In the town of Carbon they’d stopped at a Shell station and took turns drinking out of the water hose that was turned on a bed of flowers beside the lot. The water had tasted funny, like it had rocks in it, but it was cold and it was wet.
While Mistie was sucking from the hose, a gangly teenaged cowboy pulled up to the tanks and began to fill his pickup with high octane. Tony thought he looked like a real cowboy. She wondered if he knew about Burton Patinske’s ranch. He probably did. A girlfriend in the passenger’s seat leaned out the window, holding a hot dog dripping in chili. “Bo, want a bite?” she teased.
“Want a bite of you, baby,” he said. The girl had laughed, burped around a bite of the dog, and the boy had kissed her full and wet on the lips. Tony had turned away, not wanting to see.
Back in the truck, the teacher mentioned they were down to a quarter tank of gas. Tony brushed it off; a quarter tank of gas in a big old truck like the one they were riding in could likely last to Lamesa. The map said it was about one hundred seventy miles from Carbon. And Tony didn’t want to stop one more time, not for shit, not for water, not for God Himself.
Well, except for a stoplight, but that was a done deal and they were rolling again.
Tony let her fingers play the air of Farstone. “Know what?” she called back inside to Mistie. “If I’d had my gun, I’d-a shot that roadrunner back there. I hear they taste good as chicken.”
“I’m hungry,” said Mistie.
“Shit, I was kidding.”
They passed the shacks and the sleeping dogs and the dusty trees. Then, as they reached the western boundary of the town, the truck coughed, shimmied, and went dead.
“Out of gas,” said the teacher. It was nearly a whisper. She sounded horrified.
The truck coasted to a stop in front of a trailer with a business sign by the door that read, “Madame Rose. Palm Reader and Advisor. Closed Until Further Notice.”
Tony looked at the needle on the gas indicator. It was below E. She looked at the teacher, who didn’t look back.
“No shit out of gas,” said Tony. She opened the truck door and stepped down. She scanned the road in both directions. The last thing they needed was some curious mayor or preacher to drive up and ask if they needed assistance. Not that Farstone would have a mayor. It didn’t even look like they had a church, unless they prayed in singlewides.
“Goddamn it!” said Tony. She drove the bottom of her foot into the side of the truck.
“We’re stuck,” said the teacher.
“We’re not stuck,” said Tony. She leaned in with her knife and cut the ties on the teacher’s wrists. “Get out.”
The teacher stood on the side of the road with her hands on her hips. She looked like one of those women in the pictures Tony had seen at school about the Dust Bowl. Eyes that were cooked dry, dirty arms, skinny legs. Mistie rolled out and leaned back on the truck cab, her hands tucked inside the front of her jumper.
“Let’s walk,” said Tony.
“Lamesa’s a good two hours away by car,” said the teacher. “How soon until we’d dehydrate? How easy would it be for us to be caught out in the middle of nowhere? You’ve made it clear you want the thrill of the chase. I don’t.”
“I was kidding. God, you think I’m stupid. I’m not stupid.”
“We have to get off this main street. Quickly.”
They hurried down the alley that ran alongside the fortune teller’s trailer and back another block for good measure, then sat close in the ratty grass in the shade of a hen house. A couple of Hispanic girls walked past on the alley, one holding tightly to the leash of a bouncing shepherd puppy. The girls glanced over, then whispered something and giggled. Tony was sure those girls didn’t know who they were. The girls were probably laughing at the teacher’s overalls. They were way pathetic.
“I’m going to the lounge,” the teacher with a tip of her head. “You two wait here.”
“What you gonna do, whore yourself out for a ride?”
“I don’t know what I’ll do.”
“Damn! That’s a hoot!”
“Really, Tony? Call it what you will. Just don’t let Mistie out of your sight.”
“I don’t think I’ll let you go. I think you’ll be in there sobbin’ some story, tellin’ them all the bad things I did and how you’re all innocent.”
The teacher took Tony’s chin and Tony didn’t pull away. Her fingernails were rough where they’d broken off at different lengths. The woman’s breath was rank. “I’ve made my course. Trust me or not, I will get us to Lamesa.”
Tony shrugged then jerked from the teacher’s grasp. “Fine with me. But you got ten minutes, or each minute after that little old Mistie here gets a new piece of a tattoo. I think she’d look cute with a little angel, don’t you think? Down her back, between those bony shoulders, give the angel wings, a halo, oh, there’s lots of minutes to use up if I need them.”
“You won’t hurt her,” said the teacher. “And I will be back in less than ten.”
“We’ll see,” said Tony.
“You won’t hurt her.” The teacher was up, and hobbling toward the street.
“We’ll see, won’t we Mistie?” Tony said. She looked at the child, who had found a handful of grass with seedpods, and was rocking back and forth and popping the pods off with the wrap and snap of the stems.
59
“We aren’t open yet. It’s not even five yet.”
Kate squinted in the darkness, her heard turned toward the sound of the voice.
“I’m sorry,” said Kate. “I was just hoping for some help.”
“What kind of help?” The voice was male, and decidedly young.
“A ride.” God, to say it aloud, in that was the danger. In that the connection could be made if the news had reached this far.
Just get the ride, get out of here, two hours tops and we’ll be safe.
“Ain’t no bus service in Farstone, sorry,” said the voice. The darkness of the room began to shimmer away, and in the center of Kate’s sight she could see a single shaded lamp sitting atop a bar counter, and a boy behind the bar, counting dollar bills. “No taxi, neither. You ain’t from here. You lost?”
Kate could see well enough to walk to the counter without tripping on table or chair legs. She hoped her limp wasn’t terribly obvious, but knew it was. “No, I’ve run out of gas.”
The boy laughed. He was dark skinned, dark eyes, a head full of thick black hair. He was a little older than Donnie. “That’s a bummer,” he said. “A goat roper lost in Texas with no gas!”
“Goat roper?”
“Oh,” said the boy. He stacked the bills and slipped them into an open cash register drawer. “Don’t take offense, it’s just something we call people who aren’t from here, especially people who are, well, kinda skinny.”
“Oh,” said Kate. “Okay. No bus. Any gas? Anywhere?”
“Closest gas station is east up 180, town of Albany or west in Anson.”
“I can’t drive to get gas with no gas.” Kate, keep it easy, don’t piss him off.
“Right there. George Watson got gas up at his ranch for his trucks. But he’s not the kind of man you ask for anything.”
Kate licked her lips. She slid onto one of the bar stools and caught her head in her hands. She knew she smelled. She hoped the boy had clogged sinuses.
“So, where you trying to get to?” asked the boy.
Say it.
“Lamesa.”
“Really?”
It was then that Kate saw the open newspaper on the counter by the register. She couldn’t read the headlines the way the paper was turned and pooched up at the fold.
“Why Lamesa?”
“I…because it’s nearly on the other side of the state, right? I make Lamesa and I’m almost to New Mexico. Thought if I could get that far, I could find a motel for the night.”
The boy shut the cash register drawer and nodded. He said, “Where you from?”
“North Carolina.
”
“That’s pretty far away.”
“You’re telling me.” She tried to chuckle. It sounded like a gasp. “Can you think of anyone who would be willing to give me a ride to Lamesa?”
“You traveling alone from North Carolina?”
“Why? Does it matter?”
The boy looked over his shoulder. There was a phone mounted on the wall. He shrugged. “I guess it would, if there was only room for one person in the car.”
“You have a car? Would you take me? I can’t pay, but….”
But I’ll fuck you for a ride? Hey baby, take a load of this filthy body and let me tempt you into providing a little shuttle to Lamesa? Stop looking at the phone!
The lounge door opened with a squeal and Kate looked back into the blinding light of day. She turned away and stared down at the bar. Don’t let him see your face.
“Hey there, Juan.”
Her. Don’t let her see your face.
“Hey there, Greta. We aren’t open yet.”
The boy probably doesn’t know jack. I’m jumping at shadows. Thousands of children are abducted each year. And how many do they find? Ten percent? Five? Why couldn’t Mistie be one of the lost? The odds are pretty good.
The woman walked up to the bar and slid onto the stool three down from Kate. She was in a uniform, but Kate couldn’t tell what kind with her peripheral vision. Police, maybe. Security guard. Hostess snack cake truck driver. “Howdy, ma’am.”
She knows who I am, she’s making sport of me. I have to get out.
“Hello,” offered Kate. To Juan, “Listen, thanks anyway but I’ll figure something out. Merry Christmas.”
“Feliz Navidad,” said Juan.
Kate stood and turned. The woman beside her was, indeed, a police officer. Deputy. Something with a badge, but something legal. She was a large woman with arms that strained at the fabric of her sleeves.
“Ma’am,” she said. “That your truck up the ways?”
“Ah,” said Kate. What was the right answer? What was the best answer? Her heart began hammering in her chest and in her leg. “Which truck is that?”
Officer Greta chuckled. “Juan, got a beer? I’m off duty. I won’t tell your boss you served early.”
“Sure,” said Juan. He reached under the counter. There was the sound of slushing ice, and then a beer can was plopped onto the bar top. The officer popped the top, and said, “Ma’am? That your truck, the tan one that out of gas?”
“Yes.” A chuckle, way too loud to sound normal.
Get out of here, get out now.
“Plates say Louisiana.”
“Yes. They do.”
Juan said, “Thought you were from North Carolina.”
No no no no. “I am, originally. Listen, I have to be going.”
“How?” said Juan. “You said you’d run out of gas.”
Officer Greta caught Kate by the arm but then let go, as if she realized that was out of order or she’d caught a whiff of Kate’s homegrown perfume.
“You can’t leave the truck there. Can’t abandon vehicles in the limits of Farstone.”
Kate’s head began to swim. Greta’s vague and massive visage bobbed up and down as if nodding. “Okay,” she managed, “I’ll get it moved.”
“Without gas?” said Juan.
“Sit down, ma’am, you don’t look well,” said Officer Greta.
“I’m fine, just tired,” said Kate. She stumbled for the door.
Get out now, find Tony. Find Mistie. Hide. Think it though. There is a solution. You are a teacher. You can fix this.
She reached the door and pushed out into the light. She blinked madly at the bright assault. In front of the lounge was Officer Greta’s car.
Kate caught her breath against the pain in her leg. Go, she thought. Go! Go before Officer Greta realizes who just walked out of the lounge.
“Ma’am?”
Kate turned about, nearly stumbling on the rough sidewalk.
In the daylight, Greta was a pretty woman with sunburned cheeks and a small nose. She was shaking her head in what seemed like pity. Not sarcasm.
“Ma’am, I believe in doing good for others. My church tells us that. And I like to think I do something worthwhile once a week, besides chasing down kids who break windows and tear up cattle fences. I’m thinking you could use a ride somewhere? To get some gas? I have a can in my cruiser. Anson’s got a station. It’s not far.”
Kate touched her lip with her fingers. “I…don’t want to take advantage of your kindness.” Was this woman laying a trap?
“It’s nearly Christmas. Let me do my good deed for the week so I can say I did.” Greta winked, smiled. It seemed harmless.
She doesn’t know, thought Kate. Okay. Okay, then.
“Okay, thanks.” But we have no money for gas.
“And don’t worry,” said Greta as she opened the door for Kate. “I only had three sips of that beer. I’m not intoxicated. I’m off duty, but I am not drunk.”
Worry about the money later. One minute at a time. One second.
Greta got in her side and adjusted her rearview. She pulled a cap from the seat and worked it onto her puffy brown hair. “I was kidding. That was a joke. I’m never drunk.”
“Oh,” said Kate. “Sorry. I mean, that’s funny.”
The engine revved, and Greta pulled out onto Farstone’s Main Street.
“I’ve got my…kids with me,” said Kate. “They’re up by the truck.”
“Why’d you leave them back there? It’s too hot to be outside very long.”
“Lounge said adults only.”
“Oh,” said Greta. She smiled. “Right. I forgot. You’re a good mom, know that?”
60
Tony couldn’t take her eyes off the police scanner on the dash of the deputy’s car. The woman said she was off duty, so the scanner was not turned on, but all Tony could think was, I wonder if we’ve made it yet? I wonder if we’re on that scanner?
They were a few miles west of Farstone, the land before and beside them various shades of gold and bronze, rising slightly in the distance but revealing what Tony guessed were miles and miles of rangeland. She wondered what people here would feel like, diving in Virginia. Would all those trees make them go nuts because they couldn’t see past the next curve?
Tony was in the front seat. The teacher and Mistie were in the back. The teacher was smiling her teacher smile and looking like it hurt worse than her shot leg.
“You got any doughnuts or doughnut sticks?” asked Tony.
The deputy laughed. “Officers are supposed to be crazy for doughnuts, right?”
“Yeah. Got any?”
“Are you all hungry? When did you last have something to eat?”
Tony thought about the red cherry tomatoes she’d swiped from the fortune teller’s back yard garden, and the cucumbers and peppers. She and Mistie had had a little lunch while counting to ten minutes while the teacher was offering herself up for a ride. Well, Mistie only ate the tomatoes, but Tony had found the cukes and the peppers to be okay once she spit on them and wiped off the dust.
“We’re hungry,” said Tony. “Ain’t we, sis?” She nudged Mistie over the seat.
Mistie hadn’t said a word since getting into the cruiser. She’d just stared at the officer as if she’d never seen such a thing in her life.
“There’s a really super diner next to the gas station in Anson,” said the officer. “You all can get a tank full for your car then a tank full for your bellies. Best ribs this side of Fort Worth.”
Have we made the news yet?
“Can we listen to that?” Tony pointed to the scanner.
“Honey, I’m off duty, not back on for another two hours. I like a little peace and quiet.”
“Please? I never got to hear one before. Just a few minutes?” Tony sensed the teacher in the back, going totally still. This freaked her out.
“Well?”
“Oh, all right. But I’m turning it down. It can cut thr
ough my head like a laser sometimes, all that static.”
She flipped a dial, adjusted the volume, then put both hands back on the steering wheel. Tony turned her ear to the scanner and concentrated.
There was a fluttering, a hum, and a male voice saying something about some cows that got out of the fence on the Mendez farm and had caused a motorcycle wreck out on Route 600. Then a code number Tony didn’t quite catch, and some garbled follow up information, “Domestic dispute. Neighbor on Green Avenue heard arguing. Responding to….” More static. How in the world were deputies supposed to keep up with stuff they couldn’t hear?
“Had enough?” asked the deputy.
“Another minute, please.”
“One more. We’ll be in Anson in three.”
“Thank you.” Tony smiled. Playing the sweet daughter was a hoot. Knowing she was almost at Burton’s ranch was so painfully wonderful she could hardly keep in down in her stomach.
Then on the scanner, static, jumbled words, but some quite distinct. “…interstate kidnapping… report came in from Nacogdoches…one Katherine - Kate - McDolen, age 42. One Angela Petinske, age 15….”
Fuck fuck fuck fuck! Tony didn’t know whether to grapple the knob and shut the scanner down or let it run, let the words come, hear it on the air where it made it all real, made it all so goddamned valid….
The officer frowned, adjusted the knob. “What is this?”
“….moving across Texas, likely to Lamesa where Petinske’s father is said to reside…seven-year-old Mistie Dawn Henderson, allegedly abducted by McDolen on Tuesday…. Petinske thought to have….in a robbery and murder at an Exxon station in….”
The deputy turned off the scanner. Her brows were down, making a stern and uneasy parallel with the brim of her hat. “Where’d you guys say you were from?”
“North Carolina,” said the teacher.
Tony said nothing.
“What’s your names, anyway? You never did say.”
“Jackie,” said Tony.
“Mistie?” said the deputy.
“What?” asked Mistie in the back. And she began to whimper. “Daddy said Valerie had a bad liver. He said her head didn’t get cut off.”
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