by Penn Gates
Before she can ask what he means by that, he's disappeared into the darkness.
Chapter 18
Throwing hay onto a horse drawn wagon with old fashioned pitchforks is picturesque, but the back breaking labor will use up and wear out these kids in a few years. Luckily, they hadn't been reduced to cutting the wheat with sickles and winnowing it on the barn floor, Nix thinks, walking toward the field. Cash discovered an old thresher in one of the storage buildings, but the baler had been left outside through too many winters, and it's useless. A baler is the current holy grail as far as Cash is concerned. He's vowed to search every farm in the area before next year's wheat harvest.
The Apostles—Peter and Paul—along with Martin are right behind Nix, pushing and pulling a wagon loaded with buckets and jugs of water. Margaret and Doug each carry a basket of sandwiches, while Nix lugs two more buckets of water for the horse. Behind them comes Elizabeth with her beloved triangle, so she can summon the workers to lunch with a clang. At the head of this motley group, Nix feels more than ever like the Pied Piper.
The temperature hovers around ninety degrees, and all the young men have shed their shirts. Some of them are already turning red.
Nix turns to Margaret. “What's the home remedy for sunburn?” she asks.
“Vinegar,” Margaret answers. “It takes out the sting.”
“Hope we have a lot of it,” Nix says. “There's going to be some blisters tonight.”
“You will be having them, too, if you go working in the field dressed like that.”
Nix looks down at the overalls she's cut off above the knee. “What's wrong with how I'm dressed?” she asks. “It's hotter than—uh, a griddle today.”
Nix plans to take over for Michael. No matter how tough he thinks he is, he's just turned fourteen, and in the middle of a growth spurt that takes a lot of energy.
“Your shoulders are bare,” Margaret answers. “That is where you will burn first.”
Cash moves into her line of vision as he pitches a forkful of hay over his head onto the wagon. He doesn't seem to be burning. Instead he looks tanned and lean. Nix abruptly turns away and walks toward George.
“So, will we have enough, do you think?” she asks, as he takes off his dark straw hat and mops the sweat from its band with a handkerchief. She notices he has his shirt on, buttoned up and modestly tucked into dark trousers.
“It will do,” he says, accepting a tin cup of water from his sister. “It will have to, whatever it ends up being.”
“I can never tell with you—is that good news, or bad news?”
“Somewhere in the middle,” George says and drains the cup before handing it back to Margaret for the next worker.
Elizabeth begins to hit the iron triangle a lot longer and louder than necessary, signaling the break for lunch.
Cash sticks the tines of his pitchfork deep into the earth and heads towards the sound. It seems to Nix that he makes sure he's as far away from her as he can get before he unknots the shirt tied around his waist and spreads it on the rough ground. Elizabeth comes by and hands him a peanut butter and elderberry jelly sandwich.
“Hey Lizzie, how about gettin' me some water before I turn to dust? I don't think I can swallow this peanut butter without some.”
Elizabeth giggles and hurries away to find a cup that's not in use.
Suddenly Margaret puts her hand to her brow as if to shade her eyes from the glare. “Was ist das?” she asks, pointing to the far side of the wheat field—and there's fear in her voice.
Nix strains to see into the cloud of dust approaching down the road. Whatever it is, it's moving too fast to be horse drawn. As it gets closer, she makes out a camper, top of the line, the kind that used to clog the interstates in late autumn on their way to Florida. ‘Burbs on wheels, she used to call them. It's not shiny anymore. It's impossible to tell what color it is—or used to be—and it's belching exhaust. The camper slows to a crawl, then stops as the driver spots the hay wagon and the young men scattered around it.
Cash is jamming his arms into his shirt as he walks toward Nix. He stands in front of her.
“Hey, I can't see through—”
“Gimme your gun,” he whispers. Nix removes it from her belt and sticks it into the waistband of his jeans at the small of his back, making sure the handle is to the left since Cash is a south-paw.
“My rifle's under the wagon seat,” he says. “Wander over there real casual and tell the guys to stand near the guns they've got hidden in the hay—but don't make a move unless I give the sign. It’s a long shot, but these could be friendlies.”
“You're not going over there alone,” Nix says fiercely.
He turns to look at her. “I won't be alone. My pal George is gonna be with me, aren't you, buddy?”
“Are you crazy?” Nix hisses. “You're taking him for back up?”
“Nope. I'm takin' him because he's not a threat. We're gonna see how much of a peacemaker George can be.”
George nods gravely. “I will do my best.”
Nix feels naked without her gun and she wants to run across that open expanse of ground, but instead she picks up the water buckets and strolls toward the wagon and the guys who are all intently watching Cash and George as they walk toward the road.
Nix calls to the one closest to her. “Mitch, help me with these buckets, would you? They weigh a ton.”
As he takes one from her, she says quietly, “Just set it down in front of Racer and then wander back and tell whoever's closest to move near his rifle. And each of you pass it on to the next guy. The idea is to look like we're not even paying attention. Got it?”
“Sure, Nix,” Mitch says immediately. He moves slowly, likes it's too hot to hustle in the blazing sun.
She can hardly keep herself from looking toward the camper, but she carts the other bucket to poor Racer, who's got to be thirsty, from the dust as much as the heat. He dips his nose in the water while she rubs him between his ears.
She glances up casually and sees George climb the fence and walk straight over to the camper. He looks up at the driver, who responds to whatever George says agreeably enough. Cash leans on the fence, chewing on a piece of straw, apparently bored with the whole thing. Then suddenly, he's paying close attention and vaults over the fence in one effortless motion.
Nix knows George well enough by now to see, even from a considerable distance, that he's stiff with indignation. Cash, on the other hand, seems enthusiastic. He points in the direction of the wagon and makes a comment to the driver.
George is already stalking across the field by the time Cash jumps down from the top rail of the fence and follows him. Nix has never seen the Mennonite boy this angry before. If it was anyone but George, she'd describe his expression as murderous. He couldn't hide his feelings if his life depended on it, she thinks. And I devoutly hope it doesn't.
“Hey guys, come on over and listen to this!” Cash shouts. Hardly moving his lips, he adds in a low voice, “Act like I just told you Santa is comin'." His eyes narrow. “Follow my lead—no matter how crazy it sounds.”
Cash raises his voice again. “That camper is full a whores, boys, and they want to get to know each and every one of you lucky bastards!”
The guys slap each other on the back, pointing and making crude gestures. Nix feels her hackles rise, but when she notices Jake and Rick glance apologetically at her, she says, “I was a cop for twenty years. Nothing you can say I haven't heard.”
“What's your problem?” Cash asks loudly to Nix, as if she's said exactly the opposite. He points at her ragged overalls and Gramps' old 'wife-beater' undershirt beneath it. “Maybe if you dressed like a real woman, I wouldn't get so turned on thinkin' about them sexy ladies.”
Nix glares at Cash. “Really? You can't keep this smut-o-rama going without turning on the only woman in the crowd?”
Cash laughs loudly, then whispers. “That's great, Nix. Keep it up. The dick wad in the camper thinks my old lady is chewin’ me ou
t.”
“You're such a clever boy,” she says. “And yet somehow I doubt that comment was really necessary.”
“OK, that's enough. You can practice hatin' me later,” he says. “This shithead wants food and water and a place to get off the road for a couple of days. You can guess what he's offerin’ in return.”
“Jesus,” Nix breathes. “We've got to rescue those girls.”
“Interestin’,” Cash says.
“What?”
“That you assume the girls need rescuin’.”
“Only a guy would think—”
Cash looks at Nix in exasperation. “Not all whores are kept against their will—but if the girls inside that thing were willin', they'd be hangin' out the windows. There's plywood sealin’ off the camper behind the driver. My gut's sayin' this guy is as bad as bad gets, and I want to put him out of business.”
He turns toward Michael. “Get the guys on the wagon and head for the barn. And tell 'em to act like they're on a hayride.”
“You go with and get 'em spaced out in the trees beyond the west side of the drive,” he says to Nix. He reaches for her as if to give her a hug and she backs away. He laughs. “You're givin' a great performance. Now go pretend to feed the chickens or some shit—but keep glarin' at me like you're the jealous wifey so dickwad won't think you're a threat. Make sure you've got a direct sight line to that piece of shit camper. I might need fast back up.”
“Who the fuck died and left you boss?” It's a knee jerk reaction, and they both know it.
Cash grins. “I’d love to stay and argue, but I gotta go tell my new friend he's got himself a deal."
He pauses to speak to George before he trudges across the field again toward the camper, still idling at the side of the road. George herds Margaret, Doug and the kids toward the house.
“Poor animal was never meant to pull a load like this,” Michael grumbles to Nix as he urges Racer forward. “He's gonna drop dead one of these days.”
“None of us were meant to be doing what we're doing, but here we are.” Nix snaps. “We used more fuel than we planned this spring, but now is not the time to bitch about it.”
She tries to block out the horseplay coming from the back of the wagon. “Listen, Michael—do you know where Cash keeps his Glock? He's got mine, and I need something that won't attract attention.”
Michael nods and Nix understands this means he'll get the gun for her. She wonders what the Mennonite boy thinks of what's happening. The day has gotten into some perverse territory, and it's not over yet. But whatever needs facing, Nix is confident Michael will find a way to handle it. His older brother is also about to discover that there's no fence high enough to keep some things out, and momentarily, she feels sad about it.
She looks over her shoulder. The camper is still sitting there. Presumably Cash is stalling as long as he can to give them time to take their positions. She imagines him haggling over a price for the girls, and her stomach lurches. Of all the roads, in all the world—why did that piece of shit have to turn down ours?
◆◆◆
Nix is surrounded by chickens, which she has always hated unless served with mashed potatoes and gravy. She flings small handfuls of feed among the pecking birds. Her gaze is fastened on the camper parked under the trees to the side of the drive. Cash's Glock is in the front pouch of her overalls. She's supposed to be acting like his jealous—what did Cash say?—wifey. But she can't remember ever being jealous. Never cared enough. She wonders how she'd feel if she believed Cash would actually—there, she thinks, that's what jealousy feels like. Which is just pathetic.
She strains to hear what Cash and the pimp are saying, but all she can hear from this distance is the low drone of their voices, punctuated by the kind of laugh men usually reserve for dirty jokes and smutty comments about women. She's heard all of it in her time, especially when she first made detective and was the only woman in the squad room.
She moves a little closer, strewing corn as she goes and openly glaring in their direction, until she can see and hear more. Camper Man is small and scrawny. He looks like a ferret, and sounds like one, too, all rodent-like and sly.
She hates it that Cash seems to be enjoying himself so much, but she forgets about everything else when he raises his voice in anger. “I gave you my cash, now let me see what ya got.”
“I'll go get one,” shithead smirks.
“Fuck that,” Cash says. “What do you think I'm gonna do with her out here? This is a whorehouse on wheels—isn’t that what you called it? I paid up now open up.”
“Whores sleep during the daytime,” shithead says in a wheedling voice. “I'll just wake one of 'em. You must have a place in the barn to—”
Cash holds out his hand. “Do it my way or you can give back my money and drive this piece of crap off my property.”
Faced with returning a handful of paper currency that's lost all value, the pimp changes his mind. He gestures for Cash to follow as he reaches up and unlocks the camper door.
Nix is fizzing with adrenalin. The plywood partition and the door locked from the outside add up to someone in that tin box being held against her will. On the other hand, this could be a set up, the camper filled with armed thieves who've gotten close to their objective with a minimum of effort. She watches for movement. If there's a struggle inside, the whole thing will bounce like a bowling ball in a dryer.
It seems like forever before the pimp steps back out of the camper—and Cash is right behind him with the barrel of Nix's gun pressed against the back of his greasy head.
“All clear!” Cash yells, and eleven young men step out of the foliage, their rifles lowered.
Nix throws her straw hat at a chicken and jogs toward the camper and the crowd now surrounding it. “Boy, did you pick the wrong place!” she says gleefully to the pimp.
“Get some rope—now!” Cash calls and Terry takes off running.
“W-what are you—you can't lynch me—there’s laws—”
“Still?” Nix asks. “You could have fooled me. Looks like frontier justice is back in style, wouldn't you say?” She likes seeing the look of fear in his eyes.
They drag the pimp over to a tree and tie him securely to it, which turns out to be relatively easy because someone has knocked him unconscious in the struggle.
Nix is already reaching for the door handle when Cash puts a hand on her shoulder. “Hey—better prepare yourself. It's bad.”
Michael materializes next to her and Nix says quickly, “Go tell Margaret we're going to need—“ She glances at Cash.
“Have her bring the medical kit,” Cash says, “And Mary and Brittany should start heatin’ water. We'll need soap and—they need quite a bit of cleanin' up,” he trails off. The way he says it gives Nix a cold chill.
For a minute, Cash doesn't move, and Nix wonders if he's steeling himself before he re-enters the camper. Then she realizes he's putting together the final pieces of the rescue. He waves three of his boys over to him. “Rick, David, Tony, stand by to help me get the girls out of there. You all are gonna need a strong stomach,” he adds. “If you don't think you can handle it, there's no shame. But once you're in, you gotta keep goin' no matter how you feel.”
The three of them look as scared as Nix is beginning to feel. David looks at the other two, and then says aloud, “We're in. Whatever it takes.”
Cash looks down at Nix. “You ready?”
“Let's do it,” Nix says, and she keeps her voice steady with an effort.
Old newspapers taped to the windows close out most of the light, and the interior of the camper is dim. Coming out of the summer sun Nix has trouble seeing, but the smell of the place is like a physical assault. She hears rustling and quick, panicked breathing that sounds like the panting of animals. As her eyes adjust, she sees women—too many women for the size of this place. Two or three lie motionless on filthy mattresses.
“Jesus,” Nix hisses, “Jesus. I'll kill that son-of-a-bitch.”
&
nbsp; Cash puts an arm around her shoulders and whispers in her ear, “We need to help these girls right now. We can do revenge later.”
She sags against him for a second, then quickly straightens up and steps back when the girls begin to whimper. She forces herself to look at them and realizes they're paralyzed with fear. Don't they know they've been rescued? And then she sees that their eyes are fastened on Cash, waiting for the man to hurt one of them.
“Go outside for a minute,” Nix says very quietly. “Let me talk to them, explain what's happening." She moves close to Cash and says, “If they see three or four guys come through that door at once, there’s gonna be mass hysteria.”
“That makes sense. Just let me know what you need." Cash seems relieved to be leaving this hell. Nix wishes she was going with him.
She stands silently until the door closes behind him. “My name is Nix St Clair,” she says in a clear, quiet voice. “I was a cop before Geezer, but now I live here in the country with a bunch of good, decent people on my grandfather's farm. This camper is in our yard, and the bastard who parked it here is—” She stops speaking for a moment, finally choosing the words most likely to get through to them. “—under arrest.” They remain silent, staring at her with the same tortured eyes she's seen in old photos of Nazi concentration camps.
“I think the first thing we should do is get a little light in here,” Nix says. “If you go outside without letting your eyes adjust, you won't be able to see a thing. And I want you to be able to see—so you know you’re safe.”
She walks to one of the windows and the girl nearby cringes. “Let's do this,” Nix says conversationally, as if she hadn't noticed her fear. “We'll just tear the newspaper down the middle and it'll kind of hang on either side like curtains." She demonstrates and then looks at the girl again. “Will you help me?” Nix asks her. “And maybe you can take a little peek outside and make sure it's just like I said.”
As light begins to seep in through the tears in the paper, Nix looks hard at the figures laid out on the mattresses. Even from several feet away, she can tell that one of them is dead.