2,000 Miles to Open Road (Barefield)

by Trey R. Barker

  Biting his lips, tasting his own blood, Hal headed for Hilda's house. At this point it was all the way across town, but that wasn't saying a whole bunch, it was a small town. Within minutes, he found her block and then saw the house from the far end of that block. Christmas lights blazing even during the day, brown and blue paint clashing so loud his head hurt because of it. He parked in front and strode up the front walk to the steps.

  At the door, he didn't even knock or hesitate, just went right in.

  The place smelled of freshly baked tortillas and candles. On the mantle, flanking a picture of Jesus were two tall glass candle holders. Jesus adorned each one, both were frosted, and both were lit. Flames bounced delicately behind Jesus' head.

  "Dancing Jesus," Hal said.

  Something thunked the back of his head. "Ow." He ducked away, fists tight and ready.

  "Watch your mouth, Halford Turnbull." Hilda's angry eyes bit hard into him. "Take his name again and I'll wash your mouth out."

  Hal grinned. "Yes, ma'am."

  She returned his smile and suddenly pulled him to her. Her hug was tight and fierce. "It's good to see you, Halford."

  "Good to see you, too, Hilda." He kissed her cheek gently. "Hey, by the way, it's August."

  "I don't need any grief from the likes of you."

  Something about the way she said it, her tone of voice, both reproaching and sarcastic, put Shawn in his head. Where was she now? Had she been picked up yet? Or was she still walking?

  "Halford?" Hilda frowned.

  "Nothing. I'm good."

  She nodded but obviously didn't believe him. "Theresa will be here at 6:15. How about some lemonade while we wait?"

  Hal shoved Shawn out of his head, nodded, and drank nearly an entire glass in one gulp. As sweet, as nostalgic and beautiful as it was, Shawn kept pressing back into him.

  He couldn't drink fast enough to drown her.

  ***

  At 6:17, she came through the front door. Her face was flushed, her breath fast. Her hands trembled. The way they had the last time they'd touched. That tremble was for loss, this was for found.

  "Hal."

  Voice soft as a feather.

  When she came to him, he brushed the steel-black hair from her face, which opened her dark eyes up to him. She smiled and he grinned at the hard water stain between the two lower teeth on her right side.

  "I missed you."

  "You need to say it?"

  He shook his head. "Need you to hear it."

  "I know it, mi amante."

  They stood for a few minutes, as though acclimating to the presence of the other. Silence, more comfortable by the moment, slipped between them while the sun crawled down the side of the sky, heading toward evening. It would be a long while until dark, but streaks of orange and purple already stretched toward the horizon.

  "I'm glad you came home."

  He kissed her forehead. "Should'a never gone away."

  She shrugged. "I wouldn't'a been able to hang out with my boyfriend if you hadn't."

  "True enough, I guess."

  A giggled passed between them.

  At 6:21, she took him into the bedroom. Discreetly, Hilda left the house. At 6:22, she undressed him. She ran her fingers along his body, not asking about the bandaged wound on his arm or about the scar on his neck, not asking about the scabs and cuts running the length of his legs and his cheek. Instead, she kissed those wounds and for a glorious moment, he thought they might well have disappeared beneath her lips.

  Slowly, his own hands trembling now, he undressed her. His fingers, once so fluid on the buttons of her blouse, fumbled and knotted. His breath, once so controlled and perhaps even a bit suave, was now fast and hot and ragged; the breath of a sixteen-year-old on his first sweaty night in a backseat.

  When he couldn't undo the third button, she covered his hands with hers. "Slowly, Hal."

  She guided his hands, helping him as though showing him for the first time. If only it were this easy, he thought. A lesson from a beautiful woman and there would be no more obstacles.

  "I have to tell you--"

  "Shhhhhh." The admonition was as sweet as the soft of her fingers. "You don't have to tell me anything right now except--"

  "But I do, Theresa, I did something bad--"

  "Shhhhh. Just tell me you love me and leave everything else for later."

  "I do love you." He lowered her to Hilda's bed. "I don't think anyone else can save me."

  459 Miles (Still)

  At 9:00, a bird with a broken wing woke them. After cawing nine times, it slipped back inside the clock and Hal thought: damnit. They were sweat-stained, satiated, and they clung to each other with a delicious desperation.

  The sunshine that had blasted sideways through the window earlier and had made her brown skin glow was gone. It had been replaced by the yellow-orange rays of the sodium street lamps. Somewhere, a dog barked and a rooster crowed in answer.

  "Stupid rooster," Theresa said as she climbed out of bed. Her skin flashed for a split second when she passed in front of the street light. "He crows every night. Dumb animal."

  "Yeah, 'cause roosters are known for their smarts."

  "Score one for the man with the battering ram between his legs."

  "You give me a compliment and then laugh? Thanks a lot."

  "No problem." She went to the window and stood staring at the sky. Light flooded her face and neck, her breasts and stomach, the tops of her thighs.

  "You are beautiful, Theresa."

  She nodded. "No moon tonight."

  "You're the moon." He rose to half-sitting. The sheet fell down to his waist.

  "You learn some poetry on the road? Learn that in the bars? The bikers and rednecks toss some Robert Frost at you?"

  He grinned. "Damn straight. Him and that other poet guy and that lady one, too."

  "Whoa, buddy, don't flood with me names."

  He jumped from the bed, gave her his best John Wayne walk. "I whipped their asses, too. Tore them limb from limb."

  "Ho-kay," she said, holding her hands in front of her, palms out. "Now I know you're lying. Whipped their asses? You wilt in front of Hilda." She pointed at his crotch. "See?"

  He looked down. "True enough, I guess."

  Walking past him, she gave his dick a gentle squeeze and started dressing.

  "Already?"

  She nodded. "I've got to get back. They are watching."

  "The Rangers."

  "Yes."

  He stayed quiet and watched her dress. When she finished, she pulled some boxers out of a drawer and tossed them at him.

  "From Hilda's dresser drawer?" he asked. "Something I should know?"

  "They're clean and you don't have any, leave it at that."

  "You the boss. How'd you get out?"

  She said, "Every night at six I go to the library. I stay for four hours. First few times, they followed me, now they don't." She winked at him. "It's not me they're looking for, it's you."

  "You are one smart chick, ain't you?"

  "Smart enough to have sex with a wanted murderer. My Grandmother's turning over in her grave."

  "Doesn't want her granddaughter fucking a bad guy."

  "Doesn't want her granddaughter fucking any guy."

  "Ah."

  He dressed in silence and knew her eyes were on him. It was as though he had never left her. Maybe with this comfortableness he'd be able to erase the last few months outta his head; the fights and booze, the bullets and bullshit. The phone calls to Hanford, the threats from cops as corrupt as Capone. Maybe he'd be able to forget all of it and settle down in Mexico.

  All of it except Missy. And Tyler. And now Shawn. Those images weren't going anywhere.

  "I dreamed of you," he said. He sat on the bed.

  "I would hope."

  He turned away. "You and her."

  A frown slipped across her face. "Missy?"

  He wiped his mouth as he nodded. "And Tyler and Domingo."

 
"Domingo's always around."

  Hal looked out the bedroom window. "Where is he now?"

  She shrugged. "Probably hiding in Hilda's closet."

  "He's just looking out for you. Doesn't want me to fuck up your honor."

  She chuckled. "That boat's already sailed. Tell me about your dream."

  "I was standing in Valentine, looking right down main street. Fucking dust blowing everywhere and I could hear the cows and pigs."

  "Why Valentine?"

  "That's where I was at the time." He'd tell her about the priests later. "Anyway, Missy stood in the street. Asked me if I killed her."

  Theresa left the question unasked. It wasn't even in her eyes.

  "I told her I didn't kill anybody."

  "And what did she say?"

  Hal swallowed a lump of disgust and fear into his throat. "That I knew about it. That I knew it was going to happen."

  "Did you?"

  "I think so," he said slowly. "I think I did know something might happen."

  "They raped her, Hal."

  "Yeah."

  "Could you have stopped it?"

  His hands shook and for a long while, maybe the length of that little girl's lifetime, he said nothing. Eventually he stood. "Yeah, I think I could have."

  "Then why--"

  "'Cause I'm a coward, ho-okay? Can we just leave it alone?"

  She kissed him and nodded. "Whatever you say."

  He sighed. "I wish I had never gone to that place." He sat on the bed and scooted closer to her when she sat next to him.

  "That place." She snorted. "It's a loony bin."

  "Used to be a church."

  "And then it was a speakeasy." She spit the words out and crossed herself. She wasn't overly religious, but she sanctity of churches was dear to her.

  "Yeah." He paused, stared out the window and realized for the first time, how much he missed Barefield. "It still there?"

  "As far as I know. It was six years ago. It'll never get closed. Too much money running through that place."

  "Yeah."

  "And power."

  "Uh-huh." He stood. "All that shit out there and the cops never bust the place?"

  Theresa caught his eyes. "Except the night Missy died."

  "Yeah."

  Without another word, she left the bedroom, headed toward the living room. He followed and in the hallway, she spun on him. "You are no coward, Hal. Maybe they would have killed you, too."

  "That would'a sucked, huh?"

  A weak joke and they both knew it.

  In the living room, with the neon light pouring in from the convenience store, they sat on the couch.

  "Tyler was in it, too. Stuck with a needle. An IV bag."

  "I was in it?"

  "Yeah," he said. "You stood in the street in a wedding dress."

  "That a proposal?"

  "Domingo showed up so you tell me."

  She smiled. "I guess that'd be no. Why was he there?"

  "I was in a church--"

  Her mouth dropped open.

  "Hard to believe, but true. He said I was there to find my soul."

  "Alma."

  "Word he used. Said maybe it came out when I was puking after Missy died." He turned to her. "Also said you were pure and that if I forgot that, things would get ugly."

  She laughed, stifled it quick. "I'm sorry, but that's funny. Domingo's got this weird machismo thing going on."

  "All Hispanic guys have that. Goes along with the western shirts and Tejano music and straw cowboy hats."

  "Oooh," she said, frowning. "Racial stereotypes, that's a good way to get into my pants."

  "Been there."

  "You won't be there again you keep that up."

  "Come on, Theresa, you know I'm not a racist."

  She stood, headed for the kitchen. "I know, but saying that kind of shit makes you sound like one. Hell, Domingo already hates you, why give him more? You don't want it to get ugly, then don't give him stupid shit like that."

  But that wasn't really what Domingo had been talking about, was it? He'd said Theresa and that was the inference, but wasn't there something more? He'd also said that situation in Valentine had been a bump in the road and everything was going to get uglier yet.

  Hal shook his head while Theresa poured them a drink. No more ugly. This was over. A few hours here, gather her shit together, and hit the road for Mexico.

  Coming back with two tall glasses of lemonade, Theresa nodded toward his legs. "You hurt, Hal? You've been limping."

  "Got my boot heel shot off."

  Her laugh was strained. "Why didn't you buy some new ones?"

  "Had other things on my mind."

  It was harsher, harsher than he had meant. He regretted his words immediately. They stopped Theresa's laugh and for that he was desperately sorry. "Maybe we can get some in Mexico."

  "Maybe. You got a little sunburned, too."

  He nodded. "Driving." She touched his neck and he placed his hand over hers, moved it away from the scar. "Had a little problem in Oklahoma."

  "I guess." She made an effort to brighten her face. "I'm so glad you're home."

  "Me, too."

  She sat next to him. "Now, tell me what bad thing you've done."

  The joy in her face belied the steel in her voice. She had seen the scars, the wounds, and she knew what he'd been doing, where he'd been going. She expected the worst, she expected to hear he had hurt people, maybe killed them.

  He took a deep breath. "I left her by the side of the road. She's probably dead."

  Theresa licked her lips. "Left who?"

  "Her name is Shawn. She jumped in the car during the shooting."

  "This is not the time for jokes, I know, but there are probably some good ones about picking up women while people are shooting at you." She smiled but it was tight.

  "Yeah, probably."

  Gently, Theresa took his head. "Tell me, nino, what happened."

  He did.

  ***

  At 10:04, he stared at her. His heart pounded as though he were running from a shooting. His skin was sweaty, his hands clammy. Truth was, he was scared. At least as scared as when they'd shot at him. Maybe worse, actually. But she didn't yell at him. She didn't make him feel stupid. She nodded and asked a few questions and held his hand and hugged him.

  "You're home now," she said.

  "Close enough." He glanced outside. A few blocks from here, two men watched her place, watching for him, guns never far away. "Maybe that ain't such a good thing."

  "It's good for me." She nodded. "But yeah, maybe we ought to leave."

  "Hilda got a car?"

  "Not even a license."

  "Right."

  "Car wouldn't work anyway, Hal. Any place we could cross will have border guards. Maybe they know about you, maybe they don't."

  "They do."

  "Yeah, probably. If the Rangers are watching my place, then all the crossings are checked."

  "Ain't the Rangers, chica," Hal said. "Rangers ain't so stupid they let you know they're watching. They damn sure wouldn't let you outta the house, either. If they're watching for me, that means they're watching you."

  "Well," Hilda said. "Whoever they are, they aren't watching anymore."

  Her voice went off like a shot. Hal and Theresa sat on the couch, motionless, glasses halfway to their mouths.

  "What?" Hal asked.

  "They're gone."

  "How you know that?" Hal set his glass down, stared hard at Hilda.

  "I'm not stupid, Halford. I've seen them every day for weeks. I know what they drive and how they sit and when they take a urine break."

  Hal stood, grabbed at Theresa. "We've got to get out. They know I'm here." He dashed for the front door.

  "Wait, Hal," Theresa said. "Don't panic. If you go busting out that door and they're there, it's over."

  "They're not outside." Hilda stared at them. "I told you, they're gone."

  "What does that mean?" Hal asked. Panic-sweat
stood heavy on his face and arms.

  "They're gone, Halford, gone from Nueva Rosita."

  "I don't know what that means." Hal hated the near hysteria in his voice. "That don't make no sense."

  "Doesn't make any sense," Hilda corrected.

  "Goddamnit, Hilda, now ain't the time."

  It stung like a boxer's punch, her hand across his cheek. He held a hand to his warming cheek.

  "If you're in my house, you will not take the Lord's name in vain. I've told you that. If you care to continue, I'll throw you out myself."

  Silence fell hard as a drunken black out. Hilda's gaze never left his. Finally, he nodded. "I'm sorry, Hilda."

  And then it was over. Her face softened, her voice lightened. She had spoken her piece and moved on.

  "Why did they leave?" Theresa asked.

  "Maybe they decided Halford wasn't going to come back." Hilda sat and drank some of Hal's lemonade.

  Hal shook his head. That was too easy. They'd been waiting weeks and they had to know he was headed this way. Brooks had to have told them. Didn't matter his corruption, only that he was a cop. He would have called ahead and they would know.

  Which put him back at square fucking one. Why did they leave?

  "Shit," Hal said. "They saw me. I drove past your place. I saw them and I know they saw me. One of them cocked his gun while I watched. They left because they know I'm here. Their part of this whole deal is done. Hell, Brooks is probably already in town."

  "Why in hell did you drive past my house?" Theresa said.

  "'Cause I'm stupid. Hanford knows it, I'm not sure why you don't."

  Her eyes flashed

  "We gotta move." His voice was barely audible. "We gotta move now. They think they got us so we gotta move before they do got us."

  Hilda nodded and was already headed into the kitchen. "Let me get you some sandwiches or something. If you're headed straight to Mexico, you'll get hungry."

  Hal wanted to laugh. Hilda would always offer food, that was her way. "Hilda, thanks, but Mexico ain't that far."

  "For people who aren't wanted on a murder charge and who are driving the roads, no. But for those others, it's a bit further. You aren't taking any road to cross over, trust me on that."

  "We'll go to Janice's place," Theresa said. "She has an old truck she's been trying to sell. She'll let us take it." Theresa nodded to herself. "We'll head to Del Rio and then take 277 south. About 50 miles south, we're across from Jimenez. We can get over there."