I guess I’m kind of thick sometimes. It had honestly not occurred to me that she was involved with this beyond the death of her grandfather. What was happening, and what had to be done felt private, part of a time and place that should have been long forgotten, just like those of us that had been there.
The idea that she was part of it now didn’t sit well with me. Call it an offended sense that she was intruding on something personal, or even shame if you want, but I just wanted to get out of the car without another word. Part of it, too, was that she seemed so young and untouched by the world, that the last thing I wanted to do was destroy that innocence.
I looked at her, sitting defiant and scared with her hands clenched together in her lap, and I realized that she didn’t want to be involved any more than I wanted her to be. I could see in her face that this was really about getting away from it. She needed to know that it was over, and not lingering over her forever, always waiting for something unknown to jump out around the next corner.
How did I tell her that she was better off only knowing about the bags without exposing her to the fact that there was more to fear out there?
“I’m coming with you to see Henry. Besides, you don’t even have a car, your truck is trashed.”
“I can rent a car.”
“I’m coming with you. If you’re going to go after those fuckers, then I want to be there. They killed my grandfather. I deserve to be there.”
“You can’t, you have to go to Patrick’s funeral.”
“The rest of my family can go and stand around a hole in the ground mourning an empty shell. I’m going to pay my respects by finishing what my grandfather started. I’m going to help you find what you’re looking for, just like he would have. I’m the only one left who can.”
That’s when I did a really shitty thing. I’m not a particularly nice man at the best of times, but this was pretty low, even for me. I think I justified it at the time by thinking that I’d send her home soon, but I may not have even bothered with that.
See, she was completely right. Without Anne, I didn’t have a tracker. I had to use her if I was going to have any chance of finding what I was looking for. I told myself that I could protect her, but I had been down this road before, and I knew that wasn’t true. Shadroe was proof of that. But I gave in anyway and gave her the lecture that she expected, because I knew that would seal the deal.
“Fine. But when I tell you to go, then you’re going to get in this car and drive away. No arguments, no complaining. When I decide that it’s too dangerous for you, that’s it. You don’t have any idea how bad this will get.” She opened her mouth to speak. “No, you really don’t have any idea. I’m only going to take a yes or a no.”
“Yes.”
As if any other answer was possible for her now. I got out of the car feeling dirty. She was right. I am an asshole.
8
Motels like the Sweet Pastures don’t generally see much traffic in the early-morning hours. The lobby was still and deserted. A bell rang against the doorframe when we came in, but we still had a long tired minute of leaning against the counter before a man slouched out of the back office.
“Help you?” He wore jeans and a short-sleeved yellow golf shirt that strained to encircle his meaty arms. His gut was hard and round and stretched the fabric to the point of near transparency.
Even though he was still relatively young, he had the look of an aging athlete about him, still strong beneath the flab. I doubt that in his high school football heyday he had seen himself a few years later working the counter at the Pastures. He was already getting on my nerves, having directed his greeting to Anne’s T-shirt, where it pulled tight across her breasts.
“Two rooms, adjoining if you have them,” I said.
His eyes flicked to me, then back across Anne, oblivious to her narrowed eyes. His tongue touched his lower lip. “Two rooms? Yeah, I have that. Be one-twenty plus tax. Checkout is noon tomorrow.” He pulled a couple of old-fashioned keys out of his desk, and I put my credit card and ID on the counter.
The keys were heavy brass with dark green plastic ovals attached to them by a ring, with room numbers printed in big faded gold block letters. He processed my card quickly and ignored the ID, his hands working deftly and without apparent supervision.
When he was done, he slid Anne’s key across the counter under his hand, but she pulled her fingers back before he could brush them with his.
“Eight and nine, to the right as you walk out. You need anything at all, sweetness, you just call the desk. I can let myself in.” His gaze crawled down her body.
Before I was aware of making the decision, I had already grabbed him by the back of the neck and slammed his head down onto the counter. The impact shook the entire front desk and cracked the wood of the countertop. He had managed to turn his face in time to save his nose and teeth, blood still sprayed out of his mouth as his lips split.
I wanted to yank his head up and slam it down again, this time hard enough to burst it open, but I didn’t. I don’t always have clarity at these moments, where I know I’m over the line and can stop myself, but this time we both got lucky.
I took my hand off his neck. “Stay down on the fucking counter, shut your mouth, and don’t look up until we leave.”
I could see the anger snapping in his eyes as he glared up at me, ready to fight, but it all drained out when he got a good look at my face. He looked away and went still, breathing heavily through his open mouth, anger replaced by fear.
You can tell when someone has reached a place in their heads where consequences no longer matter to them and any word or movement is liable to turn a confrontation into a crime scene. That’s what he was seeing now. I found myself poised, eyes locked on this piece of shit and wishing that he would twitch or say something that would give me an excuse to let go of my restraint.
We stood frozen across the counter from each other until the sound of the door slamming got my attention. Anne had stalked out of the office.
Disappointment mixed with shame as I stepped hastily away from the counter. I followed her out the door and caught up to her at Number Eight. She stopped with her key out, but instead of putting it in the lock, she spun to face me.
“I can’t believe you just did that!”
“That guy was a jackass.” I hadn’t cared much one way or another what people thought of me for years now, but all of a sudden it mattered.
“So what? I’m an adult. If I think something needs to be done, I’ll do it. I don’t need you protecting me like I’m some helpless little girl.” She jabbed the key at me. “You know what you just did? You just took away my adulthood in front of that man. Worse, you made me look like a victim.”
I felt my face grow hot. “It wasn’t even about you, alright? I just don’t like people treating women like that.”
“What was that? Women? So if he had been staring at some guy’s package, you’d have been fine with that?”
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do. You think all women are weak, right?”
“No, of course not.”
“Right. Let me tell you something. I can fight and I can shoot, probably a damn sight better than you can, and I’ve been doing both since I was a kid. I don’t need you to defend me, especially against some caveman staring at my tits. And that connecting-rooms business? What’s that about? Is that so you can keep me safe, since I’m so helpless?”
I put my key in number nine’s lock and turned it hard. “No, as a matter of fact, it’s for my benefit, not yours. You’re the only alarm I’ve got, so knock if you smell anything. Or better yet, you go ahead and take care of any bags that show up, and let me get some sleep!” I went inside and slammed the door, harder than I needed to.
I was embarrassed and angry, but not so much that I couldn’t admit that she was right. Or at least partially right. I wasn’t standing up for her. I hurt that guy because I had gotten angry and couldn’t stop myself from using it as
an excuse to lash out at someone.
I have had, in my long life, something of an anger-management problem. On my good days, I can walk away from it. Other days I seem to clutch at it like an addict, and like an addict, I’m ashamed of what happens afterwards. Over the years I’ve lost the respect of close friends, and more than once I almost lost Mags because of the things I’ve done. People can like you if you stand up for yourself, or someone else, but only up to a point. There’s a line that you can’t cross without becoming a monster and a savage in their eyes. It’s hard to earn that respect back, and sometimes you can’t, especially to yourself, so I try my best to keep a leash on it.
I grew up angry, but when I came back from the war, I realized that it had gotten a lot worse overseas. That I had gotten a lot worse. I’ve felt pretty proud over the last thirty years that I had matured, maybe come to terms with it. Turns out, that’s only because hiding out on my farm I haven’t had anyone to get mad at. It was humiliating to lose control and look like an ass in front of Anne, and I swore that it wouldn’t happen again. It was an old promise, worn and familiar.
I flicked on the light, and threw my keys and wallet on the dresser. The room was small and shabby and smelled faintly of cigarettes. It came complete with matted brown carpet that looked more like it was growing out of the floor than covering it, and a sagging twin bed sporting a polyester floral comforter that was probably dirtier than the carpet. I’ve stayed in worse places, but not in recent memory.
I walked to the tiny bathroom and stripped off my clothes. They reeked of sweat and smoke. I filled the sink and scrubbed them as best I could with hot water and hand soap, then squeezed them out and laid them across the air conditioner vents to dry.
I took a long shower, and the heat seemed to draw the fatigue of a long day and night up out of my bones and into my muscles, making me heavy and dragging me down.
I got out and dried myself on the thin, sandpapery towel, then slid the bedspread off onto the floor and lay down on top of the sheets. At least those were probably washed between guests. I felt leaden and absolutely still as I listened to the muffled drone of the little air conditioner.
In my mind I could hear Shadroe Decatur’s slow drawl. You gonna get that little girl killed, Sarge. She ain’t never seen a hard corner in her entire life and you’re gonna bring her right into the grinder with you.
“Everybody starts out looking soft on the outside,” I said out loud.
“But you look under that, and I bet there’s steel in this one. I’m sure Patrick saw to that.” Shad’s memory was silent, but I could picture his weasel face pinched in disapproval.
I closed my eyes and tried not to remember how he died. In seconds I was fast asleep.
When I woke up, it was late afternoon, and I was starving. My clothes were dry and stiff and smelled a hell of a lot better. I put them on thinking about steak and knowing that Anne must be as hungry as I was.
I pocketed my key and stepped out into the cool wind and butter-yellow afternoon sunlight. I stood in front of her door for the long moments necessary for me to kick down my pride and knocked.
She answered immediately. Her hair looked damp, but she was dressed. The bed was rumpled and I noticed that she had also distrusted the comforter. She had folded it neatly and set it on the chair by the door.
“Hey,” I said, trying to gauge her mood. She didn’t look angry.
“Hey.”
“You get some rest?”
“Yes. You?”
I nodded and rubbed at my stubbly chin. I needed to remember to buy a razor. And clothes. I took a deep breath. “Look, Anne. I’m sorry about earlier. How about I spring for dinner to make it up to you?”
Her lips twitched up at the corners. “That must have been pretty hard to get out, you looked like you were going to choke for a minute there.”
“I did not.”
“Yes, you did. Now it’s my turn. It’s been a really bad couple of days for me, even before I came out to your house. I don’t normally bite people’s heads off like that.” She ducked inside and grabbed her purse and keys, and then stepped past me towards the car. “But you were still totally wrong.”
“That’s big of you, thanks.”
We wound up at a steakhouse a few miles from the motel. The large dining room was mostly empty since dinner was still two hours away for most folks. I asked for a table by the window so I could keep an eye on the car and got it with a gracious smile.
Anne snapped her menu shut and said, “I’m picking the next place.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m a vegetarian, and so far you’ve picked a burger joint and a steakhouse, that’s why.”
“Well why didn’t you say something when we drove up?”
She shrugged. “Maybe you’re buying dinner because you’re sorry, and maybe I’m letting you drag me to a steakhouse because I’m sorry.”
“They say you can tell a good compromise because nobody is happy.”
She laughed. “So true.”
To honor her gift to me, and because I didn’t know how long it was going to be before I saw another steak, I ordered a giant porterhouse, rare. She made do with a salad and some side dishes, which made me feel a little guilty, but it passed pretty quickly.
When the steak came it was bigger than my head and nearly hanging off the sides of the plate. The outside was seared to a perfect crust and the inside was reddish-pink and so tender I almost didn’t need a knife. I went in and didn’t come up for air until half of it was gone.
“So, about what we’re doing,” I said when I slowed down. “We need to catch a plane to North Carolina to see Henry. I’d like to do it tonight, if that’s okay with you.”
“Why not just call him?”
“I’ll call him. But we need to see him in person, too.”
“To get his piece, right?”
I chewed a piece of steak instead of answering.
“I can’t afford a plane ticket, Abe. Why don’t we just drive down there? It’ll just take a couple of days, we can even drive in shifts and make in one long day if you want.”
“No time. If those men left from my house or the retirement home and started driving, they could be there tomorrow. It’s a little over a twenty-hour drive from my place. We have to get there first. Don’t worry about the money, I’ll buy the tickets. I have some money saved up.”
“You think they’re already heading there? Right now?”
“I’ve been thinking about the timing, between the nursing home and my farm. If those two groups of men had left at the same time from somewhere west of here, they would have arrived at the home, and then at my farm at just the right times.
“Now, if that’s true, maybe there’s more than just two groups. Why not one group for each piece, each setting off from the same location at the same time? If so, then Henry’s group has already been traveling the distance from the farm to Henry’s house since last night. That means that they could arrive as early as tomorrow evening.”
“Well, couldn’t they already be there? I mean, what if they took a plane, too?”
I shook my head. “They can’t pass for regular people in good light, or close up. No way they could make it through an airport or sit on a plane.”
“They looked pretty normal to me. For crazed murderers, anyway.”
“It’s the worms. They’re never still, and they go everywhere. We saw a couple of ‘em in the daytime once, and you could see these thin little lines curling and wiggling under the skin of their faces and on their arms. I swear I saw something flick past the inside of an eye once, too.” Anne shuddered and looked away from her plate.
“Their color isn’t right, either. Plus, you saw their eyes back at the home. At the very least, they look crazy and drugged up. You think the airline folks will let them get on a plane like that? No, they’ll have to drive it, so we have a chance to get there first. Especially since they’ll have to steal gas or swap cars on the way, which might slow the
m down.”
“I don’t want this to be real.” I noticed that she was twisting and wringing her cloth napkin in her lap. “My grandfather was murdered right in front of me. In my whole life, I’ve never even known anyone who was murdered, or even anyone who knew someone who was murdered. I never saw a house burn down, either. It’s like I went to sleep yesterday, and when I woke up my world was stolen away and a different one was left in its place. A broken one.”
I knew that sense of betrayal very well. I remembered vividly the angry shock when I found out what the world was really like some sixty years ago. I still feel it today. “I’m sorry. I can go visit Henry alone if you like, and come back here to get you afterwards. I’m sure you have people you need to see, like a boyfriend or a boss or something.”
“You can stop that, I’m going. And I don’t have a boyfriend anymore, not for a couple of months now. Apparently, taking care of my grandfather was a real downer, so he split. And now I don’t have any real family left, either. I guess I could call my boss at the restaurant I work at, but fuck him. He’s a jerk anyway.”
Hearing about lost boyfriends and restaurant jobs made me nostalgic for my own youth, or at least my innocence, before I went overseas. It was like looking through an ancient soda shop window and seeing yourself seated at the counter, just a kid, laughing with your buddies. I didn’t have the right to drag her out of the light, but if I didn’t, things were going to go badly for a whole lot of people. I don’t understand why the world always seems to require sacrifice to do the right thing, but even after all these years I still had every intention of avoiding it. I haven’t managed it yet, but there’s always a first time.
There wasn’t anything else to say, so we finished eating in silence.
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