Three Sides of the Tracks (13 page)

14

Conciliation

“It’s this one over here,” Martin said pointing toward the Buick.

Danny changed directions from the Mercedes and opened the Buick door. “I
thought rich people drove Mercedes, BMWs, and the like.”

“Well, some do. Nothing wrong with that. Just doesn’t make sense to spend
that much money on a car, you know. Had a guy tell me one time that he was
driving around up in the mountains and came to a little area where the cars in
all the driveways were Oldsmobiles and Buicks and he knew that was where the
rich people lived. I asked him why was that, and he said ‘cause rich people
didn’t waste their money on Cadillacs and Lincolns when a Buick was just as
good, if not better. I was pretty young when I met the guy but I thought about
that and the families I knew who drove Buicks and doggone if he didn’t have a
point. I’ve been driving Buicks ever since.” He gave Danny a conspiratorial
grin.

Danny grinned back but stopped short when the cut on his lip began to
pull open.

“You know the common name for cops like that used to be ‘pigs?’ I’d say
that fits that bunch pretty good, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, sir, I would. They’ve kinda had it in for me for a while now
anyways. I guess with them thinking I was in on robbing the church, they had a
good opportunity to take out some of their anger.”

“Why’d they have it in for you?”

“Oh nothing much. Mostly me and the guys giving them lip. Stuff like
that. I remember my first time having any trouble with them was in my first
year of high school. That little café next to the dry cleaners was a hangout in
the mornings before school, and one day myself, Michael Dunn, Tommy Whitehead
were on the sidewalk drinking Cokes when a cop came by and told us to break it
up, that we were blocking the sidewalk and loitering. We didn’t take that too
well and got into an argument with him. When we got a little older, became
teenagers, and would be at football games, dances, and stuff, we might get a
little loud or rowdy and somebody would call them. Since they always acted like
big shots, we got on them about it. Called them losers. Told them the only
reason they were cops was because no one else would hire them. Teased them
pretty bad because we knew they couldn’t arrest us. That was when we were about
15 or so. Just cuttin’ up. But they didn’t take it too well, I guess, and it
built up over the years. Funny how things like that happen. Reach a point, and
you don’t even know how it started.”

“How well I know,” Martin said. “Could you eat something? I’m starving.”

“My stomach says yes, but the rest of me says no. I feel pretty beat up
but that shot helped. Might have to chew slow. My jaw and ribs don’t feel too
good.”

“What’s open this time of night? I don’t have a clue.”

“The Bluebird Cafe on the highway ‘cross from the church is open. Best
hamburger steak and gravy you ever ate.”

“Ha. How ‘bout that. Just what I had a taste for. Hamburger steak and
gravy.” Martin feigned a look of surprise.

Danny tried another grin.

A blue neon light in the shape of some sort of bird blinked in the front
window. A long counter ran down one side with a grill, soda machines, two large
coffee makers, and a runway for the waiters on the other side. Three customers
sat on the chrome swivel seats with fake leather tops and chatted with the cook
across the counter. Two of the eight tables were occupied but none of the
booths that ran the length of the dining room.

They took the back corner booth.

“Danny, I’ve seen you look a little rough from time to time, but I do
believe you out-did yourself this time,” the waitress said.

“I believe so too, Gladys. I’m gonna pass next time,” Danny said with a
twinkle in his eye.

“You do that. Y’all need a menu?”

“Nah, just bring us both hamburger steaks smothered in gravy and onions,
french fries, cold slaw, and rolls.”

“You sure he can handle that this time of night?” Gladys said rolling her
eyes toward Martin.

“Might as well break him in right,” Danny replied.

Gladys stuck her pen back in her hair and sauntered off.

Martin looked Danny in the eye. “Danny, I guess it might be best to start
from the beginning, but I can’t help telling you it was one of the happiest
moments of my life when Belinda told me you were my son. I already knew or was
pretty sure but her telling me was like someone giving me permission, allowing
it to be; I really can’t explain it. I guess in a way it was like you were just
being born. Do I sound crazy?”

“No, sir. Not to me. Because I felt kinda weird myself when she told me
you were my dad. I . . . I was pretty pissed off, at first. Then . . . I don’t
know; it just seemed too complicated to figure out, so I just, well, tried to not
think about it. Nothing much happened that was any different, nothing changed,
and Mom and I haven’t talked about it after that day, so it just kind of. . .
.” Danny stopped short of saying ‘it didn’t matter.’

“Got lost in the shuffle, huh?” Martin said.

Danny smiled like he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar then
his forehead creased in a frown. “Well, to be honest, I felt like I’d been lied
to all my life. I was pissed off about it. That and my dad . . . Robert . . . crap,
I don’t know who to call what anymore. My dad Robert had been lied to also. I
feel . . . I guess you’d call it betrayed and Robert too. He’s the only dad I
know.”

“Of course he is. He’s more your dad than I am. I know that. You’re what
. . . 19 years old, and here I come telling you I’m your real father—”

“You’re not my real father,” Danny said spontaneously and without
expression.

A lump came to Martin’s throat, and he felt cold. The feeling of
companionship evaporated. He sat with a stranger.

Martin swirled the spoon around in the coffee cup.

Danny sipped his tea until the waitress brought their plates.

“You boys want steak sauce?”

“A1 for me,” Danny said then looked at Martin. “Sounds odd with the
gravy, but it’s good. Try it on a corner—”

Martin brightened. “No, no, if you say so, that’s good enough for me.”

Gladys popped her chewing gum. “You got a live one, huh, Danny? Real
adventurer.  Make sure he don’t drip gravy on that purty shirt.”

 “Just get me some more tea,” Danny said curtly, surprising himself by
feeling protective of the out-of-place man across from him.

“Get it yourself. I’m busy, smart ass.” Gladys strolled away.

Danny slid over the booth’s plastic seat and pushed himself up with one
hand, the other hand holding his ribs.

“Sit down. I’ll get it for you. Your muscles tightened up from the
beating. You’re going to be sore as heck for a couple of days.”

Danny grimaced from pain and sat back down.

Martin set the glass down and poured the steak sauce over the gravy.
“Hmm, you’re right; this is pretty good. Despite its appearance,” he added with
a chuckle.

They were halfway through with the meal when Martin said. “Did you know
that Robert was a pretty doggone good baseball player?”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that, but he didn’t like to talk about it. He always
took time to play catch with me, even if he did work two jobs. I never did have
much of an arm though. Good enough to throw from home to second base, which was
why I became a catcher. And Dad taught me to hit. The Little League coach liked
that pretty well.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Danny stopped chewing.

“I used to come and watch you play from time to time. Not enough to be
noticed. That wouldn’t do. . . . Not in this town.”

“You came by to watch me play ball?”

“Yeah.”

“So you kind of kept up with me, huh?”

“Of course. I just had to do it on the sly. I had to respect . . . umm,
the situation I suppose one would call it. I was very sorry when Robert died.
And so young. Thirty-five years old just doesn’t seem, well, it’s too damn
young to die.”

“Mom said she knew the other guy was drinking, but I figure Dad might’ve
been at fault too. Dozed off at the wheel coming home from his second job.”

Martin shrugged. “Could be. Still too young to die, huh? I want you to
know that I sincerely was sorry.”

Danny toyed with the little piece of steak still on his plate. Martin
could tell he was deep in thought.

“Danny, I didn’t come around after that because I respected what I
thought were Belinda’s wishes. She and I were close from the time we could
walk. We were inseparable as kids and that turned into romantic love as we grew
older. We were best friends as well as . . . Well, it’s just, I don’t know.
Something like a one in a million chance that she and I didn’t marry and
everything would have been so very very diff—”

Glass and concrete exploded into the dining room. Martin and Danny dove
out of the booth, crouched, and scurried to the back.

The front of a black car stuck through the demolished storefront. A beam
fell down onto the hood, but it seemed the worst was over, except for the
cursing.

“Where’s that son of a bitch?”

A man waving a pistol pushed his way through the broken window frame.

Sam Hardy, the owner, ran from his office with a shotgun. “Put that
pistol down, mister, before I blow you back the way you come.”

The man shaded his eyes and looked around. “There you are. You son of a
bitch. What’d you do with my daughter?” he screamed at Danny as he staggered
toward him.

He looked at Martin. “They told me he left with you. You’d better get the
hell outta my way.”

BOOM.

Before the shock of the shotgun blast wore off, Sam Hardy ran to Jessie
and swung the stock end of the shotgun hard into Jessie’s gut.

Jessie doubled over, and Sam grabbed the pistol.

Jessie lay on the floor retching. He’d been drinking Jack Daniels all
afternoon when the sheriff called with the news of Caroline’s abduction. Then
the detectives showed up and he’d kept drinking, and he was still drinking when
they called to say who had robbed the church, naming Danny as an accomplice.

 Danny ran over. “Mr. Whitaker, are you saying that Caroline is one of
the girls kidnapped?”

Jessie raised his head. “Don’t act innocent, you little shit,” he said,
drool sliding down his chin. “You’re a walking dead man. You hear me?”

Danny sank to the floor.

Martin sat down next to him. “You good friends with this girl?”

“More than friends. She’s . . . she’s.” Danny felt a knot of fear in his
stomach. He felt Martin’s hand on his shoulder.

“Dad, you don’t know these guys. They’re mean. Really mean. Not
mischievous, not hoodlums, but
mean
mean. I’ve got to find her.” Danny
didn’t even realize he’d called Martin “Dad.”

Jessie looked up with watery bloodshot eyes. They wandered from Martin to
Danny and back again. He pushed himself up and wiped a sleeve across his face.
“You’re a dead mother—”

Police sirens filled the air then the cafe filled with cops.

Sam pointed at Jessie.

The sergeant in charge took one look and wiped his forehead with a
sleeve. “Oh, shit.”

He walked over to Sam and in a quiet tone told him about the church
robbery and kidnapping. “You have any objections to me taking him home tonight
and then we’ll get all this straightened out tomorrow?”

“You have any objections to me blowing his head off the next time he
comes in here waving a pistol?” Sam replied.

“I don’t think that’ll happen again.”

“Get his butt out of here then, but I’d better hear from somebody
tomorrow about all this damage or you can bet Jessie Whitaker’s ass will have a
long list of charges hanging on it and your butt will be standing in front of
the mayor.”

“Sure. Sure, Sam. You’ll have a check by lunch.”

“It’d better be a fat one. No telling how long I’ll be closed fixin’ this
mess.”

The sergeant patted Sam on the shoulder. “Thanks. I won’t forget the
favor.”

While the sergeant talked to Sam, Martin put a hand on Danny’s shoulder
and guided him through the rubble and group of cops standing around. “I think
I’d better take you home. Whew, what a night.”

15

False Lead

The Barracuda’s rear end slid sideways off the dirt road onto the
blacktop and roared north, hugging the highway as Slink took every dip and
curve as fast as he dared. Only 15 minutes had passed since they left the
church.

“You takin’ the interstate up ahead?” Smurf asked.

“Nope. Not for a while. They’ll be lookin’ for that.”

Slink adjusted the rearview mirror and looked at Caroline. “How much?”

Caroline felt the eyes on her and looked up. “Twelve thousand so far.”

“Bullshit. That church’s bigger than that. You better not be lying to
me.”

Caroline’s eyes dropped. “I said ‘so far.’ Why would I lie?”

“You’d better not be . . . for whatever reason. Don’t think I’m not gonna
count it myself.”

“I doubt you can . . .” Caroline stopped herself and bit her lip. She
couldn’t resist raising her eyes to the mirror.

Slink nodded and moved the mirror back in place.

Twenty minutes later, they were due east of Atlanta. Not quite in the
metropolitan part but the buffer zone between metro and rural. Traffic increased,
and Slink felt safer.

He pulled the car beside the gas pumps of a 7/11 convenience store on the
south side of an intersection and got out. The door on Caroline’s side opened.
“Get out, Sweet Cheeks. You and me are going inside while Whitey makes himself
useful and pumps the gas.”

Caroline’s heart beat quicker. Should she run?

Slink grabbed her by the arm and jerked her out of the back seat.
“Where’s your purse?”

“I don’t have one.”

“Bullshit. Women don’t leave the house without your girly crap.”

He patted one pocket of Caroline’s slacks and felt a cell phone then
patted the other pocket and reached in and took out a long slim leather wallet
and handed it to her. “What you call that?”

Caroline shrugged. “Not a ‘purse.’ ”

Slink tightened his grip and twisted the flesh of her arm. “Don’t get
smart.”

Caroline winced and flushed with pain.

“Give Smurf that cell phone and take out your credit card.”

“Let go of my arm so I can.”

“You try runnin’ I’ll break your leg.”

Caroline’s heart sank. She tossed the cell to Smurf.

“We’re going inside and buy gas. You just remember your friend and don’t
think of anything else. Me and you are lovers. Understand?”

Caroline looked at him and saw cruel eyes. She nodded.

“Come on then.”

They walked twenty steps to the doors and went inside.

An Indian man and woman stood behind the counter. “Hello hello, help you,
sir?”

“Two packs Marlboro’s and 25 bucks of gas on pump three. What you want,
sweetie?” Slink said, looking at Caroline and then the wallet.

“I think I’ll get a coke.”

“No, don’t get a coke. We’ll just have to stop again for you to . . . you
know.”

“Oh, let the pretty lady have something to drink. Take time to enjoy
yourself. Life is too short. That’s right, yes?” the Indian man said.

Slink leaned over the counter. “Stick your foreign ass philosophy up your
butt, buddy, and mind your own business. She’ll get a coke if I say she’ll get
a coke. You got that? You people’re always running your mouth like you got
better sense than everybody else. Gets on my damn nerves. Now run that damn
card.”

The Indian opened his mouth, but the woman—surely his wife—laid a hand on
his arm and he ran the credit card Caroline handed him.

Caroline fought to steady her hand as she signed the receipt.

“Anything else, sir?” the woman said.

Slink’s cold eyes glinted in amusement at the fear in the woman’s eyes.

“Get you a coke, baby,” he said.

“But you—”

“Get a coke. Get me one too,” Slink said almost kindly.

Caroline’s legs trembled as she walked to the cooler. She could see Slink
watching her in the reflection of the glass. The Coca-Colas were in the third
cooler, just out of Slink’s sight. She walked down the aisle.

“Find ‘em, baby doll?”

“Yes.”

Caroline looked for some way of giving a message.

“Hurry it up.”

She took two cokes from the rack and walked back to the counter and held
out the card again.

Slink snatched it from her hand. “On the house, right?” he said with a
half smile at the Indian woman.

“What you think—” the man said, but his wife grabbed his arm.

“Yes, sir. On the house, as you say. Please enjoy . . . and . . . and,”
she stuttered.

Slink smiled. “Hurry back?”

The woman nodded furiously.

Slink pointed at the man. “You’re a lucky guy.”

He grabbed Caroline’s arm and guided her out the door, snake eyes staring
the man down as he did.

Caroline sneaked quick looks at Slink as if that would help make sense of
what just happened.

“Let me know when you figure it out,” Slink said without turning his
head.

“What the hell,” Slink yelped and jerked open the passenger door.

Whitey was leaning over the front seat and had a hand on Brandy’s leg,
moving his hand farther and farther with every motion. Smurf’s huge hand
covered her mouth.

Slink grabbed a handful of Whitey’s hair and jerked him halfway out of
the seat then slammed his head against the dash.

“Fuckin’ pervert. Can’t even wait till she’s awake.”

Whitey threw up his hands to protect himself. “She’s awake, Slink. She’s
awake,” he wailed.

“Hell yeah. After you started molestin’er. Reckon that’d wake anybody up.
Did you pump that gas like I told you?”

“Yeah, yeah. Twenty-five bucks worth.”

He slammed the seat forward, pinching Whitey against the dash. “Git your
butt in there, Sweet Cheeks. We gotta get back on the road.”

Smurf took his hand off Brandy’s mouth and lowered his eyes when Slink
grabbed Whitey. She grabbed Caroline and hugged her close, crying softly.

Caroline held her for a few seconds then said, “Drink some of this Coke,
Brandy. You’ll feel better.”

Brandy freed one hand but clung to Caroline with the other. She took a
sip of the Coke then buried her face against Caroline’s shoulder.

“Come on now. You need more than that. You need some energy.”

“I can’t take this,” Brandy whimpered.

Caroline stroked her head. “We’ll get out of it. I promise you. Just keep
yourself together. Okay?”

Brandy’s only response was to tighten her grip.

Slink made sure the tires squealed when he left the 7/11 and crossed the
intersection heading north. He drove 10 miles then saw a sign indicating
Interstate 85 was straight ahead. A half mile later, he turned right and headed
east. A mile later, he turned to his right on another rural state road heading
back south. The speed limit on the state road was 50, but, as the distance from
metro Atlanta grew and since it was Sunday night, the traffic diminished until,
now, the Barracuda’s headlights were the only ones on the road. Slink pushed it
to 70, slowing only for tight curves.

An hour later, he passed a dirt road and hit the brakes, backed up, and
turned onto it. Within minutes he saw an old dilapidated barn with the memory
of a trail running off the road. Rotted fence posts held a few sagging strands
of wire that ran down the road a few hundred yards then cut across an overgrown
pasture.

The Barracuda bounced onto what once was a graded drive, now grown over
with broomstraw. “Look in the glove box and hand me the flashlight,” Slink told
Whitey.

Slink walked into the barn where an old wagon sat on rusty wheels. A few
boards showed where stalls had once been. He slid open the back door and was
surprised to see a wagon trail or the remnants of one leading off into a field.
He walked down it for a hundred yards then shined the flashlight down the
trail. The only thing the light showed was more broomstraw and small scrub
pines, which grew into larger pine trees farther down. He turned around and
went back to the car.

Slink drove around the barn and down the trail until he was in the middle
of the pine forest, which ended in a clearing with a small pond. He whipped the
car around, drove back into the forest and turned off the trail, dodging the
big trees until the car was well into the grove. He shut off the engine and
leaned back in the seat with a tired sigh.

“Think this is safe?” Whitey said

“I doubt anybody could see where we turned off even if we did bend a few
weeds. Pine straw don’t show tire treads.”

“How long we holding up here?” Smurf asked.

“Till I get a feeling it’s safe.”

Smurf moaned. “We don’t have no food, Slink.”

Slink adjusted the rearview mirror until Smurf came in view. “How good
you think prison food tastes?”

Smurf fidgeted. “I get the point.”

Slink maneuvered the mirror a touch. His eyes met Caroline’s. “You want
to get up here with me, Sweet Cheeks?”

Caroline glanced in the mirror with a disgusted expression then turned
her face.

Slink chuckled and readjusted the mirror, glancing at his reflection as
he did.