by PAUL BENNETT
‘Could be some ex-employee with a grudge. Political opponent, maybe. But it’s all a little trivial for that.’ He stood up, signalling the audience was over. ‘Good to see you,’ he said.
‘Another white man who speaks with forked tongue,’ whispered Red as we walked back to the house.
‘Hell, he’s a politician. What did you expect?’
I drove into town, stopped off at a liquor store and bought a bottle of bourbon, then stepped into the sheriff’s office. There was no deputy there today, just Tucker, seated at his desk reading through a manila file of papers. He looked over the top of the papers and looked down again.
‘Red would say, “Smoke pipe of peace”, but I’m hoping bourbon will do just as well.’
I took the bottle of bourbon out of the brown paper bag and put it on his desk.
He considered me for a moment, shook his head as if to get to grips with such an unexpected move, then got up and went over to a tall grey filing cabinet. He took out two tumblers, placed them on the desk and poured a big measure into each of them. He slid one across to me, then leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head.
I raised my glass and took a sip.
‘You got some nerve,’ he said.
‘Sometimes I just can’t resist the temptation to be a wise guy.’
‘That I’ve noticed.’
He took a swig of his bourbon and looked at me with half-closed eyes.
‘You know,’ he said, ‘this used to be a peaceable town. Since Red arrived it’s been nothing but trouble.’
‘You can’t blame the trouble on Red. Take last night. A bunch of bikers arrive looking to cause a fight, or at least to frighten us off coming to town again.’
‘Yeah, yeah. But Red is the catalyst. Trouble has even spread to the senator – you heard about the rustling and stuff? I’m left wondering where it will go next.’
He topped up our glasses and took an appreciative sip.
‘Time’s gone by when me and the deputy could pretty much run the town without much intervention – the odd Saturday night drunk or kids racing each other in cars, but how am I supposed to handle a bunch of bikers who are armed to the teeth? What’s my deputy’s wife gonna say if he gets himself killed? I kinda think it’s not our fight.’
‘So what’s Red supposed to do? Sell up and move away? Where’s the justice in that?’
‘It would solve my problems.’
I gave him a long, hard look.
‘OK,’ he said. He raised his hands, palms facing me. ‘I could see if I can get some help from the State police, but they won’t be able to stick around for long. They won’t be prepared to play a waiting game.’
‘What about if we form an agreement? You let us get on with protecting Red, his men and his property, and we’ll keep you out of the picture. In effect, we’ll do your job for you.’
‘Are you asking me to sanction a posse of vigilantes?’
‘I like to think of it more as turning a blind eye. You haven’t got the resources, so you said, to protect the town from outside forces. We’re used to that kind of work. We’re professionals – we can handle ourselves. When we have finally sorted out this problem, we’ll bring you in to make the arrests and take the glory.’
‘That sounds like bribery. You’re digging yourself a hole.’
‘I’m trying to find a way that we can both coexist – not treading on each other’s toes, so to speak.’
‘I’ll tell you what I’ll do. What’s happening in this town ain’t good for business – we get a lot of tourists here and they expect to be able to walk the streets without fear. If you can keep your quarrel private – away from town – I’ll turn that blind eye. But if there’s any more shooting like last night in a bar or maybe in a store or on the streets, I’ll come down heavy on anyone I can get – and that includes you. Do what you have to do and then get out of my town. Agreed?’
I nodded: it was the best deal I was going to get. We touched glasses and I drained mine.
‘Thanks, Sheriff,’ I said, getting up.
‘You disappoint me,’ he said.
‘Why?’
‘I had you down for some fancy stuff like modus vivendi, actually.’
I smiled and made my exit.
Across the street I could see Jerome and his dog sitting on the porch. I walked over and scratched the dog’s head.
‘Heard you had some trouble last night,’ he said.
‘Nothing we couldn’t handle,’ I said.
‘They’ll be back,’ he said.
I raised an eyebrow.
‘I heard them talking as they rode off. They’re gonna raise an army and hit you again.’
‘I was rather hoping they would have seen sense.’
‘What would you do in the same place?’
‘Hard to lose face,’ I said. ‘Especially when you’re part of a group where image is all important. I’d like to think that I’d ride on.’
‘But?’
‘But I’d probably come back better prepared.’
‘That’s what I thought,’ he said, nodding his head wisely.
The dog nuzzled up against me and I scratched his head some more.
‘See much of Jackson?’ I asked, changing the subject to something less threatening.
‘We black guys got to support each other in a town like this. We get together every Sunday – it’s his night off – play chequers, have some whiskey. What do you want to know?’
‘There’s a lot about the senator I don’t trust. Would be good to have his view.’
‘I’ll do what I can,’ he said. ‘Come see me Monday. And bring some peanuts for the dog – he may be old, but he’s got a good memory.’
‘And not just the dog,’ I said.
The guys were thrilled at the prospect of another run in with the bikers. There was silence around the dining table after I had broken the news.
‘Defences,’ Stan said. ‘We need to create some defences that will thin their numbers before they reach us.’ He stood up and looked closely at the map. ‘There’s only one road in and out. We can force them off that and make them go across country where their bikes will be a hindrance. Then we need to create some barriers – ditches, pits, whatever.’
‘How many of the ranch hands can you spare, Red?’ I asked.
‘Three, maybe four, but that’s cutting my workforce to the bone. Old man Blenkenstein’s got a digger – been trying to dig for another source of water. I’m sure he won’t object to lending it to us.’
‘We’ll go to see him tomorrow,’ I said to Red. ‘Stan, make a list of what we need, then go into town first thing in the morning and pick up everything. Then it’s all hands to the pumps.’
Stan studied the map again. ‘We can do this,’ he said. ‘We’ll give those bikers a surprise they won’t forget for a long while. This time they’ll learn that it doesn’t pay to mess with us.’ There was the sound of excitement in his normally morose voice. He stabbed at various points on the map. ‘Yeah, we can do this.’
The mood lightened. We had faith in Stan to make it work.
It was going to be one hell of a fight.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Bull, Red and I drove to the Alamo Retreat. It was a fine evening, the heat of the day had dissipated and there was a small breeze blowing off the mountains. The moon was starting to rise and cast a silver shadow over the land. It was almost romantic, and might work in our favour, or Pieter’s as he had a special role. On either side of the tarmac track that led to the retreat there was lush pasture, but no animals were taking advantage of it. Around a bend a large farmhouse came into view. It was typical for the area, not as lavish as Senator O’Hara’s spread but a similar size to Red’s and it appeared to be well maintained. There were a few dozen people making their way from the fields to the farmhouse, mostly women dressed in white and carrying wicker baskets, the few men looking like they’d been turning over the soil or doing something else manual that involved
a lot of dirt. They were singing. It seemed like an old-fashioned plantation in the Deep South where the slaves would harmonize to make the work seem easier and time go more quickly.
Fey and the two girls were waiting at the door of the farmhouse to greet us. Fey was dressed in a long white shift dress that seemed to flow for ever and finished just above her peasant-style rope-soled espadrilles. The two girls were also wearing long dresses, Cameron’s a light brown and Lucy’s a shade of blue that matched her eyes.
‘So glad you could come,’ said Fey excitedly. ‘Please come inside.’
The door opened on a large square room with Native American rugs on the floors and multicoloured blankets on the walls. If the room had been conical, you might have mistaken it for a giant tepee. A series of long refectory tables in oak, bleached by time and scrubbing to a dull white, had been pushed together. On either side of the tables were benches. There were vases of flowers placed at various points on the tables. All very homely.
At the far end of the room was a large wingback chair. From the chair arose a tall, slim man in a thigh-length kaftan over loose-fitting trousers. He had long blond hair, was tanned and looked healthy. He held his hands out in a gesture of embrace and walked toward us.
‘I am Rafael,’ he said. ‘Welcome to our house.’
His voice was quiet and serene, the kind that could make you drift off into a hypnotic sleep if you listened for too long.
I made the introductions and he beckoned us to sit on the benches along the tables. He took the head, with myself at his right side, rapidly joined by Lucy, who held my hand: Red sat opposite me with Cameron holding his arm; Fey sat next to Bull; they looked an odd pair because of their contrasting physiques and colouring. Others started coming in – maybe twenty or so, their faces glowing from a fresh wash and brush up – and joined us.
Bowls of food were brought in, steam rising from them. I tried to guess what they were as they were laid upon the table: some sort of brown rice; beansprouts; a tomato-coloured dish with green herbs sprinkled on top, which I was hoping was exactly that; bright yellow sweetcorn. There were baskets piled high with brown bread. Meagre fare. It wasn’t looking too good for us carnivores.
By each place-setting there was an earthenware goblet. Two women, also dressed in white, placed jugs of apple juice and iced water on the table. No chance of a beer, I guessed.
Everyone looked down and Rafael said a short prayer. Following this, the bowls of food circulated and we all helped themselves. Red, Bull and I took cautiously small portions. Wise move – it was bland, far too healthy and totally unsatisfying. Still, you can’t have steak and chips every day; there’s always tomorrow.
‘We have to thank you,’ Rafael said to me, ‘for what you did for Lucy. If you hadn’t been able to rescue her when the horse bolted I don’t know what would have happened to her.’
‘All part of the service,’ I said.
‘No, you’re too modest. Most men would simply have sat there and watched. We owe you a great debt.’
‘When someone’s shooting at you,’ Bull said, ‘the last thing you want to do is sit there like a fish in a barrel.’
‘And why should anyone want to shoot at you?’ Rafael asked.
‘That’s what we’re trying to find out,’ I said. ‘What about you? Anything suspicious happened to you? Any threats? It’s still possible that the person who fired the shot was aiming at Fey, or Cameron or Lucy.’
‘Why should anyone want to cause trouble for us? We don’t represent any sort of threat to anyone.’
‘Where there are bigots involved,’ I said, ‘some people don’t need an excuse. It could be that what you do here might be a threat to their Stone-Age values. From what I’ve seen of this town, people aren’t that friendly towards strangers.’
‘Maybe they just need some time to get adjusted to Red being around,’ Rafael said. ‘Being a half-breed isn’t an easy life. Ask Cameron.’
‘Has someone been threatening you?’ Red asked, grasping her hand.
‘No, not as such,’ she said, her dark eyes fixed on him. ‘When I first came here and went into town the people used to step aside from me, like I had some kind of disease. They don’t do it so much now.’ She squeezed his arm tenderly. ‘Give them time.’
‘Time seems to be running out,’ I said. ‘The situation gets worse rather than better.’
‘You could pray,’ Rafael said, as if it were the solution to everything. I wished I had his faith, whatever that was.
There was an awkward silence.
‘Pass the apple juice, please,’ Cameron said, breaking the spell. ‘We press it ourselves from the apples in our orchard. Everything you see on the table is the fruit of our labours.’
I passed the pitcher across the table, poured juice in her goblet and looked at Rafael.
‘Tell me about yourself,’ I said, ‘and what you do here.’
‘The Retreat is an autonomous group of individuals that is self-sufficient in the main and asks no more than to be left in peace.’
‘Left in peace to do what?’ I asked.
‘To provide sanctuary for those who need it, for whatever reason. Take Cameron, for instance. She is half Cheyenne, half Scots and was left with nowhere to go and no one to care for her when she ran away from home. She came here when she was just twelve years old and we have been her family ever since, and will always be so.’
‘You said sanctuary for whatever reason. Does that include those who break the law?’
‘We form our own judgements on transgressors of the law. Sometimes you have to break the law to do the right thing.’
‘There we agree with you. But we’re in the minority.’
‘One day society will catch up to our views.’
‘Don’t hold your breath,’ I said.
He smiled, a little condescendingly I thought.
‘What do you do for money?’ I asked. ‘There must be some things you need beyond the fruits of your self-sufficiency.’
‘When I was twenty-one I came into an inheritance from my grandfather. That was just enough to buy the land here and get us started. We eat what we grow and raise extra money by selling our surplus crops and by making various craft items such as baskets, jewellery, embroidery and so on.’
‘And how do you govern yourselves?’
‘We are a democratic commune.’
‘But Rafael is wise,’ Fey said. ‘We give ourselves up to him as leader. If we want a vote, it will be given, but there is rarely any need. We know that Rafael has our best interests at heart.’
Therefore, if I read her right, Rafael called the shots. Nothing wrong with benevolent dictators, until they lose their benevolence and then they’re just dictators.
‘So you haven’t had any trouble?’ I said.
Rafael nodded. Lucky him.
‘How do you get on with your neighbours?’ I asked.
‘The Blenkensteins keep pretty much to themselves. We don’t force ourselves on people, don’t try to convert them. We’re wise enough to know that our life doesn’t suit everybody.’
‘And how about the senator?’ Bull asked. ‘I very much doubt he would share your tolerance.’
‘O’Hara leaves us alone. Grudgingly, I suspect, but he and my father go way back. My father runs a big company that donates money to the senator’s political fund. O’Hara wants to stand for president one day.’
‘God preserve us,’ Red said somewhat irreverently, but Rafael took it with a grin. Red shook his head. ‘Could set this country back fifty years. Only now we don’t have a Martin Luther King.’
‘Where there is injustice,’ Rafael said, ‘someone will always come forward to stand against it.’
‘I wish I had your confidence, or your optimism,’ I said.
Bull looked at his watch. I knew what he was thinking. Sentry duty starting soon.
‘Thanks for the meal,’ I said, ‘and the neighbourly hospitality.’ To Fey I said, ‘Bring the girls over some time a
nd we’ll go riding together. Give it a while though, so that things can settle down.’
‘Yes, please, Fey,’ Lucy said. ‘Promise.’
‘I promise,’ she said.
We rose from the table, Lucy still clutching my hand and Cameron clinging to her new half-breed friend, Red. Kindred spirits. I hoped that Rafael’s luck would hold and they didn’t get victimized, too. We would have to protect them and that would stretch our limited resources thinner. Not a good strategy.
We were pensive for a while on the way back, then I broke the silence.
‘I hope they don’t get drawn into your problems, Red,’ I said. ‘They’ll just roll over so as to avoid any conflict. Won’t stand a chance.’
‘Could be picking us off one by one,’ Bull said. ‘If Red gives in and moves out, they’ll know it does no good to resist.’
‘The same thought occurred to me,’ I said. ‘In a town as bigoted as this, someone like Rafael with all his peace and love ideas could get under someone’s skin. What you don’t understand poses a threat. It will be the slippery-slope theory – let Rafael and his people gain a foothold here and who knows what will happen next.’
‘Best not to think of it,’ Red said.
‘Best to think of it and form a plan,’ I said. ‘What I don’t understand is why Cameron and Lucy are there. They’re just kids, can’t make the kind of life-changing decisions that adults can. Haven’t got the experience to make a rational choice.’
‘According to Fey, who told me quietly over what they call a meal, they’ve both got histories,’ Bull said. ‘Sad ones. Fey came across Lucy at the airport. She was begging. Looked like she hadn’t eaten for days, or slept for that matter. Turned out her dad had died of cancer and she was left with the wicked stepmother. Treated like a slave. Got beaten if she didn’t do as she was told – maybe even beaten when she did. At the time in life when she needed a father figure or a male role model, she had no one to turn to. One day she couldn’t take it any longer. Packed her bags and hitched to the airport – thought she might get some money from the travellers and be able to sleep in the departures lounge. If the Retreat hadn’t found her, God knows what would have become of her – she was easy prey. Probably would have finished up on the streets.’