a lot of time dicking around with something and still not get anywhere. Know what I mean?”
Eyes hooded, Marty gave a slight nod even though he had no idea what Cody was talking about.
“See, we're fighting over there in that little piss-ant country, but not really trying to win. I believe we'd be done already if the right folks would let our soldiers do their job. Now, personally, I want to be through with a fight as soon as possible, and I think I know how to end this one. Be still.” Cody quickly slapped the tape across Marty's mouth and smoothed it against his cheeks. “There we go. Can you breathe all right?”
Fear in his eyes, Marty nodded.
“Good. Remember how that feels. I really don't think you have the sense God gave a goose, but now's when you can prove me wrong. I'm gonna ask you again. Where's John T.?”
Marty shrugged, breathing hard from fear.
“That's the wrong answer, hoss. You know good and well where he's hiding. Now think. Do you see how well you're breathing right this minute?”
Another nod.
“If it was me, I'd start having trouble. See, I've broke this nose a couple of times and it makes it hard to get enough air. Sometimes I have to open my mouth and take a deep breath. That sure is a good feeling, drawing a deep breath when you can't get enough air through that nose.”
Cody tore off another long piece.
“Now, you can shake your head till it falls, off, but you need to act like you got some sense and tell me where I can find him.”
When Marty shook his head again, Cody slapped the tape across the bridge of his nose and pushed it down over the first strip. Realizing what was about to happen, Marty lunged upright, but Cody drove his fist into the punk's stomach, not hard, but with enough force to double him over.
Marty
oomphed
and convulsed, trying to draw air into his lungs.
“Marty, John T. nearly killed my deputy. She's a little ol' gal, but she's one of the best folks I've ever met. If she hadn't been there, it might have been me, or John Washington that soaked up some of them pellets. You might think John T.'s tough and all that, but he ain't dog shit on my boots. You thought
you
was tough, but you see how you are right now, trying to breathe? Well, I'm tired of foolin' with you.”
With both hands he quickly reached out and folded the long flap of tape over Marty's nose and pushed hard. The terror in his prisoner's eyes told Cody that he'd found the exact thing to make him talk.
Leaping to his feet, Marty rolled back onto the rotten boards. Desperate for oxygen, he convulsed, rubbing his face on the porch to free the tape.
Cody twirled the roll of tape in his hands and watched as if Marty was a dying roach. Eyes glassy and chest heaving, Marty made horrific noises deep in his throat, he folded and went back down.
“Had enough?” Cody knelt with his knee on Marty's chest. He pinched one corner of the tape over his nose and peeled upward, allowing him to take in a deep breath. Crying, Marty pumped air in and out of his oxygen-starved lungs.
Cody tore off a fresh strip of tape and watched Marty's eyes lock onto it. “I'm gonna ask you one last time, then I'm gonna bust you in the nose and put this tape across it again. You can't breathe blood. You gonna answer?”
Frantic nodding.
“You know where I can find John T.?”
More frantic nodding. Marty wasn't paying attention to Cody, he was staring at the tape as if it were a live cottonmouth. Cody stripped it off his mouth like pulling off a Band-Aid.
Marty drew in great lungsful of air, whooping in and out.
Cody held the long strip of fresh tape in two hands between them. “Now, tell me where to find John T.”
Ned answered the knock on their motel door. The police officer looked surprised to see an old man in an undershirt. He cleared his throat, then glanced back over his shoulder at the parking lot. “Sir, is that your Chevy right there?”
Standing in his sock feet, Ned scratched at an armpit. “Yep, that belongs to my son.”
“Sir, is he in there with you?”
Ned stepped back. “Sure is.” The officer scanned the room. “That's my son right there on the bed.”
Also in his sock feet, James gave a little wave. Ned plucked his shirt off the only chair in the room and shrugged it on. His badge caught the light and the officer took note. Ned stayed in the doorway. “We have a teenager in there in the shower.” The water quit running a second later.
The second officer joined the first. “What's your name?”
“Ned Parker. Constable Ned Parker.” He tapped the little badge on his shirt.
“Mr. Parker, did either of you loan your car out today?”
“Naw, I don't loan my car to nobody, but that's my son's. Why?”
The bathroom door opened in a rush of steam. One towel wrapped around his waist, Cale stepped out, drying his long blond hair with another and keeping his left side to the cops so they wouldn't see the bruises on the other.
The second officer addressed Ned. “We're after the driver of a pale yellow Bel Air who assaulted an officer.”
“Well?”
Uncertain what to do next, the cops shifted from one foot to the other.
“Don't y'all have the license number of the car?”
“No. We didn't get it.”
“Well, that's the first thing you do when you pull a car over. Didn't they teach that to y'all at the academy? Did you get a good description of the driver?”
“I didn't pull him over. He flagged another officer down, then attacked him. Big guy with long, black hair. Six-six, six-seven.”
“Lordy, that's a hoss.” Ned figured the cop in front of him was more Crow's size at less than six feet. “I haven't seen anybody that big since we left Texas. Have you, son?”
“Nope.” James shook his head.
Ned buttoned his shirt. “Your man hurt bad?”
“Bruises. Shattered knee.” The first officer paused, realizing he was talking too much. He figured it was probably Ned's badge that caused him to open up. “Well, thanks.” He stepped back outside, leaving the door open. “Report says the car we're after's like that one.”
“Well, that's a pretty popular model, and since it's a few years old, I 'magine there's a lot of them on the road.” Standing in the door, Ned rubbed his bald head. “Well, I figger a guy who beats up a police officer'd take off for somewhere else and not check into a motel, do you think?”
“Maybe you're right. Sorry to bother you, Constable.”
“That's fine.” Ned patted his arm. “That's fine, son. Hope you catch him.”
“We will.” He stepped onto the walk and Ned waved goodbye. He opened the curtains and sat at the table. “Stay in there till I tell you to come out.” He waved again at the officer outside and folded at a sharp stab of pain.
From the parking lot, Ned appeared to be writing, or reading, or praying.
Lying on one of the double beds in the motel room, Pepper twirled her eagle feather by the quill and watched a rerun of “The Real McCoys,” but her mind was a million miles away.
Six bottled cokes sat on the dresser, sweating through the cardboard carton. Ice shifted in the bucket beside them as it melted. Snacks were scattered across the remainder of the space, along with empty wrappers from Sugar Daddy's, Oh Henry!, Lik-M-Aid, Butterfingers, and Turkish Taffy.
The trash can was full of greasy hamburger bags and used paper cups.
Outside, kids squealed and splashed in the pool.
She was on the road, surrounded by the Route 66 culture of glitz and kitsch, and she was bored to death.
Tears ran down her cheeks and she wiped them away with the wrinkled sheet. Pepper simply wanted to go back to Center Springs, and home, because she hadn't gotten one damn thing out of the entire trip that she expected.
Though the motel advertised color television, “The Real McCoys” was in black and white. Pepper took a deep, shuddering breath and paused, listening to Luke tell Kate that she was the strongest of the two of them.
His words struck a chord and Pepper realized that she wasn't weak at all. Far from it, she'd been the leader of the trip out west. Though they hadn't reached San Francisco, she'd taken care of herself, fought a motorcycle gangster, defended herself from unwanted advances, and even, however briefly, stood up in the civil rights movement for those not allowed to eat in a “whites only” café.
With those thoughts, her chest swelled and a new strength filled her with power. She took a deep breath and changed channels. She was growing up.
She turned to Merv Griffin, something they weren't allowed to watch in Miss Becky's house, and watched him interview someone she'd never heard of, George Carlin.
Cale took Ned's place at the table, keeping watch out through a crack in the drapes. The police car was gone, lights flashing when it pulled back on the highway.
When the parking lot was clear, Crow stepped out of the bathroom, his clothes limp with steam. It was his wet hair that stunned them all. Instead of the long, black strands that once rested on his shoulders, it was now short with a self-administered haircut. He built half a grin. “I didn't think you'd lie for me, Ned.”
“Didn't lie.” He was on the bed again, exhausted and feeling older than he did fifteen minutes earlier. “Said there was a kid in there taking a shower and James was here and we hadn't loaned the car out. The truth on all counts.”
“Why do this for me? I used y'all for myself.”
Ned spoke with his eyes closed. “I cain't say.”
“I say we kick his ass to the street.” James tried to burn a hole through Crow.
Crow caught his glare and paused, knowing James had no chance against him in a fight. “I'll go.” He started for the door with his usual rangy ease.
“Wait.” Ned spoke from the bed. “Let me think a minute.”
James still wasn't over his mad. “I've thought all I'm going to.”
The phone between the beds jangled, startling them all. James answered and held the receiver out toward Crow. “It's for you.”
He listened. “You sure it was Tammy?” He listened some more. “That'll work.” Hanging up, the smile on his face spoke volumes.
James felt empty. “You find your sister?”
“Yeah.”
“And?”
“She's for sure with the Rattlers and they went to the desert.”
“You sure Pepper ain't with 'em?”
They still didn't get it, or wouldn't admit that she'd never made it that far. “I'm sure.”
“How does he know where they are?”
“He paid some hippie kids to let him ride in their Love Machine. They drove past the Black Cat and saw the Rattlers there, probably stopped for beer. The kids went to a gas station not far away and the Rattlers passed them heading into the Mojave. I figure they intend to camp out there until they find somewhere else to go, now that their house is hot.”
Crow peeked through the drapes. “The cops aren't going to buy that story about your car for long. If I was him, I'd talk to the manager who'll remember seeing me. Y'all need to get out of here and I'm going to get my sister.”
“How you gonna go?”
“Rocky'll be by to pick me up. I'll go out this back window in the bathroom and wait for him in the alley.”
“How are you gonna find them?”
“Well, James, it's the desert. A lot of bikes pulled off the pavement onto a dirt road that leads back into some of the meanest country in this state. Their tracks'll be easy to find.”
Ned rubbed his flushed face with a wet washcloth. “You gonna just walk up and ask them to let her go?”
“No.” Crow took a deep breath. “We have the guns from your trunk.”
“You stole Dad's guns?”
Crow shrugged. “Stole, borrowed. What's the difference at this point? We need them, and y'all don't.” He pointed at the holster on Ned's belt. “You have that one.”
“It don't make no difference, James.” Ned held his side as if it were going to split like a ripe watermelon and felt wrung out. He laid there for a long moment, thinking. After a while, they thought he'd dozed off, but he surprised them. “Crow. Can you be certain that Pepper's not with them, since they have your sister?”
“Ned, my sister's there, but I can't say for sure that it's her idea, or theirs.”
“No matter. Pepper might be there, right?”
“She
could
be, but I'd bet against it.”
“Then we need to go with you either way, and James, I don't want to hear a word out of you about it. Whether Pepper's there or not, them rough people have his sister, and helpin' them's the right thing to do. We'd want someone to do the same for us. We're going to do for that little gal, at least, then we'll go on after Pepper.”
James picked up the phone. “I need to call and tell Ida Belle what we're doing.”
Ned shook his head, tired, but trying to gather enough strength to get started. “They'll take the fire out of us when they hear what we're gonna do, and you know they're gonna ask. I'd rather not call until we know something.”
Unconvinced, James stared at the phone.
Cale spoke up. “Can I go?”
“You'll have to. I'll figure out what to do with you when the time comes.”
Thirty minutes later the phone in their empty room rang and rang and rang.
Miss Becky finally hung up and waited with her news about Pepper.