"How do you know?"
She said nothing but smiled the slightest bit.
Hilda came back, handed them two brown bags with food, and kissed both of them. "You let me know where you are, Theresa, I will come see you."
A tear stood in Theresa's eye. "Will you--"
"I'll talk to Domingo, don't worry. Now get going."
"Hilda," Hal said. "Thank you."
Hal pushed them out of the house quickly, afraid the goodbye might get too bogged down. A car headed up the street toward them, moving slowly.
The black SUV.
"Son of a bitch," Hal said. He shoved Theresa into the car. "Don't look at them, don't say anything. Just act like everything's cool."
Christ, he hated seeing that fear on her face. He would have given anything to get it off her face.
The SUV slowed as it approached but Hal tried to keep on as though nothing was going on. He expected, as it got closer, to feel the searing pain of a bullet in the leg. Instead, the driver's side window rolled down as Hal climbed into Jolene's car. He carefully palmed his gun while the man in the green knit shirt smiled and nodded. "Evening."
Hal nodded. "Yeah."
The SUV kept moving, slow, and the passenger stared at Hal and Theresa. His face was mostly blank, but his eyes never left theirs until the truck rolled around the corner.
"Holy shit."
"That was them," Theresa said. "Why didn't they stop us?"
Damn good question, one that Hal didn't particularly want to wait around to have answered. He jammed the key into the ignition and the engine roared to life.
"Let's get the hell outta Dodge."
"Be careful." Her hand squeezed his thigh and they pulled away from Hilda's house.
Four hours, he thought, six tops, and we're in Mexico and this is done.
Except they didn't quite get that far.
459 Miles (Again)
They nearly made it out of town.
The same road Hal had come in on. Dark now and spotted with orange circles of street light zig-zagging across the road, like age spots on an old man's hands. Eventually, the curbs disappeared in favor of drainage ditches. Neatly paved driveways disappeared in favor of gravel drives. The lights simply disappeared.
"Janice is about a mile down. We can get her truck, they'll never know what we're driving."
Hal nodded and in that split second, Shawn appeared. Not magically as though she appeared from nothing, but brutally, shoved from the darkness on the side of the road in front of his car.
"Hal," Theresa shouted. She gasped and jammed her feet against the floorboard.
"Fuck." Hal's voice pierced the car.
He jerked the wheel to the right, back to the left. The car darted around Shawn even as he jammed the brake pedal to the floor. The back end slid around, almost sending them into a spin. They ended up nose down in a shallow drainage ditch.
Shawn stumbled to the car, fell against the trunk as Hal climbed out.
"Shawn. Shawn. You okay? What the hell happened?"
In the glow of the taillights, a penetrating red, he saw her clearly. She was a monster, hidden behind the tears and rips of badly done Halloween make-up. Blues and reds, bruises and blood and her nose was bent to the right while her left eye was swollen shut. At least two teeth were missing and Hal couldn't help but think of the crenellations on top of a castle.
"Christ'a'mighty," he said. "Who did this?"
And also--but unspoken--how'd you get here?
Hal craned his head, looking for Brooks. He'd obviously done this and if she was here, stumbling around in front of his car, it was a warning from Brooks. He was close and in a whoosh, Domingo's warning in Hal's dream clanged a Klaxon alarm in his head.
"Brooks do this?"
Shawn tried to speak. There were no words, only blood.
Theresa climbed out of the car and helped Shawn into the backseat. "Is this her? The woman you told me about?"
"Yeah."
Theresa gently brushed the dirt from her face. She tore a strip from her own shirt, wet it with her tongue, and tried to clean some of the blood from Shawn's face. Shawn grimaced and pulled back.
"I know it hurts," Theresa said. "Don't worry, we'll get you fixed up."
"What?"
"We're taking her to Hilda."
Hal gaped. "What? We're not going back to town."
Theresa stepped away from the car, close to Hal's face. Her glare was almost painful. "You told me you already left her by the side of the road. You said you felt shitty for doing it and you hoped she didn't get killed. Well, lucky you, she didn't. But she did get herself beaten, didn't she? Are you going to leave her by the side of the road again?"
"But, Theresa, we can't. We have to--"
"Yes, we can. We can't not take her back. She might die out here."
I don't care, he wanted to scream. I don't give a shit about any of this. I just want to get my girl and get across the border. But of course he wouldn't say that. Both because he would follow Theresa to Hell if need be and because he didn't want to see Shawn dead. The image of her stabbed or raped and shot and stuffed in a garbage can at some roadside stop was what had haunted him since he left her.
This was his chance to do the right thing for Shawn.
With a nod, he climbed in the car and turned it back toward town. As he drove, he checked his .45, made damn sure the safety was off, and prayed he wouldn't have to use it.
***
Two hours later, Shawn was almost recognizable, the monster was almost gone.
The bruising was still there and her nose was still bent. The teeth were still missing. But the blood was gone. The dirt was washed away. Now her face was mostly stained with tears.
"I had to tell him," she said softly. She kept her face turned away from Hal and Theresa. "I didn't have a choice."
"Shhhhh." It was the same softness Theresa had used with Hal earlier in bed. "Don't you think about that, chica, you just worry about yourself." She rubbed a wet cloth across Shawn's forehead. "Hal's a big boy, he can take care of himself."
"He's done--" Shawn coughed. "Pretty well so far, I guess."
"Well, he's not dead." Theresa winked at him.
"Day's still young." Shawn coughed again. Spot of blood dotted her hand.
"Not so much anymore," Hal said.
Hilda bustled in carrying a second towel, ice wrapped deeply in the middle. Gently, she placed it on Shawn's face. Shawn gasped but didn't move.
"She'll be okay," Hilda said. "But what are we going to do with her?"
Hal took a deep breath. Brooks and his goons knew where they were and if Brooks wasn't already in town, he would be soon, sure as the sun's coming up tomorrow. Nightmare ain't quite over.
But it was worse now because there were a crap load of other people involved. Shawn was nearly dead. Theresa would be if they caught her. And Hilda, who had nothing to do with any of this, might well get her eyes shot out.
For that moment, the three women stared at him. What'choo gonna do, their gazes asked. What'choo gonna do so we don't get killed and maybe don't even get hurt? What incredible plan you gonna whip out that saves us all?
He had no fucking clue.
"Hey." A hard voice.
Hal turned. Standing in the front door was the man in the green knit shirt.
"Shit." Hal made a move for his gun.
For a fat guy, he moved damned fast. He was across the room in a flash. But not at Hal, not at the gun. He moved for Theresa, had an arm around her neck before Hal even got the .45 out, much less racked and ready to shoot.
Without a word of warning, the man smashed a meaty fist across her face. She yelped and would have fallen to the floor had he not held her tightly by the hair.
"Oh, my God," Hilda said. "Leave her alone, animal."
A knife appeared in his hand as quickly as he had dashed across the room. He held it at her throat. "Your choice, buddy."
Hal dropped the gun instantly. It clattered on the
floor at his feet. Without being asked, he kicked it toward the man. The man, grinning, released Theresa and grabbed up the gun.
"Good," he said. "Now, I don't want to get into a bloodletting, I just want to deliver a message."
"Get the hell outta here," Hal said. His hands shook. If he'd had the gun, he wouldn't have been able to aim it straight, but he was pretty sure he could have hit the guy if he fired enough times.
"I'm getting, Hal, no problem. I just got a quick thing or two to say and I'm done."
"Where's the other guy?" Hal asked. Sweat broke on his forehead.
"He's in the goddamned car." The man jerked his head toward the SUV parked at the curb.
"Watch your mouth," Hilda said. Her eyes burned at him.
The man looked startled but he nodded solemnly. "No problem."
"Good," Hilda said.
"Look." The guy lowered the gun a bit. "This is a freaky situation, no shit about that. You're sweating like a pig, she's beat up. That one's nearly dead. Bad all the way around. But you can end it all, get your sweet ass to Huntsville to that brother of yours."
"Ain't going to Huntsville." Damnit, he thought. Shut your hole. You don't need to tell them where you are and ain't going.
"Like I give a shit," the man said. "Whatever, you can end it all. Take one quick meeting and it's done."
"I ain't meeting with Brooks, ain't gonna happen. And you can fucking tell him I don't have his godda--" Hal's eyes darted to Hilda. "I don't have his money."
Hal glanced at Shawn. Her eyes were closed and he couldn't tell if she was scared or passed out. Shit, maybe both. Theresa caught his gaze and shook her head.
A puzzled look crossed the man's face. "No, you got it wrong."
"I got nothing wrong, buddy. Get your ass outta--"
"Shut up, I'm talking." The man's face hardened instantly and if he listened closely, Hal could have sworn he heard the guy in the SUV clicking the safety off his gun.
His hands shook a bit more. He tossed a look at the gun.
The man grinned, held the gun out. "You ain't got the guts for killing and everyone in this room knows it."
"I'm a wanted murderer." Hal stood as tall as he could. "They want me for killing."
"Because they're too stupid to realize they popped wrong guy." He sucked his teeth and put the gun at his side. "Like I said, you ain't got the guts to kill. If you did, you would have killed Officer Douglas yourself, instead of letting the woman do it."
Hal's throat dried.
"You'd'a killed Templeton, too, instead of leaving him for the cops. Too bad he was dead before they got there."
Hal gaped. "He died?"
The man shook his head. "Killed. Very different situation."
Through the open door, a dog barked. A moment later, it fell silent, as though it had found what it had been looking for.
"You killed him."
The man shrugged. "Doesn't really matter who did what, long as he was dead before the cops got there." The man turned to leave. "You've got ten minutes. Drive over to the laundromat on Chavez and Main. There will be a man there who wants to buy something of yours."
After flipping the gun to Hal, he headed down the sidewalk.
"I'm not going. Tell Brooks to kiss my ass."
Moving his bulk easily, a man used to his weight, he climbed in the truck. "Don't worry about Brooks."
Then they were gone.
Two minutes later, Hal took a breath. It burned his sinuses and he wondered if he'd breathed during that entire fucking meeting. The room around him was quiet, too, as though none of the women were breathing. Shawn still sat with her eyes closed--must be passed out--and Hilda and Theresa stared at him. Hilda's eyes were as big as pie plates. She wasn't used to seeing the threat of violence right in front of her.
"That is a bad man," Hilda said.
"You think?" Hal paced the living room, the gun jammed down in his pocket.
"They're all bad men, Halford." Her eyes, a soft brown, were overflowing with fear. Maybe a bit of concern, too, but mostly she was scared.
So was Hal.
"You have surrounded yourself with bad men, Halford. You have to get away from them."
"Mexico." Theresa's voice was quiet.
"No." Hilda said it firmly. "The police."
"What?"
"Theresa told me you are innocent. I believe that, but what else have you done? She tells me you can prove you're innocent and yet you talk of going to Mexico. What about the man they're about to execute? What about him? If you don't want to go back for yourself, go back for him." She shook her head. "You have to go back and prove your innocence. If you don't, you'll be running from bad men for the rest of your life." She pointed at Theresa. "For the rest of her life, too. What kind of justice is that?"
The room fell silent. A heavy silence, this time. The same kind of silences there'd been with Shawn. Silences that laid everything bare. Theresa slowly shook her head while Hilda nodded.
"You can't go to the police," Theresa said. "They won't believe you."
He pulled the disk from his back pocket and held it up.
"That's the proof?" Hilda asked.
"Also what Brooks wants to buy." He nodded toward the front door. "At the laundry."
"This is the man who's been chasing you." Theresa said it quietly.
"Yeah."
She frowned and tapped her chin with a slim finger. "But didn't you say that she said--" She pointed at Shawn. "That he said he wanted the missing money?"
Right. If Brooks wanted the money, why would he suddenly want to buy the disk? Especially since he wasn't on the thing. From what Hal had heard, there was a lotta shit on this DVD, but Brooks wasn't one of them.
Theresa stood there, so beautiful and so trusting. When she looked at him, his heart broke. It broke again when he focused on her eye. It was already swelling, already turning blue. It would be with her for days. You did this. You stay away from her and she doesn't get smashed. Or you get her and go to Mexico, not take time out to make love to her and she doesn't get hit. Or you drive faster and she doesn't get hit.
Shoulda coulda woulda and it was all bullshit.
Jamming the disk back in his pocket, he headed for the door.
"Where you going?" she asked, her voice both firm and scared.
"He's right. This is bullshit and it's gone on way too long. Hanford is right, I'm a fuck up and always will be. Fine, I can live with that. But I can't live with you getting beat up because I'm a fuck up."
"Hal, no, you can't blame--"
"I'll sell the disk and get the money. We'll drop Shawn at the hospital in Del Rio and we'll be in Mexico before sunrise."
Theresa came to him, stopped him at the door. Her hands electrified him. Her battered face froze him. "Don't do this. You need that disk. It can prove everything."
"Everything doesn't matter," he said. "You do."
She rolled her eyes, disgusted. "That's crap."
With more strength than he'd wanted, he grabbed her by the shoulders. "Not to me. You're all that matters as far as I'm concerned. You want crap? That's everything else. You're all I care about and now you're getting hurt because of me."
He kissed her hard on the mouth, then once on the forehead. "I'll be back in a few minutes." He winked, trying to lighten the mood. "Don't worry."
She closed her eyes as he left. "I guess that boat's already sailed, hasn't it?"
459 Miles (Almost Done)
He moved fast. Dale Earnhardt taking those corners, shoving other drivers outta the way, eatin' up road before the big crash, before the big death. Yeah, moving fast and hoping like hell he didn't up as dead as Earnhardt.
The car fishtailed around two corners, roared down the short straight Main Street, squealed when he hit a red light, squealed again when he blasted through the next green one.
Moving fast, he knew, because he was afraid to slow down. Go too slow, take too long to think it through, you gonna lose your shit. Scare yourself right
across the border. Scare yourself into a lifetime of looking over your shoulder, 'cause don't kid yourself, Hilda's right. You run now, rather than face whatever this is, you gonna be running from here to death.
A 7-Eleven blazed past, a blur of bright white light and oversized posters for soda and chips. A cop car, maybe a county deputy, sat in the lot, the officer in the front seat, busily writing.
Hal didn't slow down.
"Shit," he said. "You scared enough you ain't even bothering with careful."
What was the point of that? Hell, all the players knew where all the other players were. No more hiding or running or gunning. It was all on the table, cards out, waiting on the last raise and then the call.
It was full dark, the moon high over head. Street lights, a God-awful orange, hopped from side to side of the street. Headlights came at him, turned away from him and every pair was a spotlight boring into him.
With a quick wipe of his face, he down-shifted, and parked right in front of the door. If bullets started flying, he didn't wanna be any too far away from the car.
The building was nothing special. A squat, gray, cinder block building. The names of a whole bunch'a businesses dotted the side, peeking out of years worth of paint jobs. The name of the laundry was in lime-green neon letters, each two feet tall, along the front wall. Windows ran all the way around the building except for the back wall. Across the front, bullet holes crawled inevitably across the individual plate glass windows. But only the last window was blown out. It had been covered with plywood.
He thought of the casino in Vegas. This was either slightly better or slightly worse, he wasn't sure which.
This whole thing was a repeat of the casino. And the café. And the bars and taverns. Every place was the same place and they were all dives. Didn't seem he was reaching very high on that socio-economic ladder, did it?
Inside, giant industrial washers were lined up back to back in two long rows. Call it twenty washers per side. Along the walls, stacked about halfway up the windows, were dryers. Near the back, between a door marked 'Toilet' and one marked 'Office' were vending machines for soap and softener.
2,000 Miles to Open Road (Barefield) Page 18