False Gods

by W. Glenn Duncan Jr.

  Lisa stood behind the coffee machine with a quizzical look and the diner was half empty.

  How long had I been in here?

  I couldn’t answer that one without leaving, so I got to my feet and rubbed the back of my head. My fingers came back with a small smear of blood.

  Great. I’m getting beaten up by inanimate objects now.

  I walked to the booth and slid back into my seat. The girls looked at me through red eyes and a pall of cigarette smoke.

  “Everything okay, honey?” Hilda looked concerned. Not for any physical injury I may have had, more for the quite likely imbalance of my mental state.

  “Yeah, fine,” I said. It came out more gruffly than I expected. I softened my tone. “Everything’s fine.” I reached out and grabbed her hand to show that it was too.

  “Uh huh,” she nodded, unconvinced. “I think we’ve all had enough for today.” The look she gave left no doubt as to her true meaning—By all, I mean you.

  “Lucy’s staying with me tonight. She’s tired and it’s a long drive back to Austin.” Lucy gave an exhausted smile. “We’re going to order take out and have a girls night,” Hilda giggled. “We might even put our hair up in curlers and prank call some boys.”

  I nodded. Only Hilda could have convinced her to agree. Coming from me, it would have seemed either controlling or pitying, and these were two emotions she didn’t need right now. It was a great idea.

  Lucy could get a good night’s rest, safe and sound from her demons. She and Hilda could talk about the girly stuff that couldn’t be spoken in my earshot.

  And I needed to get ready.

  It was time to go hunting.

  Chapter 20

  We rolled through Fort Worth the next morning and chased our shadow towards the western edge of the earth, and just a few miles closer, Lincoln.

  Cowboy drove with both eyes on the road and one arm on the windowsill, the wind whipping at his shirtsleeve. Willie Nelson was telling us how good it felt to be on the road again from the eight track.

  I had to agree with him.

  After just poking around this case, collecting stacks of paper and a sore butt, it was good to be in motion again. I felt hopped up, ready for action, like a kid on Christmas morning.

  “You jumpin’ ’round like a young bronc on the first day of rodeo. Y’all awright?”

  “Itching to get started. I’ve spent too much time chasing paper and talking to people.”

  “You shoulda called ’fore now. Let’s git amongst ’em.”

  I smiled, I pulled out my smoking paraphernalia and got ready to set the nicotine chasing my blood around. Cowboy watched with a raised eyebrow. When the smoke started circling my head and Cowboy had cleared his throat for the fourth time, I cracked the window on my side of the cab to let it leak into the clear morning sky.

  “I thought you gave up that awful habit, boss-man.”

  “It wasn’t ready to give me up yet.”

  “Don’ know how you stand it. Smelling like an oil fire and having to carry that pouch and all those other gizmos around. Plus your wallet and keys and whatnot. Ah’m just a simple man. Pocketknife and a good pair of boots and ah’m rarin’ to go.”

  “Whatever you say, Cowboy. I know it’s easy to forget that hand cannon under your left armpit and the cable ties in your hat.”

  He grinned. “You said we was jes’ lookin’. I’m travelin’ light today.”

  I had seen his sports bag tucked behind the seat when I jumped into the cab. My bet was that it contained at least one shotgun and enough ammunition to make the Texas Rangers more than a little nervous.

  By comparison, with just the Colt, a hunting knife and a cooler full of water bottles, sandwiches and fruit, I felt underprepared.

  If we got into a firefight, maybe I could pepper them with a vicious barrage of Red Jonathons.

  We left US30 at Hudson Oaks.

  It split off southwards and continued moseying to Abilene. Cowboy’s truck gobbled up the miles as we followed 180 through Weatherford and parts beyond.

  “Knew a feller from here a while back,” Cowboy said as we left Mineral Wells in the rearview mirror. “Dumbest guy I ever did meet.”

  “You work with him?”

  “In a way.”

  “Why was he dumb?”

  “I don’t rightly know what made him thataway, but I knowed he was dumb when he didn’t leave town.”

  “Why did he need to leave town?”

  “I told him to, a’course.”

  “What happened?”

  “Dropped him down a well shaft.” Cowboy raised a finger in greeting at a passing driver. “I ’magin he’s still there … ’course this was three or four year ago.”

  He shrugged.

  Willie seemed unperturbed.

  We rolled on.

  The sun was up for real and the sky shimmered blue and wide. Power poles flashed past and the connecting lines rose and fell in an easy rhythm. We weren’t far enough west to be in the oilfields so both sides of the interstate were dotted with stunted trees and brush. A radio mast spiked tall above the flat landscape and the occasional dilapidated farmhouse leaned heavily on the road edge. Now and then, a trailer compound angled away from the blacktop at the end of a dirt track, surrounded by rusting car bodies.

  Other than these mediocre signs of life, it seemed that Cowboy and I were out here alone.

  A small town called Palo Pinto came and went and we drove south for a short while, before turning back north on 16 at Metcalfe Gap. We passed a little junction and signpost for the town of Brad, pop 26.

  I kid you not. There are more of those tiny hardscrabble towns dotted throughout the Southwest than you’d think.

  The dash clock was nudging eight-thirty when Cowboy wheeled the Ford into the dirt parking lot in front of Tom’s Tas-Tee Diner on the far side of Breckenridge. The best coffee in town! a chalkboard screamed through the dust while also imploring us to Try our Pies!

  We grabbed stools in front of the counter, high and long. A waitress embodying the inspiration for every movie version of a middle aged, overweight, small town diner waitress leaned against the counter and took our orders.

  Biscuits with gravy for Cowboy. Eggs over easy and toast for me. She’d already filled two mugs with scalding black coffee. The plastic name tag said her name was Doris and she smiled like she had the best job in the world.

  “Y’all fixin’ to have some pie?” Doris pronounced it pah.

  “Maybe later, ma’am. Thankya kindly.”

  I usually leave the talking to Cowboy in places like this. It’s been a system that works. For example, my answer would have been along the lines of “Pie? At eight thirty in the morning? Are you insane?”

  After she had waddled back to the kitchen, Cowboy sipped his coffee, grimaced and turned to me.

  “I figure we about thirty minutes, give or take, from rollin’ into yore lil town. What’s the play, boss-man?”

  Good question.

  I had thought we’d be able to avail ourselves of local knowledge to point us in the right direction for Dariell and his crew. I didn’t think it mattered much whether the god-botherers were loved or hated by the townsfolk; either way, I expected people would be happy to tell us what they knew.

  You know those quaint parts of the country where you can roll into town and walk up to a couple of good ol’ boys sitting on a porch? They’ll look you up and down before saying, “You’re not from around here, are you?” And after a little back and forth conversation to convince said boys that you’re not a maniacal axe murderer, they’re happy to help out with directions and a kindly admonition to “y’all be careful.”

  This wasn’t one of those parts of the country.

  Having just driven down the main street of Breckenridge, a town ten times larger than Lincoln, I hadn’t seen a single person on the street,

  Sure, Breckenridge had plenty of houses, numerous shuttered commercial buildings and a tired old gas station, but I hadn�
�t seen one of the town’s supposed five thousand inhabitants. Other than Doris, and whoever else might be in the back cooking up my eggs.

  “I thought we’d be able to use our charm and easy-going nature on the local inhabitants to enjoin them in our quest for righting misdeeds.” I sipped my coffee. Cowboy’s grimace had oversold it, but it was hot. “The problem I now foresee with that is—”

  “We ain’t seen any local in-habit-ants,” Cowboy said. “That ain’t gonna git any better the further we get inta the boondocks.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  I sensed movement in the kitchen, and when I looked up I got a quick glimpse of Doris and a walrus in a stained apron—I assumed Tom, he of the Tas-Tee Diner—as they pulled their heads back from the pass-through window.

  Cowboy sipped again and said to the rim of his cup, “Been watchin’ a few minutes. Keep lookin’ at us through the openin’.”

  “Now, don’t go getting skittish on me, Cowboy. If you can hold Doris off for a minute I’ll help out after I’ve subdued the cook.”

  “Har de har har.”

  Doris came out from the kitchen carrying our breakfast on two heavy plates. She laid them down and brought salt and pepper. She topped up our cups, slotted the pot back under the percolator, then stood leaning against the rear counter, grinning even wider.

  “You boys ain’t from around here, are ya?”

  “No ma’am, we’re surely not,” Cowboy said. He wouldn’t meet her eye while he slathered butter onto his biscuits. “Jes’ passin’ through, looking for sumpin a lil’ further up the road.”

  “I knowed it,” Doris shrilled. “I told Tom back there who you was. He din’t believe me, but I knowed it soon as you walked in.”

  Cowboy looked down and ate.

  “You fellers are here in beautiful Breckenridge, heart of the Northwest, to make a movie, ain’t ya? Now don’t y’all lie to ol’ Doris.”

  Cowboy said nothing; just kept eating. He may be the one who can charm the country folks, but I’m the guy who can recognize an opportunity for deceit and falsehood.

  I leaned over the counter. Beckoned her in. A fellow conspirator. I looked over each of my shoulders at nothing. Doris’s gaze followed mine.

  “I can trust you, can’t I?” A beat. “Doris.”

  “Why shore you kin.” She dropped her voice even though the diner was empty. “Your secret’s safe with me, Mr …”

  “Armbruster. George Armbruster. From The Studio.” I winked at her and almost lost it. Looked down to get myself back under control.

  “You’re right, Doris.” I tilted my head at Cowboy. “Mr Coburn and I are driving around today looking for locations for his next movie.” Doris looked at the top of Cowboy’s hat and hopped from foot to foot. Actually, not so much hopped as just shifted her weight back and forth.

  “I jes’ knowed it. I loved him in that cowboy movie. You know, the one with that bald feller.”

  “The Magnificent Seven.”

  “That’s it,” Doris trilled. “An’ he’s jes’ as quiet in real life, too.”

  “He’s a private man, Doris. That’s why you can’t tell anyone, anyone at all, about this. If news got out, it could ruin the lead up to the movie and the studio could cancel the whole thing.” I shook my head.

  Doris nodded. “I understand.” If there had been a Bible on the counter, I think she would’ve sworn on it.

  I looked up like an idea had occurred to me.

  “Actually, Doris. You might be able to help.”

  It was her turn to look over her shoulders. She put her hand on her heart—Who me?

  “The movie we’re looking to produce, it’s a remake of … well, I can’t say, but I think you can guess, can’t you?” She nodded like a schoolgirl. “Because of that, we’re looking for a location with a group of buildings, like an … an old Spanish mission. We could construct a set,” I said, “but we’d prefer to use an existing location for the realism.”

  “Like the campground up at Hubbard Lake?” she asked.

  I pretended to chew it over.

  “Maybe,” I said. “We’re looking for a more desert setting than lakeside. And the studio would prefer buildings that have been used, lived in. It would be … beneficial … for these structures to have a fair to middling number of permanent residents. We’ll need plenty of extras.”

  I paused.

  “It goes without saying that I’ll be putting your name forward to the producers. For a small role. It’ll have to be a non-speaking part, but I’m afraid that’s the best I can do.”

  I shook my head at the injustice. Cowboy shook his head too. I could tell he felt as bad as I did with Doris not getting a speaking part.

  Doris screwed up her face and looked to the corner of the ceiling for a moment. I ate some eggs. They’d cooled too much but weren’t all bad. Cowboy was mopping up the last of his gravy, and I expected him to keep his head down and push that last piece of biscuit around for the next hour if he needed to.

  Doris’s eyes widened, then a quizzical look settled itself on her plump face. She squared her shoulders.

  “There might be a place,” she said. “I ain’t seen it with my own eyes, but I’ve heard tell. It’s some sort of commune outside Lincoln, ’bout thirty miles on up the interstate.”

  I flicked a glance at Cowboy.

  “Been there a few years now. Mary-Jo’s boys worked construction when it was first built, and a lot of folks talked ’bout how it was gonna be good for Lincoln.” It was her turn to shake her head. “It never happened that way. Mary Jo, I went to school with her, tol’ me they saw all the people come through town, go into the commune and never come out again. Her boys had to go to Abilene to find work, so now it’s her and Deke on their own again.” She looked hopeful. “That might work.”

  “We’ll have to look at it to be sure. It sounds like the right kind of place, Doris. Tell me …” I looked her in the eye. “Did Mary-Jo tell you where this comp— uh, commune is. I don’t imagine it’s downtown, is it?”

  “Oh heavens, no. Mary Jo said it’s in the hills outside Lincoln, but I don’t know exactly where. I’m sorry.”

  “You’ve been mighty helpful, Doris. I’ll make sure that the studio knows just how helpful, especially if this commune turns out to be the right place.”

  Cowboy rotated his head almost imperceptibly.

  “Now …” I clapped my hands together and gave Doris my best winning smile. “I think we’re ready to try some of that pie.”

  “I surely do hate it when you do that, boss-man.”

  We were back in Cowboy’s truck and rolling northwest toward Lincoln.

  “Don’t give me that. You love your fans. Besides, she was already convinced she knew who you were.” I shrugged. “I just didn’t do anything to correct her of that delightful but misguided notion.”

  Cowboy does look like James Coburn.

  Make that a lot like James Coburn. Especially in the role he played for The Magnificent Seven, where he only had about eight lines of dialogue for the entire movie. Cowboy is just as talkative, which doesn’t help him much in trying to dispel the confusion.

  “It don’t matter none if she thinks we look the same.” He tilted his hat back an inch. “But you didn’t have to insist I give her a kiss and an autograph.”

  I laughed.

  “Relax, it made her day. Besides, you thought to ask where Private Road 5150 was. I believe you said you were looking up an old friend ‘from the business’.”

  “Shucks. You spent so much time fillin’ her head with dreams of stardom you forgot we already got an address. I jes’ tried to fix that. Damage to my reputation was done, anyways.”

  “Damage to your repu … what? You should be so lucky. James Coburn is one of the toughest men alive.”

  Cowboy coughed something that sounded like “chickenshit pussy actor” but his window was down and he was turned away so I couldn’t be certain.

  I love working with Cowbo
y.

  Chapter 21

  We crossed Five Mile River and stormed into Lincoln thirty minutes later. We stormed out the other side twenty-four seconds after that.

  Without breaking the speed limit.

  When I described Lincoln as a one-horse town, I’d thought the horse was still alive.

  There was a single block of one story, stone faced buildings, including a grandiosely named City Hall. Half of these buildings were shuttered with a mixture of faded metal and peeling wood siding. A white water tower stood sentinel near a sign pointing down a dirt road to the elementary school.

  The rest of the town looked like the results of a spectacular collision between tractor-trailers carrying ramshackle houses, broken down cars and the odd propane tank.

  And, as expected, not a person to see anywhere.

  “Gonna stand out like a chigger bite at a nudist camp,” Cowboy said as he pulled the truck onto the shoulder a few miles later.

  “Just have to stay mobile,” I said. “Good thing we know the road is east of town.”

  Cowboy wheeled back onto West Main Street and headed back. I made sure not to blink as we headed through town again, but it didn’t make a difference, there was nothing else to see.

  Before crossing the river again, we turned left and started criss-crossing the landscape to the town’s north. In the first hundred yards we drove past the Lone Star Baptist Assembly, a decent-sized camper’s retreat.

  Maybe I was wrong. Maybe Lincoln was a happening place after all.

  I wasn’t.

  Two hours later we’d found nothing other than more detritus from the tractor-trailer wreck.

  With a flat topography, most of the roads in Texas back-blocks are straight, running at right angles to each other. I imagine it was a result of being easier to draw lines on maps and build fences in straight lines. This made it a little easier to maintain a sense of our search, but didn’t ease our frustrations.

  “Like looking for a needle in a stack full of needles,” Cowboy said when we’d turned around outside the last farm gate at the end of another dusty road. Anderson was daubed in red paint on a milk churn, sitting sideways on a a stack of cinder blocks.