“Here,” Stu says, directing the cigarette to the man’s mouth and lighting it with a match. “No, you aren’t getting that money. The kind of games you’re running are illegal with those stakes. And you were profiting from the pot since there’s a buy-in to you to play.”
“Okay, I am guilty. But is this really worth all this racket? I love cards. I am immi-grant trying to make his way.”
“You aren’t my target,” Stu says. “But you have to pony up some information. That man you play with, Tohopka…”
“Yes?”
“He’s a derelict with thousands to play poker. Where does he get that kind of money?
He’s dealing drugs. But he’s not the main supplier.”
Grigory blows a smoke ring. “Yes, yes. That whole settlement is addicted.”
“Where are the drugs coming from?”
“I have heard a name spoken about.”
Stu leans in close, his lips wet. “Tell me. I’ll let you off.”
“The boy at the table is used as a ringer. I pay him to play. He doesn’t know anything.”
“Fine, he’ll walk too. The brothers in fur as well. None of you are my targets.”
Grigory inspects his cigarette, takes a long suck until it burns down to a nub. A long ash like a caterpillar still hangs.
“The Hand.”
“The what?”
“This man, the supplier, that is what he is called. The Hand.”
“Are you fucking with me?”
“I am not. I have heard this name. I do not know what he looks like or where he lives.
But The Hand controls all the H in this area, runs guns too. Tohopka got me a piece through him, that is how I know.”
“If you’re lying…”
“Then book me.” He puts out his cigarette, rubs his tired eyes. “These handcuffs are chaffing. Could you?”
Stu walks to the door.
“Hey. Hey! Mister, we had a deal.”
Stu knocks and the metal door swings open. “Your friends were right to have their lawyer present. They’re smarter than you, Grigory.”
Grigory’s threats rattle the tiny room, but Stu chooses not to hear a criminal’s pleas.
The guy has to be guilty of something more than cards.
45
“We’re going out,” Callie says, shaking Travis by the shoulder because he’s come home early like he said he would, but already passed out on the couch with a beer in hand.
“Miss Evelyn’s gonna watch Eli.”
Travis burps in response.
“Get the fuck up.” She kicks his hip, causing him to let out a howl. He rolls over to the floor.
“Baby, I’m so tired. How about we cuddle on the couch instead?”
“And watch NASCAR?”
Travis’s eyes light up. “Really?”
“Of course not. I’d rather be tarred and feathered.”
The doorbell rings and Miss Evelyn lets herself in with a chocolate pie in hand.
“Oh, thank you, Miss Evelyn,” Callie says. “Eli’s napping now. I already made tuna noodle and left it in the fridge.”
“We’ll be fine, honey. Have your night out without the wee one.”
“Tell that to party pooper over there.”
Travis sits up. “Miss Evelyn, I work hard. I just want a night in.”
Callie stomps her boot into the hardwood floor and heads into the bathroom, slamming the door.
“Now, son,” Miss Evelyn says. “You got a lovely one there who’s at her wit’s end.
You take her out for a nice meal, listen to all her stories, and make her feel special.”
“You’re right, you’re right.”
“And don’t run home neither. If it’s before midnight, I’m leaving the deadbolt on.”
Travis lumbers into the other bathroom, takes a quick shower, and dresses as nicely as his wardrobe offers. A tucked-in shirt for once. Hair combed. Five o’clock shadow trimmed. Splash of cologne Callie bought him on his thirtieth birthday that he never used.
She comes out in a blue dress.
“Wow,” he says, gushing. “When did you get that?”
“I have my secrets. Where do you wanna go?”
“Elson’s.”
“Elson’s? I mean, don’t you want something different for once?”
“I like Elson’s. I know what I’m gonna get there.”
“I’ll look foolish dressed up like this.”
He winks. “Nah, you’ll be the star of the place. All eyes on you.”
At Elson’s, there’s a hockey game on the tube as per usual and country music on the juke.
All the regulars present. Tuck and Jesse having a beer at the bar. Smitty and his wife eating pastas.
“I should have chosen the place,” Callie says. “We’ve never tried The Angler in Nome.”
“Look, we’re here,” he says, his tone exasperated. They’re nipping at each other more than ever, enjoying pushing buttons. “Let’s get some drinks and make the best of it.”
Drinks not being the best way to go, since the wine at Elson’s is always suspect so they order gins. There’s some famous painting Travis can recall of a town split in half between gin drinkers and beer drinkers. The gin side are all fighting, the beer side hugging. Travis knows gin makes he and Callie mean, but sucks it down anyway.
Travis orders a Mondo Burger while she chooses a fried fish and they split jalapeno poppers.
“Haven’t had dinner together in some time,” she says, because Travis hasn’t been home before ten in weeks.
“Usually skip dinner, or eat a bag of chips and Oreos or something.”
“Making good headway?” she asks, perking up.
“Found out I’ll need a loan.”
“Shit, Travis. You think that’s wise?”
“Too far in now to go back.”
“But the gold was like a hundred thousand.”
“Not quite that much. Bills are piling up fast.”
“Okay,” she says, after a breath. “Whatever you need.”
“I know you’ve felt shortchanged recently.”
“I have, but this is your dream. So I’ll be supportive.”
They finish the rest of the meal without talking. He can tell she doesn’t mean what she says and already resents The Goldmine. But he’s too tired to think of how to make it better between them, and he’s starting to get drunk.
A country song comes on the jukebox and Callie squeals.
“Oooh, this is my favorite!”
“What is it?”
“Don’t know, but I love it. C’mon and dance.”
“Callie, no one’s dancing.”
“So, we’ll start the train. Please, Travis, I need to move. I need to step out of my body.”
He doesn’t know what she means, but he can’t think of one thing he hates more than dancing. He shakes his head.
“You suck, you fuck,” she says, with a fingernail between his eyes.
“I can’t dance for shit.”
She jumps up. “So what? Just hold me, rock me, I don’t care!”
“Cal, c’mon, sit back down.”
“I’m dancing! And I’m gonna find someone who’ll do it with me.”
She scans the bar, zeroes in on Jesse, who’s alone now swigging a beer.
“You, my friend,” Callie says, her hand on his knee. Jesse gulps. “Don’t be like my stupid hubby. Get those legs moving!”
She pulls Jesse from his stool and captures his tall and wiry frame in her arms.
“Mrs. Barlow, I don’t think…” Jesse mumbles.
“Mrs. Barlow? Am I that much of an old maid? Now dip me.”
Jesse obliges and she whirls in his arms, kicking her leg out and eyeing Travis, who’s fuming at the table.
“You’re not a bad dancer, Jesse.”
He’s stepping all over her toes, but she laughs anyway.
“Your husband’s coming over,” he says, his voice hitting a high octave.
“So?”
Travis pulls the two apart and Callie watches as Travis sends a fist into Jesse’s jaw.
The boy crumbles upon impact, his thin arms not standing a chance to fight back. He covers his face as Travis keeps pummeling.
“Travis, stop,” Callie says. “Travis!”
She hits him from behind, but he pushes her away. She nearly pitches over and screams. Elson gets between the men now, and Smitty helps to hold Travis back.
“This isn’t what I signed up for,” Callie cries. “None of it.”
Jesse has curled into a ball on the floor, holding his bleeding nose.
“You’re out of here or I’m calling the cops,” Elson tells Travis, who flings them both off and heads for the door.
“Travis!” he hears Callie calling after him. “Travis!”
He keeps walking. Since he’s feeling shitty, he wants everyone to feel shitty too. Always been like this. Selfish. Rotten. He punches his skull, winding down Main Street and turning on Platen toward The Goldmine, which pisses him off even more. The place a disaster. Nothing finished. Not even close.
“I’m such a fuck-o,” he tells the walls. “I should go back to her.”
But what would he say? The loan he’ll need to take out will be at least fifty thousand dollars due to unexpected expenses. And that’s if the bank agrees to give him one. He has the meeting on Monday, and his gut tells him that they’ll pass because of his lousy credit.
The gold he found winding up being more of a curse than a prize.
“Trav,” he hears from outside. He peers out of the window.
“Trav?” Wyatt asks, as he comes inside, kicking aside some loose flooring. He hasn’t seen Trav in a while and gets concerned that the restaurant looks the same as when he was last here. Trav has rings around his eyes that weren’t present before. He seems as if he could fall asleep right here.
“You don’t look well,” Wyatt says.
“I could say the same about you.”
Wyatt’s sleepless nights have affected him. He’s been hallucinating but maybe that’s also due to the heroin he’s been snorting. He swore not to inject, since that’s for true addicts. It’s a way to return to his past and Adalaide and Little Joe. But they have yet to materialize, like he’s wrung out all the memories of them and nothing remains. He’s avoided mirrors. For his reflection shows the man he was. Someone who’s killed twice in cold blood. He’s unable to line this up with his current self. But a hundred years isn’t likely to change what a man’s hands are capable of doing. And all for gold, which robbed him of everything truly important.
“Was it all worth it?” Wyatt asks. He’s trembling like he’s been caught in a downpour.
“No, Callie’s probably pissed as hell,” Trav says. “I shouldn’t have swung at Jesse.”
“I meant the gold, but no you shouldn’t have. I was finishing up a shift and saw her driving home.”
“I need to go after her,” Trav says, starting to walk out, but Wyatt stops him.
“Let her cool down. You’ll make it worse.”
“I always make it worse.”
“Maybe the two of you aren’t meant to be together.”
“What the fuck, Wyatt? Why would you say that?”
Wyatt paces around the gutted store remembering when it was his home. Seems like a lifetime ago.
“I thought I was meant to be with my wife forever. Life had another idea for us.”
“Callie and I run hot and cold. Always been like that.”
“So was the gold worth it for you?” Wyatt asks, struggling with his own answer.
“Not sure.” Trav wipes the dirt off a stool and sits. “It’s mostly sunk into this place and I still need more.”
“We always need more,” Wyatt says. “Nothing ever satisfies. I’m learning that now.”
“I’m getting a sense you haven’t been happy with our bounty.”
Wyatt towers over Trav, rests his large hands on his great-great grandson’s shoulders.
“There’s something I’ve wanted to tell you.”
“Wyatt, you’re scaring me.”
“I don’t mean to. No. But you need to know who I am. My last name is Barlow too.”
“What the…?” The room inverts and then widens. Trav has to hold onto the stool to stay upright. The gin soars up his throat, bile seeping through teeth.
“I knew about the gold because I had been to the area before, but not like how you think. It was over a hundred years ago.”
“That don’t make no sense.”
“Trav, listen. Don’t speak, open your ears. I was frozen in time.”
Travis cackles as he seems to get his bearings. “My funny friend Wyatt.”
“I am serious.”
Trav’s laughs build, evil in their growth, hurting Wyatt to the core. Wyatt smacks him across the face. The stool spins from out under and Trav lies splayed on the floor. He looks up, petrified.
“Wyatt?”
“Get up!”
When Trav doesn’t rise immediately, Wyatt pulls him to his feet.
Trav pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue. “You hit me?”
“I slapped you, there is a difference.”
“I was just laughing.”
“But it’s not a joke! You are my great-great grandson. I left my wife and child to find gold and became trapped in ice. My son traveled to Alaska, either to find me or gold for himself. He was killed as a young man but had a child. That was Papa Clifford. Papa told me this.”
Trav rubs his head. “What? What the fuck are you talking about?”
Wyatt shakes him, his strength making Trav flop around like a ragdoll. “It’s the only explanation I have! It’s how I knew where that gold was! A century passed to bring us together, for me to reunite with my family.”
“No one can be preserved in ice, that’s impossible.”
“Not for us! Not for Barlows. My son ran cold too. And I am the same. Feel my hands, go on!”
Wyatt grabs onto Trav, palms icy cool. Trav yanks away in shock. Wyatt guessing he doesn’t want to admit his power.
“And Papa too,” Wyatt continues. “His heart was still beating, wasn’t it? Even after the doctors declared him dead.”
“How did you know that?”
“I went to the hospital afterwards. I told them I was family. They explained how uncanny…”
Trav steps back, beyond spooked. “Wyatt, this isn’t cool, man.”
Wyatt takes a step forward for each step that Trav retreats. He doesn’t know what he’ll do when he catches up. Only that he needs Trav to understand.
“My family is gone,” Wyatt thunders. “But you are my family that’s still here. We look alike, you and I. That’s what united us.”
“Sometimes people resemble each other.”
“It’s because we’re blood.” Wyatt digs into Trav’s arm with his sharp fingernail until dabs of red trickle.
“Wyatt, man, stop!”
“Your blood is my blood. See?” He smears it over his palm, holds it up as evidence.
“Don’t deny who we are.”
“You’re fucking crazy.”
“Any crazier than us finding that gold? I’ve defied logic for you. I’ve changed the way you think.”
Wyatt palms Trav right over his heart. “The way your heart beats. It’s like mine. Powerful thumps that can withstand frigid temperatures. I was born in 1860, and it kept me alive this long.”
“I need to go.”
“No, not until you hear me out!”
“Wyatt, you’re getting blood all over me.” He glances down at his shirt that appears as if he’s been knifed. “Are you taking heroin again? Like, what is going on?”
The bloody palm lessens its hold on Trav’s heart. Wyatt’s face forlorn, irrevocably destroyed. The closest person in his life won’t hear his desperate truths. And Trav’ll never look at him the same way again.
“I see,” he says, quietly, shriveling.
“
Wyatt, we can help you. There’s rehab facilities.”
“It has nothing to do with heroin,” Wyatt roars. “Heroin has given me more than anyone else has in this present time…even you.”
“It can control you in a bad way.”
“I will mash your face in if you don’t stop your yammering. I will beat on you until you howl for release. I should go before I do anything I will regret.”
“Wyatt, you sound high—”
Wyatt grabs Trav by the collar, fury rolling in his murderous eyes. The two breathe in the tension hovering between. Neither knowing what might occur. But then Wyatt lets him down, fixes his collar, and bolts out of The Goldmine’s door.
“Goddamn,” Trav says, as Wyatt punctures the night at full speed, running away on all fours.
It’d be easy to write off what happened as a drunken delusion, but Travis quakes when he returns home. He strips down bare and slides into bed, tracing his finger down Callie’s back. More than ever he wishes they hadn’t fought and he could climb on top of her and
forget about any weirdness that occurred with Wyatt. But he doesn’t deserve to have her and she makes that clear by wiggling away from his probing finger.
“I’m gonna go to California for a while,” she says, halfway between sleep and lucidity. “And I’m taking Eli with me.”
His finger feels as if he’s stuck it in a light socket. Sucking its tip to ease the pain, he swallows every tear left until he’s fully dry and morning arrives without her there.
46
Aylen’s obsessed with watching those true crime shows into all hours of the night. She returns from Raye’s, gets under the covers, and toggles between 48 Hours, Snapped, Disappeared, Cold Justice and Dateline. Better to get sucked into these strangers’ tragedies, her own seeming manageable. No one’s outside her door with a cleaver. When Wyatt arrives, she has no desire to get intimate. Pisses her off that he’s not a fan of television, finding the idea of it spooky along with his tired excuse, “It wasn’t around in my time.”
He pants after running the entire way over. She removes his sweaty coat, finds some clear space amongst the clutter to lay it down.
“I told Trav the truth,” he says. “Who I am.”
“Hmm.” She lights a cigarette at the burner, blows the smoke away from his face because he hates the smell. “How’d he react?”
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