“I didn’t put out any hit.”
“According to you, a convicted felon.”
“Krebs ain’t no choirboy.”
“No,” Clemens said. “But he didn’t beat a man near to death at the Paradise Junction neither. He’s not the one deals methamphetamines.”
“No,” Shelton said. “He deals cocaine.”
“Well, you know how it is in the media when it comes to meth. They’re biased on it.”
“We should figure a way to put this whole thing on Arrow. Fucking Arrow won’t mind.”
“Either way,” Clemens said. “I’m about the best friend you have in this world right now, Potter. You may want to consider them facts before you spout off next time.”
“You really think Wolfdog took the baby?”
“I don’t know. It was a terrible thought I had and I do believe it should be considered as a possibility.”
“We’ve got to keep looking.”
“I’m coming to the farmhouse first,” Clemens said. “We need to get a few things straight before I head back out. I need some reassurances. I have already called Rick and left him a message. He has yet to call me back.”
“That was a mistake,” Shelton said. “You should not have called Rick.”
“Well, I did.”
“He did not want to be bothered.”
“He will be glad to have been bothered when he finds out about Arrow and Portis Dale. I’m on my way over now. We’ll sit down in the warm and figure this through.”
“I told you I wasn’t home.”
“I’ll meet you there, then,” said Clemens.
Shelton hung up, then kissed Kayla’s forehead and flipped her back on her stomach. It was her natural position of rest.
Obviously he would not be waiting around to hold some powwow with Clemens. Shelton would go to his nearest trailer instead, to see if he couldn’t scrape together a little batch and get himself right.
To be perfectly honest, Shelton needed some meth. He had what they would refer to in the scientific community as a compulsion, though the word didn’t quite capture the feeling’s significance or strange, sudden power. The way it seemingly arose from nowhere, like a natural disaster or an apocalypse.
Uncle Rick called it jonesing. Well, Shelton was Mr. Jones, stumbling through the barrio. Earlier he was fine, but now he wasn’t. To everything there was a season, turn, turn, turn.
Yes, a trip to the trailer would be just the thing. He needed a quiet place to smoke and think through the lies he’d peddle to Uncle Rick before he started spitting them out all willy-nilly. Truth was, he was surprised he hadn’t thought to go to the trailer earlier. He blamed the nitrous, which he freely admitted could affect his decision making.
He saw the shotgun leaned in the corner and snagged it for the road. He had finished the pint in the truck and was relieved to find a half bottle of whiskey in the freezer. He grabbed a box of shotgun shells off the top of the fridge, stuffed them in his pocket, and walked back into the cold.
He started the Silverado, then sat inside the idling truck and consulted his whiskey bottle. Shelton enjoyed his nitrous, let there be no doubt, yet there were times you needed a touch of bourbon to go with it, to settle the nerves a little. Nitrous could be reasoned with, so long as you weren’t a habitual user. They called it hippie crack, but it could be managed if you knew what you were doing, like Shelton. He had a few slugs from the bottle, felt a blossom of warmth deep in his belly.
He couldn’t remember actually putting the truck in gear, but soon found himself driving down the road. He had already crossed Jackson Lake and made it a good ways down Grain and was now nearing the turn for the trailer. It was hard to see in the snow but luckily he trusted his abilities as a winter driver. He knew these hills, too, knew the two-tracks and the trails, the sudden breaks and switchbacks.
Something was bothering him, though, and it had to do with that Glock on the passenger seat. All of a sudden the Glock was making him uneasy. He couldn’t say why, but the weapon had crawled right beneath his skin.
Maybe it was because he’d almost killed Little Hector with it, or maybe it had to do with the laser sight and its space-age complexities. It seemed to Shelton that things were complicated enough. What he needed now was the shotgun he had racked behind him. What he needed now was the clear purpose of that long, cold barrel.
He rolled his window down, picked the Glock off the seat, threw it out into the storm, into the howling wind, and felt a quick flush of relief.
“There it is,” he said, and turned up the radio.
Guns N’ Roses was on and Axl was singing about some girl named Michelle. It was a good song, but Shelton wondered if it was really a girl Axl was warbling about. It seemed a strange time for such a thought, but Shelton couldn’t help but wonder if old Axl Rose was a queer. Seemed like he might be, skinny boy like that in leather pants and sang like a girl to begin with.
Shelton couldn’t recall if there’d been reports about it or not. Seemed like every few years some rock star turned out homosexual, but Shelton couldn’t confirm or deny if that population included Axl Rose. Even if he wasn’t an outright queer, Shelton bet he’d tried it. Rock and roll was a life of excesses and experimentation, and it seemed to Shelton that at some point Axl Rose must have held another man’s cock in his hands. He probably gave it a few tugs too, just to see what would happen.
“Hollywood nights,” said Shelton.
He looked down at the speedometer and realized he was going forty miles an hour. That seemed pretty fast, but then again it didn’t.
“It’s all relative,” he said.
He pushed down on the gas and the truck surged forward. He drank some more of the whiskey down. Glug, glug, glug.
He was off Grain Road now but the driving wasn’t bad on the little two-track that led to the trailer. It was south of Jackson Lake and west of the river and even with the new snow coming hard through the trees the Silverado’s purchase on the trail was solid. His tires were shedding drifts like it was a Chevy Tough commercial.
He gave the gas another punch, a love tap really, then saw a flash of movement on the periphery. A shape hurtling through the blur of snow. It was difficult to see through the window, fogging now in the heat, but he swore it looked like Old Bo was out there running. The window was still down from before and he leaned over and called out for his dog.
The air came in cold and hard and somewhere within that roar of wind Shelton thought he heard Bo holler out for him in return. He squinted into the storm and the less he could see the more certain he became that his dog was out there with him, charging by his side through the blustery night.
He knew Old Bo was dead and gone, yet Shelton swore his spirit was roaming there in the hardwoods. He could feel him, and when he looked out he saw Old Bo restored to his youthful flesh. He saw Bo bound on all fours just like when he was a pup, when he was pure joy and sinewy muscle.
Shelton was just thinking he should slow the truck down, that he didn’t want to hit Bo on accident, when he saw the buck charge. He slammed the breaks and the Silverado swung wildly to the left and he gripped the wheel as the truck slid from his control and he watched the big buck pass through the headlights. He saw the high kick of front hooves and the great, cavernous rack. He saw the white of an eye and the wet, spongy nose. Shelton cried out, and he grieved for the animal in the forever that unfolded before impact.
Shelton’s front grille met the buck’s flank and then the massive body was rolled up into the windshield where Shelton watched the glass explode into a hundred glints of fractured light, shards rising above him as they spun.
Chapter Fifteen
I was still in the trailer, sitting in the room with Jenna, when I saw the headlights. They glared through the hardwoods outside the window. They were two long beams stretching through the dark like planks.
I ran out the back and hurried down the porch steps, thinking they belonged to somebody stuck in a drift. Jenna was asl
eep in Tanner’s blanket and Carletta was still passed out in the bathroom and I thought the driver was likely to have a cell phone and that we would be rescued—but about fifty yards out it occurred to me that whoever was driving was probably Shelton Potter. After all, it was his hellhole of a trailer we were squatting in.
I shut my flashlight off, stooped down, and walked slow and careful. I could hear music, the thump of bass and some screeching guitar, and I moved toward the sound until I saw Shelton’s Silverado angled across a two-track. There was nothing but a few pine trees between us and I dropped to my knees in the snow.
I could see his big, mountainside shoulders slumped over the wheel and the truck’s front fender hanging down. The windshield was gone and the cab light was on and snow was blowing in on his motionless body. Twenty yards behind, a buck flopped in the road and I could hear the god-awful wailing through the music and the wind.
There was a felled pine to my left and I crawled behind it and put my chest in the snow. I thought it was possible Shelton was dead and that if he was I could find his cell phone and finally call for help, but he might just be passed out and what if I walked up there and roused him?
All things being even I might have waited him out a little longer, but I did not like Jenna being so far away in the house and I did not like leaving her with Carletta. Her fever had me scared and we needed a phone so I lifted myself into a crouch and eased toward the Silverado.
I got close enough to see the gas cylinder beside his body. The fool had been sucking from a nitrous tank, and there was a bottle of whiskey between his legs that somehow stood unbroken from the crash. Then I saw his cell on the driver’s-side floor—a black, blood-splattered rectangle sitting in a pile of glass shards.
I took another step and then Shelton stirred at the wheel and let out a groan. I froze and when he started to bring his shoulders up off the wheel I turned and ran. I leapt for my pine and then made myself small behind it, wriggling as far as I could into the snow and burying my head into my arms.
I heard Shelton whispering to himself, talking hurriedly, and then the clomp of his boots on the snow. I pushed my eyes more tightly closed and held my breath.
I have had nightmares where I realize I am sleeping and try to will myself awake and cannot. In those dreams I am trapped and my last hope is to somehow force myself from my body, to rise above whatever horror is happening and view it from some place that is neither sleep nor being fully awake—but this was not a dream and I could not remove myself from my body but was fully locked inside it instead. I was all cold fear and hammering heart and when I heard the shotgun blast I thought I had been shot until I noticed that the buck’s screams were silenced.
I looked up over my pine to see Shelton walking back to the truck. He had the shotgun slung over his shoulder and he was wearing some sort of crash helmet with a black visor and when he turned his head to scan the woods I swear he looked right through me.
I dropped back into the snow and listened to the opening and closing of the truck door. I heard the engine rev and then the Silverado shifted into gear and headed back down the trail.
I watched over the pine until the taillights disappeared into the black and then I stood and ran for the trailer. I ran until my legs caught fire, and when I slipped in the snow I stood quickly and ran harder. I ran and as I neared the trailer I could hear Jenna screaming.
I came in the back. I called out for Jenna and for Mama and then turned toward the sound of the shrieks. The bathroom was locked but I could hear them inside and shook the handle.
“Mama!” I shouted, and pounded the door. “Open up, Mama!”
Carletta mumbled something but I could not make it out over Jenna. I kicked the door and yelled for her to open up, but Mama did not respond.
I ran down the hall toward the bedroom. The light was on and there was a collapsing recliner in the corner of the room where stuffing came through the fabric like cotton bolls. Beside the recliner was a nightstand and on the nightstand was a glass pipe. The papoose had been left but the blanket had gone with Jenna.
Mama would not hurt a baby on purpose, but when she was on a bad one she could slip right into delirium. She could be holding Jenna and squeezing her to death without knowing any different. She could have her pressed to her chest so hard she snapped a rib, or think she was rocking her gently while she was really shaking her out like a rag doll.
There were hangers in the closet, and I took one and untwisted the hook. I looped the papoose over my shoulder and took the straightened wire to the bathroom door. I called out for Mama. I asked her to open up, though I knew she would not. I began to feel for the lever through the pinhead opening in the handle and talked to Jenna through the wall. I told her everything was going to be fine.
“I’m right out here, baby girl,” I said.
Jenna screamed and I squatted outside the door and punched with the wire.
“One second, sweet pea,” I said. “I’m right here.”
The lever finally caught and I opened the door to find Jenna in Carletta’s lap. Mama was sitting in the empty tub, her hair falling across her face in strings and partly shielding Jenna from my view. Carletta rocked back and forth and squeezed Jenna as she wailed.
“Shh,” Carletta said. “I’m trying to get this baby to sleep.”
“Mama,” I said. “It’s me.”
“I said, hush,” Carletta said.
“Can I hold the baby for a minute?”
“Tanner is fine right where he is.”
“This is Jenna,” I said, and lilted my voice hopefully.
I stepped closer and Mama looked up with her gone-away eyes. She looked at some point in the distance, beyond me, and kissed Jenna hard on the forehead.
“He’s a good boy,” she said. “But he won’t stop crying.”
“Her name is Jenna,” I said.
“He’s as sweet as he can be,” Mama whispered.
“She’s a good baby,” I said.
“We’ve been getting along just fine. I heard him crying and I went to get him and he’s finally calming down.”
I leaned into the tub but Carletta slapped my hand away and stood. She stumbled as she stepped out but caught her balance and straightened herself against the wall. Jenna reached for me. I reached back but Mama moved into the hall and when Jenna screamed and tried to wriggle free Mama clamped down with her arms and Jenna went still. Jenna’s black hair stood on end and I could see the imprint of Mama’s sweatshirt on her cheek where the skin was red and puffing.
“Mama, please,” I said.
“I’ve been waiting to see this child long enough,” she said. “The boy wants to be with his grandmother for a minute.”
I finally grabbed for Mama’s shoulder and yelled for her to stop and she wheeled around as Jenna cried out.
“I said we’re fine!”
“Just for a minute,” I said. “I just want to hold her is all.”
Carletta kept her clutch on Jenna and went for the front door, but it only opened an inch before the snow tumbled in and piled on the carpet. I felt the cold push through and Carletta slammed her shoulder into the door but it would not open any further against the weight of the drift.
“Maybe just let me hold her for a minute,” I said. “She’s probably hungry is all.”
Carletta angled toward the kitchen and I knew she was making for the back.
“You and your sister both,” she said. “Neither of you trust me with this baby.”
“This isn’t Tanner,” I said.
“You forgot who wiped your asses and burped you in the first place.”
“It’s okay, Mama. I just want to take her for a second.”
“I’m not going to hurt him!”
Jenna jumped when Mama screamed, but then lost her breath in the fright and flushed before she belted out a cry. Mama looked up and her eyes were big as moons and darted.
“I’m not going to hurt this baby,” she said.
“I know you�
��re not trying to hurt her,” I said. “But can I hold her? Just for a minute? She isn’t feeling well.”
“He’s fine,” she said. “The baby is fine.”
She opened the back door and stepped out onto the porch. She extended one of her boots and tried to kick the screen door closed but I pushed through it and was careful not to knock her backward.
I held out the papoose.
“Maybe just set her in here for a minute,” I said. “Then we can both hold her.”
She held Jenna away from her chest now, away from me, and backed toward the steps. Jenna was being dangled over the railing and she kicked her legs and screamed. I could see Mama had no idea at all where she was, that she had no idea that Jenna was in any danger of falling off the deck. Jenna balled her hands into fists and had cried herself silent. Her mouth opened in terrible, silent cries and I reached for her again.
“Mama,” I said.
“Out,” Carletta said. “Get out of my house this instant, Starr.”
“It’s Percy, Mama. I’m right here.”
“Out! Get the fuck out of my house, Starr!”
Jenna could not catch her breath to scream and I started to worry she might suffocate on her own panic. I wanted to step across Mama to grab her, but I was afraid Mama would jerk away and lose Jenna over the edge. But the longer she stood with her arms stretched the weaker her grip would get, and I worried too that her next step might send them both tumbling.
Mama stood beside the stairs and swayed. Her arms started to shake and finally I came around her side and grabbed a fistful of Jenna’s pajamas and pulled. Carletta pulled back and both of us stepped away from the other as Jenna finally wailed and was stretched out between us.
I screamed at Mama. I don’t know what I said, but I spit it out like fire. She tightened her hold on the terry cloth and I worked my fingers beneath her fist while Carletta bawled some terrible, animal yelp. Then I set my foot in her thigh and when I kicked her fingers were finally pried loose and she fell.
She did not go down the stairs but only slumped into the snow on the porch where she lay whimpering. I looked down at her and had never felt so disgusted in my life.
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