This Side of Night

by J. Todd Scott

  He must have sat up most of the night, watching over them with his rifle.

  “What did you and Zita talk about last night?”

  Javy spun his mug in his hands, considered. “She is a bright girl. She told me stories. I listened.”

  She remembered Zita chattering away, still wearing Danny’s hat. If the girl understood what was happening all around her, she didn’t show it, but Mel wasn’t so sure.

  “That’s not really an answer.”

  He smiled, weary, and then hid the remains of that smile behind his mug. “I know.”

  Mel wasn’t hungry anymore, but she took a bite of the eggs and sausage anyway. She pulled apart one of the three tortillas he’d buttered and folded for her, still warm, and chewed that.

  “So did you believe her, all her stories?”

  Javy had dark eyes and his hair was all white, with a distinct widow’s peak. He resembled Fox Uno. They shared the same weathered skin and deep-set eyes fenced off by age lines. He had the faded curves of a tattooed word on his neck, disappearing beneath his shirt, and in all the time she’d known him, she’d never gotten a good look at it or felt comfortable asking what it said. If he had other tattoos, she wasn’t aware of them, and she had seen him in shirtsleeves that had revealed his bare arms, veined and muscled from years of hard work. He wore only one ring, a chipped blue stone, on his left hand. He put his mug down and patted her arm with that hand, a father reassuring his daughter. She couldn’t remember her own daddy ever doing that, but it didn’t make her feel any better now.

  “It’s going to be fine,” he said, taking his mug of coffee and whiskey back up.

  Again, another non-answer, but it was all the answer she needed.

  The truth was there in his eyes, as dark as those of the trophies on the walls.

  He had believed Zita, and that’s why he’d stayed up guarding them.

  It was why he was walking around his kitchen armed, and had turned his small house into a fortress.

  He’d believed every goddamn word she’d said.

  FIFTY-FOUR

  When the Bronco pulled into the yard at first light, Johnnie yanked Eddy off the couch by his hair.

  “Who the fuck is that?” Johnnie asked, dragging Eddy to the window. The others—Ringo, Roman, and the rest—were just awake but moving fast, too, each of them posting up on a window and the back door. All armed. It was early, real early, and it was taking Eddy’s brain a moment to fire, like an old engine trying to turn over, and it didn’t help that he’d been deep in the middle of a dream he couldn’t remember now.

  Eddy didn’t recognize the truck.

  “I said who the fuck is that?”

  But Eddy did recognize the driver, when he got out of the Bronco.

  * * *

  —

  “WHAT THE FUCK IS DANNY FORD DOING HERE?” Johnnie asked. There was near panic in his voice, like an electric current running through his skull. Eddy could feel it all the way down through the hands holding him up by the window.

  “I got no idea. None.”

  “Johnnie, what do you want us to do?” Ortiz asked. He was the only one who didn’t have his gun drawn. The others looked ready to shoot the deputy—Ringo looked in love with the idea—but not Ortiz.

  Eddy watched Johnnie think, tiny wheels turning in his head—throwing sparks, generating more of that high-voltage current.

  Johnnie’s hands were still trembling.

  He shook Eddy. “You get the fuck out there and stop him from coming into this trailer. If he finds out we’re here, we kill him. Then you, and then that fuckin’ whore of a girlfriend of yours. It’s as simple as that, amigo.”

  “How the fuck am I supposed to do that?”

  Johnnie shook him again. “I don’t know, just do it.” Then he pulled him close. “And if you even think about telling him we’re here, Charity’s gone, got it? First, I will have that big fucker Roman over there rape her. Then the fuckin’ crazy Indians will take her down south, put her out to work for a few months, before they finally clip her. And it’ll be hard work, Eddy, high and hard, if you get my fuckin’ meaning.”

  “I get it. I got it. Jesus, let go of me.” Eddy pulled away and Johnnie released him. “You keep your fucking animals quiet in here, and I’ll take care of this.”

  Johnnie pointed a finger at him. “You better be Jesus and work a goddamn miracle.”

  Eddy ran his hands through his hair and tried to pull himself together, the thought of that almost making him laugh out loud.

  Without another word, Eddy was out the door into the early-morning sunlight.

  * * *

  —

  HE NEARLY RAN RIGHT INTO DANNY FORD about ten feet from the trailer.

  “Goddamn, Eddy, what’s the rush?” Danny said, taking a step back.

  “Fuck, you scared the hell out of me! I saw a truck I didn’t know, and I figured . . . well, I figured all sorts of shitty things . . .”

  Danny looked him up and down. “No one’s come out here for you, have they? That Apache?”

  Eddy shook his head. Since he had no idea why Danny had come out to the canyon, and had no idea what he might be fixing to say, he had to gauge just how much Johnnie and the rest of them could overhear. It took everything he had not to turn around and see if he could catch one of ’em staring out through the busted-up blinds at them.

  Instead, he searched around for his cigarettes and lighter in his pockets and kept walking right on toward the Bronco, lighting up as he went, hoping he’d pull Danny in his wake.

  He’d been smoking more cigarettes since he’d stopped smoking crank, and was pretty sure they’d kill him just as dead, just not as fast. Not that it mattered, ’cause it would be a miracle if he lived that long.

  You better be Jesus and work a goddamn miracle . . .

  Danny eyed the trailer . . . a good, long look . . . but followed Eddy. “Charity was worried about you.”

  Eddy blew smoke and leaned against the Bronco. He hoped it was far enough away. “Well, fuck, you told me not to call her. Threatened me, truth be told. So, you know, I didn’t.”

  Danny came up next to him. “You’re right, I did. And I guess you didn’t. You’re learning.”

  “Besides, I’m outta minutes on my phone. You might guess that business has been slow since I got popped.” What he didn’t, couldn’t, say was that Johnnie had taken his phone. He’d shoved it away in one of his packs, along with Eddy’s spare truck keys, although Charity still had the truck with her.

  No calls in or out.

  No leaving.

  “You look clean, Eddy. You don’t look good, but at least you look clean.”

  Eddy took in Danny’s own bloodshot eyes and unshaved face. It didn’t look like he’d slept at all last night, maybe not for a couple of nights. “That makes two of us. You look the way I feel . . . like you tied one on last night. Must have been a helluva party.”

  Danny put his hands in his jeans, rocked back and forth. “What it looks like is somebody worked you over, Eddy. Somebody worked you over bad. You want to talk about it?”

  Eddy laughed, nervous. Motioned toward his own face. “This? I got this falling over my junk in the trailer. Woke up to take a piss, next thing you know . . . blam, I’m facedown. At least if I had been high, even drunk, I wouldn’t have felt that shit at all. Instead, it hurt like a motherfucker.” He tried counting ashes blowing away from the end of his cigarette. “Everything hurts more when you’re sober. Maybe that’s why I tried so hard for so long not to be. Why’d you come out here, Deputy?”

  “I was out this way. I’m going to be out of pocket for a couple of days, taking care of some business.”

  “Shit, ain’t nobody ever out this way unless they’re looking for something.”

  Shadows fought back against the rising sun, most of the canyon sti
ll successfully holding on to the dark. “Look, this is important, Eddy. Are you sure none of your friends came across the river? Maybe asked some questions about Deputy Reynosa or anyone else? Is there anything you want to tell me? I don’t give a shit what you’ve done, or what you’re doing now, I just need to know.” He pointed at the trailer. “You want to let me have a look around in there?”

  Eddy shrugged and shook his head, an exaggerated gesture. He hoped those fuckers in the trailer saw it. “You got a warrant this time? Damn, I ain’t even slugged you with a frying pan yet.” Eddy laughed, trying to pass it all off as a joke. Having first Johnnie show up, and now Danny—both of ’em asking about Deputy Reynosa—was some serious shit. Serious trouble. For Danny, for everyone.

  Johnnie’s vehicles were hidden around the back side of the trailer, down near the water, but if Danny took a walk around, he’d see them.

  And if he walked into the trailer . . .

  He thought about just rolling the dice and telling Danny everything—about Johnnie and his thugs hiding out in the trailer, about their bags of guns and the old man they were looking for—whatever it took to convince Danny to just run like hell, the way Eddy used to run when he was under the lights, out on the track.

  One foot in front of the other.

  But would Danny go for it? Deputy Danny Ford didn’t seem like the running type, not at all, and Eddy had never been that lucky.

  How far could either of them get?

  If Eddy said something now, he’d probably end up getting both of them killed, right where they stood, and then Charity, later.

  He pulled hard on the cigarette.

  Running in a circle, or worse, caught in a goddamn trap, like a real fucking rabbit.

  “C’mon, Deputy, I’m clean here. Tryin’ to stay straight, not causin’ any problems. But if you really want to mess around inside that shithole, go right ahead.” He held his breath, swallowing smoke. It was bitter, went down hard. It hurt.

  Danny looked back and forth between Eddy and the trailer. Time seemed to stretch on and on . . . the decision hanging in the air. Eddy could almost see it, as clear as the yellow tape he’d found around his trailer, until the phone on Danny’s hip suddenly buzzed, an incoming text message. He read it twice and then closed his eyes, shaking his head in obvious irritation. It was some kind of bad news—urgent—and it had distracted the deputy just long enough.

  Danny turned his back on the trailer, and Eddy finally let out his breath.

  “Okay, okay, I’m not going to fuck with you, Eddy. I didn’t come out here to do that.” Danny went around and opened the driver’s-side door, rummaging around inside. That gave Eddy a chance to get a look at the camper shell on the back of it, where he could see what appeared to be several new, decent-sized holes drilled in the shell, at different heights, covered over with black electrician’s tape. Standing back at a distance, the taped-up holes would pretty much fade into the smoked-black plastic of the camper shell, but up close, they were damn visible, and ugly. It seemed like a dumb thing to do to a nice truck, and he was about to say something about it, when Danny turned back to him.

  He had a crumpled-up envelope in his hand and was counting some bills out of it.

  “Here’s a couple hundred bucks. Get your goddamn phone juiced up. Today. Maybe give Charity a call to tell her you’re not dead out here. Probably still not a good idea to see her, but one call wouldn’t hurt, I guess. And if you see or hear anything, anything at all, you call me next. Got it? I mean that.”

  Eddy took the money and shoved it into his pocket. With his back to the trailer and the door of the truck in the way, he didn’t think anyone inside saw the exchange. “Got it.” Then he motioned low to Danny’s phone, “Something bad’s happening, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, I’m afraid so.” Danny looked down at the envelope in his hands, which still had plenty of green inside it. “When I was in Afghanistan, I always used to think the calmest days were the ones right before everything went to hell. You always paid for that little bit of peace, no matter what.” He handed the rest of the envelope over to Eddy. “Fuck it, take it all.”

  Eddy did. “She never called you, did she? Charity, I mean. You tried to call me, couldn’t get ahold of me, and came out here on your own.”

  Danny ignored most of what Eddy had said. “You still got my number?”

  Eddy searched back . . . remembering the egg carton.

  “Yeah, I got it.”

  “Good, then use it.”

  Danny got in the truck and turned the engine over, but the driver’s-side window was rolled down, and he talked to Eddy through it. The cool, rushing air of the open window had probably done wonders for Danny’s hangover, an old trick Eddy knew well. “It’s been a couple of nice, calm days. It’s getting cooler, with autumn here. I like it. I’m glad to see you’re doing okay, Eddy, holding it together. Let’s keep it that way, okay? No, Charity didn’t call, but I’m sure she wanted to.” Danny fidgeted with the keys. “You’re going to be all right.”

  “Yeah,” Eddy said, as he turned to walk slowly back to the trailer. “Then how come I feel like such shit?”

  * * *

  —

  JOHNNIE WAS ON HIM the minute he crossed the door.

  He punched Eddy in the shoulder, knocking him off his feet. The others were circled all around, except for Ringo. That snakeskin-wearing motherfucker was still up by the window, his black long gun just below the sill, pointed at the floor, his finger on the trigger.

  “I think he’s gone, Johnnie,” Ringo was saying, but he didn’t leave the window, and the gun didn’t move.

  Not an inch.

  “What did he want?” Johnnie asked Eddy, his boot hovering to deliver a kick. It looked enormous from the floor.

  “Nothin’, goddammit, it was a bunch of nothin’.”

  “Not good enough, amigo. Not even close.” The boot swung in, catching Eddy hard in the gut, and cocked back again.

  “Goddamn, he wanted to know if I’d seen Charity. He wanted to make sure I hadn’t been tryin’ to talk to her or nothin’. He was just doing his Dudley Do-Right shit.”

  “That didn’t look like a deputy visit. Hell, that didn’t even look oh-ficial. That wasn’t his Big Bend truck,” Roman said, leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed. He was looking steadily at both Johnnie and Eddy, his eyes flat as river sand. They refused to reflect what little morning light there was creeping in through the blinds.

  “What the fuck do you want me to say? I don’t plan his work schedule. That’s what he came out for, and—” Eddy stopped, sudden, wiping his mouth although it was bone-dry. It was like he’d swallowed a mouthful of that sand. He gave the pause a few extra heartbeats, selling it, but he didn’t have to sell it that hard.

  “And what, dumb shit?” Johnnie asked, crouching down on his boot heels. He’d produced a handgun from somewhere, and it was resting now against Eddy’s temple. It was cool, like one of Charity’s fingers, against his skin.

  “It was . . . bullshit, you know? He caught me off guard, showin’ up like he did, but I didn’t say nothin’. I played it cool.”

  “Spit it out,” Johnnie pushed, and the gun’s barrel pushed, too.

  Eddy tried to give him that look . . . a look that said . . . are you sure you want me to say it all out loud? In front of everyone?

  It was a look that also said: I tried to save you . . . amigo.

  By then, Johnnie had figured it out—it was right there in his eyes, a sudden realization, and a shadow of fear—but it was also too late. He couldn’t stop Eddy now, even if he wanted to, not after the little show he’d put on in front of the rest of them.

  Not with them watching, waiting.

  Johnnie’s eyes went wide, wider, that shadow in them lengthening.

  Eddy smiled, a bare flicker. A match in a darkness of his own. />
  Got you, amigo. Got you, you motherfucker.

  We’re both caught in this trap now.

  “He asked me about you, Johnnie. Wanted to know if I’d seen you, if you’d been around town. He used both your names: Johnnie, and that other one you go by, Apache. I guess he knows all about you now, and he’s lookin’ for you.”

  And then the room erupted.

  * * *

  —

  THERE WAS PLENTY OF YELLING, enough that they pretty much forgot Eddy, who pulled himself off the floor and let it play out.

  Ortiz was ready to pack up and leave, right then and there, as was the big fucker, Roman. The other two, Ringo and Chavez, were not as sure. Johnnie kept telling them he had no idea why Deputy Ford would be asking about him, no fuckin’ idea at all. And it didn’t matter anyway. They didn’t have a choice. They had to see this thing through, no matter what.

  It sounded to Eddy like Johnnie had been caught in a trap of his own long before he ever walked into Eddy’s trailer, and he’d pulled the others right along in with him.

  Ortiz said out loud what Eddy knew the others were thinking—He’s just looking for Johnnie, not us. No one knows about us. It’s not too late.

  For a moment, Eddy thought Roman might shoot Johnnie right then and there, but Johnnie kept at it, working his side of the story. He sounded like a desperate man pleading for his life, which maybe he was.

  “Besides,” he finally said, “I got the message this morning, right before that prick Ford was pulling up. We’re moving today. It’s a go. Today, and then we’re done.”

  Then we’re going home.

  Eventually they all got calmed down, but the damage had been done. The air was electric, like lightning had gone off inside the trailer. They were all on edge, jumpy, as they checked their packs and their gear. They kept throwing glances at each other, some silent language between them, all behind Johnnie’s back.