After the Rain

by Chuck Logan

  Carefully, Joe drove it around the shed to the apron of trap rock out front, where he lowered it, leaving just enough tension on the chains to keep the boom upright.

  A few minutes later Eddie Solce showed up with a twenty-ton lowboy off the back of his Chevy dually. Nice trailer. Eddie welded the frame himself. Dale gave Eddie a good deal on the digger arm because Eddie had done some difficult custom metalwork for him on fairly short notice.

  Eddie was a vinegar shrivel of a man with a silver mustache and a silver Trautman farm hook where his left hand had been. He’d lost the hand down around Oakes, working on his brother’s farm, when he reached in to clear the corn picker one too many times. Doing metalwork around loud machines all his life had taken most of his hearing, and he had a habit of shouting when he spoke.

  The customary joking ensued, Eddie giving Dale his usual loud shit about leaving town, moving to Florida. They raised the arm and placed it level on the trailer bed, loosed the chains, and proceeded to ratchet it in place with chain-link tie-downs.

  Joe remained in the cab of the loader, just a shadow in the dirty window glass. Eddie waved at him once in perfunctory greeting. Eddie found it hard to look directly at Joe. He had a thing about blown-up Indians, Dale figured.

  Whatever.

  “You sure you don’t need this old Deere?” Dale asked one last time.

  “Sorry, Dale. Hell, my wife finds out I’m bringing this boom on the place she’ll skull me with the frying pan.”

  “Shit, don’t see why. You’re getting it practically for nothing. Now, for a few more bucks you can have…”

  Eddie waved Dale away with his hand and his hook. No.

  They shook hands. Joe climbed down from the loader and they watched Eddie get in his truck and haul the boom away.

  Joe came around from in back of the shed where he’d parked the Deere. He said he was going to get some breakfast. He’d be back in an hour to check out Ace’s new lady friend.

  As Dale walked Joe out to his van, a green Ford Explorer with Minnesota plates pulled off the highway and into his parking lot. A man and a little girl got out. The guy was six foot, outdoor lean, but not a farmer. Carpenter maybe. The kid was six or seven, with coppery hair done back in a pony. She wore denim shorts, a green T-shirt, and scuffed tennies.

  Looking closer, Dale saw that the guy had a fresh bandage on his left hand and the makings of a shiner on his left cheek under his eye. Then he placed him.

  “That’s the guy Gordy knocked on his ass in front of the bar yesterday,” Dale said in a low voice to Joe. “Supposed to be that woman’s husband, come to take her back home. Guess he didn’t get very far.”

  “Still here though,” Joe said slowly. “Maybe he’s gonna give it another try.”

  “Or maybe he’s shopping for big iron. Tell you what. He can get a hell of a deal on an old Deere 644.”

  “An hour,” Joe said. Then he got in his van and drove away.

  Dale walked up to the stranger with the black eye and the little girl. He extended his hand. “Dale Shuster. You need some help?” They shook hands.

  “Phil Broker,” the guy said. “We’re just passing through on our way back home. Heard in town you were clearing out your stock. I got this little landscape operation on the side. Thought maybe I’d take a look.”

  “Damn near all gone.” Dale motioned for Broker to follow him into the shed. Then he pointed at the Deere sitting just outside the open door at the far end. “All I got left is that loader. She’s got a few miles on her, so you could practically name your price.”

  “Kinda looking for something in a backhoe.”

  Dale smiled. “ ‘Backhoe in every garage’ was my old man’s motto. Sorry. No backhoes left.”

  “I was looking at this Jap rig back home, a Komatsu…”

  “Nah, don’t do it. They might be cheaper up front, but the repair and the replacement will kill you. That’s where they make their money. Stay American. Get you a Cat or a Deere.”

  “I’ll remember that,” Broker said. He pointed to the loader. “Mind if I take a look?”

  “Go on. Go ahead, start her up if you want.” He paused and pointed to the ground. “Ah, kinda muddy out there. Probably more than her footwear can handle.”

  Broker nodded and stooped to his daughter. “Kit, I’m going to look at that machine there. You stay right here where I can see you. I’ll never be out of sight, okay?”

  “Okay,” she said.

  “She be all right here?” Broker asked.

  “Sure,” Dale said. “I’ll find some cartoons on the TV.”

  Arms folded defensively across her chest, Kit nodded warily.

  Dale went and thumbed the remote off the weather channel, finally found Nickelodeon. “How’s that?”

  “Thanks.”

  Then Dale opened the refrigerator. “Would you like a Coke?”

  The girl, arms still crossed, looked at him, wary, smart, judgmental. “That’s just sugar-water and acid. It rots your teeth and makes you fat.”

  “Oh-kaaay…” Dale studied her and felt a slow rise in his mood. She was a pretty kid, healthy, athletic, nurtured. Smart little bitch would never be fat or unpopular.

  “I’d like a water, please,” she said, pointing at several clear plastic bottles on the shelf next to the ranks of red cans in the open refrigerator.

  “Sorry,” Dale said blandly. “I don’t have any water.” He watched her young face jerk, trying to make the evidence of her eyes and the message of his words link up. He shut the ice-box door. “Where you from?” he asked, sitting down in his desk chair. He was starting to enjoy himself.

  She shifted her feet, uneasy. Glanced out toward her dad, then back again. “Devil’s Rock, Minnesota.”

  He glanced toward the back of the building where Broker was walking around the loader, inspecting the worn-out tires. He stayed in sight, like he told his kid, but he was ducking around back there, definitely snooping. Dale swiveled his chair back toward the girl, composed himself with his hands folded in his lap. “You like stories?” he asked.

  “Sure.”

  “Well. I know a guy named Ole, and he went over to Thief River Falls in Minnesota and he bought this cow.”

  “Uh-huh,” she said.

  “Well. He got this cow home and he went out to milk it. You know how to milk a cow, don’t you?”

  She nodded her head. “I been on a farm. You squeeze the things and the milk squirts out.”

  “Right. The things are called tits, just like your mom’s got. Course she’s only got one on each side. Cow has four.”

  The kid narrowed her eyes, alert but not quite sure what she was supposed to be wary about. She took a step back to put distance between herself and something in Dale’s manner.

  Dale said, “So this guy yanks on the tits and the cow farts.”

  The girl made a self-conscious face, but a fast lick of humor darted in her green eyes. The old bathroom humor connection.

  “So the guy went and got his neighbor and brought him over and he says, ‘This is the damnest thing. I bought this cow and I go to milk it and I grab hold of the tit, and when I squeeze, the cow goes and farts.’

  “And his neighbor says, ‘You got this cow in Minnesota, didn’t you?’

  “And the guy says, ‘How’d you know that?’

  “And the neighbor says, ‘ ’Cause I got my wife in Minnesota.’ ”

  Dale laughed at his joke, and at the girl’s discomfort and confusion. She went to the edge of the concrete pad and called to her dad. “Dad, I need to use the bathroom.”

  Is there a bathroom she can use?” Broker called.

  “Sure, it’s right in here,” Dale pointed to the doorway in the partition. “Sometimes you got to flush it twice.”

  She nodded and went through the door and shut it behind her. Almost immediately Dale heard her playing with the toilet, flushing it twice. Then after a few moments, she flushed it again.

  By the time she had finished in the ba
throom and was back out standing by the desk, Broker came back.

  Dale watched him closely. The guy was trying to act interested in machinery but what he was really doing was scoping out the Missile Park across the road. Looking for signs of his runaway old lady.

  If that’s what she really was. Jeeez—if the wife could be a cop, this guy could be a cop too.

  “Well, thanks for letting me look around,” Broker said.

  “Any time. Like I said. There’s not much left. I’m about to the pull the plug.”

  They said goodbye to the heavyset, moonfaced guy and walked out to the Explorer. Kit looked up at her dad and said, “That guy’s weird.”

  “Why do you say that?” Broker said.

  “Well, he told me this story about cows and farts.”

  “Yeah?” A little more alert, Broker looked at the thickset man standing in the doorway.

  “And when I went to the bathroom…”

  “He didn’t do anything weird then, honey. I was watching him. He was sitting at the desk the whole time.”

  “No, it was something that was in the bathroom. The toilet wasn’t flushed.”

  Broker nodded in vague sympathy.

  “No, Dad. There was this blue poop in the toilet.”

  Broker grinned. “That’s probably Lysol bowl cleaner, you squirt it around the edge to clean—”

  “No, Dad.” Kit stamped her foot and folded her arms across her chest. Peeved, she continued. “You’re not listening. There was this blue poop floating in the water. It was yucky.”

  “If you say so.”

  Kit turned away, hugged herself tight around the chest, and raised her chin in a haughty display of disapproval. “Dad. You are not taking me seriously.”

  “Okay. I don’t know about blue poop. But I do know that when little girls crank their stuck-up noses in the air, they gotta watch out so birds don’t drop white poop on them.”

  Kit glowered and kicked at the trap rock in the driveway.

  “Sometimes you’re not a very nice daddy.”

  “C’mon, honey,” Broker said. “Time’s getting close.”

  Exactly an hour after he left, Joe Reed drove up and parked his van. He came into the shed wearing fresh jeans, a clean oatmeal-colored Carhartt T-shirt, and all his scars washed. Musta taken one of his cat baths in his van. He saw the loader. “No sale, huh?”

  “She’s a boat anchor. Leave it for scrap.”

  Joe looked up suddenly and cocked his head. Nothing wrong with his hearing. If anything, his other disabilities had made it more acute. Because Dale heard stuff just fine, and he didn’t hear it until seconds later.

  “Plane coming in,” Joe said.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Nina woke up alone—not just in Ace’s bed, but in an empty apartment over an empty bar. No smiling Ace handing her coffee. In fact, no coffee.

  She had spent a second chaste night in Ace’s bed and he had slept on the couch. They had gone to dinner yesterday and to a movie at the refurbished Roxy Theater in town. Signs, with Mel Gibson. Then they’d gone out for a single beer afterwards at the bowling alley and talked about the movie. Like a date. She had been willing to kiss him at the conclusion to the evening, but he had stepped away.

  Not yet, he’d said with less of his usual gallantry than tangible distraction. Was he losing interest? Was he coming around to Gordy’s suspicious way of thinking? Did it matter? She was getting antsy, too. She assumed that Holly was checking this Khari guy five different ways. So something might roll out tonight. Which was fine, because her game with Ace and Gordy was running out of steam. She’d just have to ride out the day. Later this morning she would call Broker to see how things went with Kit. Right now she wanted a cup of coffee.

  She showered fast, threw on a summer shift, and went downstairs just as Gordy came in through the front door carrying a bag of groceries. Seeing her, a malevolent smile smeared his hairy lips. His beady eyes darted around the room and Nina could practically read the thought bubble over his head.

  They were alone.

  She ignored him, went into the office, saw the can of Folgers on the sideboard sink, and started pouring water into the Mr. Coffee machine. Gordy followed her, set down his bag, came over, and stood beside her. She had never been this close to him and he smelled like stick deodorant aged in old sweat.

  “I’m still here,” she said, deciding to take the offensive. He was wearing that Velcro back brace. She wondered if he slept in it.

  “You ain’t the only one. Green Explorer, Minnesota plates, parked at the Motor Inn.”

  “Shit,” Nina said. All right!

  “Yeah, he’s hanging around. Here. Let me do that.” Gordy took the can of Folgers from her and started measuring out the coffee. “Ace likes it strong.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Run off with the most popular chick in town.” Gordy grinned and held his hand palm down about waist level. “ ‘Bout this tall. She ain’t got legs or arms but she got these great lips, and her head is flat on top, just right for setting down a beer can.”

  “Old joke,” Nina said and fixed a bored expression on her face.

  “Ace went into court to fight a speeding ticket. He’ll be back pretty soon.” Gordy shrugged and removed a six-pack of Coke from the bag, and a cardboard box of assorted doughnuts.

  “Breakfast of Champions, huh?” Nina said.

  Gordy put the Cokes in the refrigerator, all but one can. He popped the top, took a sip, and opened the bakery box. “Want one?” he asked. As he held the pastries up he stepped closer, too close, so his arm grazed her arm.

  Nina threw a warning glance. Gordy just smiled and selected a jelly doughnut, took a bite, then leered at her, with a gob of goo caught in his mustache. His tongue darted out, snapped up the goo. Then he started to make his move. “So, where did he sleep last night. On the couch or on you?”

  Nina extended the middle finger of her right hand.

  “You give it up yet?” Gordy said, staring at her hips. “You satisfy his curiosity?” The leer accelerated and his breath came faster, working up to something ugly, and his eyes started to go fast, like two little caged rats.

  “Back off, Gordy. I mean it.” Nina started for the door.

  Gordy blocked her path, looming. Almost touching her as he whispered in her ear with his sugar breath, “It’s like this—you could leave under your own power, or you could disappear. It’d be easy…”

  Nina, an inch taller, dropped her eyes to focus on the lump of Adam’s apple nestled in Gordy’s hairy throat. Go on, asshole, touch me. Crush his larnyx in about two seconds…

  She moved past him and then the knife came out.

  He drew it from his back pocket: a standard folding Buck Hunter with a fat, almost four-inch, stainless-steel blade. Gordy whipped it open with a smooth practiced flick of his thumb. He raised the knife in his right hand, menacing the blade back and forth. Catching the light. Not exactly threatening her directly with it, more like showing off and working up to something…

  Broker had always told her how a lot of the assholes out there weren’t that smart. How sometimes they just did things before they thought…Okay, so, a knife—she prepared herself to fight. Gordy puckered his lips, blew a kiss, took a half-step toward her, still swinging the blade off to the side.

  Instinctively Nina’s hands came up and she stepped back. What happened next was so strange and fast that she found herself in the middle, missing the beginning:

  The voice rasped: “Leave her alone, Gordy. I mean it.”

  Nina watched, stunned. Where’d he come from? A swarthy man about five-ten, in jeans, a gray T-shirt, and boots. He had jet-black hair and the corded arms of a circus roustabout. His face was all wrong, rippled with uneven pigment. Scars showed even through his short hair. He approached silently, moving with a graceful limp, favoring his left leg. He carried his left hand protectively close to his hip, not swinging naturally and Nina immediately saw the nubs of the two missing finge
rs. She’d seen his kind of face before, in VA hospital burn wards; guys who’d been blown up, their skin grafted. But this guy was very focused, his quiet eyes checking the blind angles, the back doorway by the stairs.

  Her response was visceral. One player sensing another player coming onto the field.

  Gordy immediately put the knife away, stepped back. “Hey—just kidding, Joe,” he said.

  If push came to shove, Ace and Gordy were country tough. Basically they were muddling along in a local tradition of smuggling whiskey and petty crime. Not this guy. Nina was sure. He was a trained man. For the first time since this project got under way, Nina knew she was close to something scary.

  The guy stopped and probed Nina fast with cold brown eyes so intense she could almost feel her bones glow. Then he turned to Gordy and said, “We got nothing else to talk about, you and me. You understand?”

  “Sure, Joe.”

  “Where’s Ace?”

  “He ain’t here,” Gordy said.

  “Tell him George says it’s tonight, at the old remote missile bunker east of town.”

  “Jesus, Joe.” Gordy rolled his eyes at Nina, alarmed.

  Joe’s eyes stayed fixed on Gordy but his voice turned contemptuous. “Since when are we scared of women?” He inclined his damaged face toward Gordy for emphasis, then, “You tell Ace.”

  Gordy stepped back, eyes wide; trying to make the best of things. “Yeah, sure, Joe.”

  Then Joe continued on past the stairs and went out through the storeroom. Gordy, minus most of the color in his face, grinned nervously at Nina. “Just joking around, right?”

  “Yeah, sure, Gordy. Ha ha. Who was that?”

  “Joe Reed,” Gordy said, clearly agitated. He shook his head. “I don’t get what’s going on anymore. It wasn’t like this when Ace’s dad ran things.”

  Nina folded her arms across her chest and watched him go into the office. Then she went to the table, where Ace’s morning newspaper was spread out. As she sat down she released a delayed shudder.