Borderland

by S. K. Epperson

  "No, I mean what day. Where will we be when it's the fourth of July?"

  "That's Monday, honey," Vic said. ''We'll be at Dad's place by then."

  Nolan asked: "Does everyone have their seatbelt on?"

  A flurry of activity followed his query. When Nolan was satisfied that squirming bodies were buckled in, he backed down the drive and said a silent and unsentimental goodbye to Kansas City, for the time being, anyway.

  Twenty minutes later they were in a gas station on the edge of town letting Andy pee.

  Forty minutes after that, both girls were snoozing in the back seat, each of them straining in her seatbelt to lean over and use the other as a pillow. Nolan wished he'd thought of bringing one along. He glanced over at Vic and saw the same worried expression that had lined his friend's face for the last year. He remembered a different Vic. He remembered a laughing, practical-joking guy with an oncoming beer belly and a great future with Kansas City's finest.

  Now Vic was skinny, withdrawn, out of a job, and broke. Connie's cancer had done it. The hospital and doctor bills, the medication, the mortgage payments and just watching his wife die used up everything in him. Nolan knew why Vic stole confiscated coke and sold it. He knew why Vic took cash from certain members of certain gangs to look the other way. Vic from Vice had needed the money.

  There wasn’t enough evidence to bust him, but he was kicked off the force and told to take a long hike. Nolan knew how it worked, because he'd joined the police academy with Vic over a decade ago. Nolan lasted only five and a half years on the force. Three bullets from the gun of a ten-year-old on crack had taken care of him, leaving him with permanent nerve damage in his right leg, a gouge in the left cheek of his ass, and a dangerous attitude toward other human beings.

  They took his badge away after his second psychiatric evaluation and told him adios. After the initial anger he decided he didn't blame them. Vic was a different story. Nobody understood. Nobody cared about the why. And now, just ten months after Connie's death, Vic's father was dead. The guy couldn't get a break.

  Nolan glanced over again and caught Vic looking at his bandaged hands. The gauze was dirty and needed to be changed. Soon it would begin to stink.

  Nothing like the smell of pus and fried flesh in the morning," he joked.

  “Hurt much?" Vic asked.

  "Like a sonofabitch."

  Where was the lab? Did they make the bust?"

  "Can't bust a dead guy. He was one of these jerks who liked to inject it into his pecker. His girlfriend bought it in the first blast."

  "Oh. Look, about what Carrie said back there—"

  "Forget it," Nolan said. "She's history."

  Vic's mouth curved. "Just like that?"

  "Just like that for about the last two months. She was a blast until I moved in, then it was `no, let's stay home and save up for new furniture.' She sent me running to the store for toilet paper and tampons, and she expected me to fix things that have been broken since the hope chest opened."

  Vic was smiling openly now. "Sounds like marriage."

  "I know," Nolan said with a feigned shudder.

  "You're what? Thirty-six?" Vic asked.

  "Thirty-five."

  "Okay. In the last decade you've gone through five roommates and twice that many girlfriends."

  "So?" Nolan said.

  "So when are you going to—"

  "Don't even ask. I don't want to get married and I don't want to have kids."

  "Why?" asked a small voice from the back.

  Nolan glanced in his rearview mirror and saw Andy eyeing the back of his head with a wary expression.

  "Just because," he said, wondering how much she'd heard.

  "Is it because your hair is dirty yellow?"

  Christa sat up. "That's blond, Andy."

  "I know what blond is," Andy said immediately. "But his hair is dirty yellow."

  "No it isn't. It's blond, just like my teacher, Mrs. Shellhammer. Only hers was curly."

  "Why isn't his curly?" Andy asked. "And how come it looks dirty yellow if it's blond?"

  Nolan looked at Vic with a pained expression. Vic turned to face the backseat. "It's just the light in the car, Andy. Why don't you talk about something else?"

  "He's embarrassed," Christa whispered to Andy.

  Andy eyed the back of his head again. "He doesn't want any kids, Christa."

  "Girls …” Vic warned.

  "When I grow up I want a boy and a girl," Christa said. "And two dogs and three cats."

  "Ooh, kitties," Andy said. "Daddy, will there be any kitties at Grandpa's house?"

  "I'm sure we can get one," Vic said absently.

  Andy turned her attention to Nolan once more. "Do you like kitties, Mr. Woof?"

  "Wulf," Nolan said automatically. Then he glanced at her in the rearview. "I used to have a cat. A big tom."

  This caused Andy to reconsider her earlier opinion. "What happened to him?"

  "He got sick and died."

  "Hmm," Andy said. "Just like Mommy. Mr. Woof, if you and my Daddy are friends, how come you never came to visit us before?"

  "Andy, please . . ." Vic said.

  "He doesn't like kids, remember?" Christa murmured.

  Nolan cleared his throat loudly. "Just call me Nolan, would you? And I didn't visit because I worked third shift. When all of you were in bed asleep, I was at work."

  "Nolan's a fireman," Vic said.

  "We know," Christa said in a bored voice. "We heard you talking about how his hands got burned." She looked at the roof. "Can we take the top down?"

  "Not on the highway," Vic said. "It'll blow us away."

  "I'm thirsty," Andy said. "And I have to go again."

  Nolan rolled his eyes and started looking for a rest stop.

  They stopped in Emporia and once again in El Dorado, where Andy lost the contents of her small stomach to the floorboard of the Buick. Watching Andy throw up made Christa sick, but rather than use the space in front of her she chose to hang out the window and splatter the outside of the car. Nolan gritted his teeth and wiped up the mess in the floorboard while a helpless-looking Vic took care of the outside.

  What should've been at the most a three-hour drive took four and a half hours. They reached Wichita around three-thirty and found themselves in a vacation weekend snarl on highway 54 west. In the tiny town of Kingman, Nolan pulled into a gas station and let Vic have the wheel. His hands and his head were aching. Little girls were more trouble than he'd ever have believed. They rebounded from nausea with incredible fortitude, but their bladders were the size of acorns and their tongues worked harder than the Buick's engine. The unfamiliar exposure exhausted him, and he gained a new and awe-filled respect for Vic, who had been dealing with them on his own since his wife's death.

  "How do you do it?" he asked when the tiny she-demons had dozed off again.

  Vic knew what he was talking about. "Believe it or not, it isn't that bad. The first few months I went crazy because I didn't know how to do anything. But they helped me. They're both pretty tough, really. Connie taught them to be independent from early on."

  "So the little one is what, six?"

  "Yeah, she just finished kindergarten. Christa's going into the fourth grade next year. I guess there's a school around Denke. I didn't ask anyone."

  "Denke," Nolan repeated. He'd forgotten the name of their destination. "How big is the town?"

  "Not very. Last I knew the population was about a hundred and fifty. That's probably counting everyone's dogs and hamsters."

  "You were born there, right?" Nolan said.

  "Yeah, but I don't know much about it. My mom took me and left when I was a baby. She said she hated it there. But you know how my mom was. She liked cities."

  Nolan remembered. Before his mother's death six years ago Vic had frequently taken her out to restaurants, shows, and dances. The old lady hated to sit still for even a minute, sort of like Andy, the miniature bane of Buicks.

  "So," Nolan s
aid. "What do you know about horses?"

  "Not a goddamned thing," Vic said. "But I imagine I'll learn. You know, I keep thinking I should've visited him more. He saw the girls one time. Just once. He didn't know any of us beyond birthday cards and snapshots."

  "It's normal to feel that way," Nolan assured him. "When my dad died I felt like shit for a year. I could've driven across town to see him any time. I was just too busy. Or at least I thought I was."

  "That was it," Vic agreed. "I was too busy. Too busy with the job, too busy with Connie.”

  Nolan heard the break in his voice. He hated that. He didn't know what the hell to say or do.

  "Hey," he said alter a moment. "Why don't we stop in Dodge City and get a room? My treat. We've got plenty of time to get to Denke. It's close to the Colorado border, right? We can get up in the morning and make it in four hours from Dodge."

  Vic wiped his eyes and nodded.

  "Good," said an unidentifiable voice from the back.

  The men traded a glance and fell silent, one of them thinking what perfect undercover plants the harmless-looking little spies would make.

  Finding a room wasn't as easy as Nolan had assumed it would be. Dodge City was something of a tourist attraction and vacationers were everywhere. They finally had to settle for a single—the last one available—in a small family-owned establishment a mile off the highway. Nolan entered the Spartan room, sniffed the stale air, and looked at the plaid coverlet on the sole bed. Then he looked at Vic and his daughters. Andy hung limply in her father's arms; Christa was eyeing Nolan.

  "Daddy, where is he going to sleep?"

  "On the floor," Nolan answered.

  "You paid for the room," Vic said. "You should have the bed."

  "I'm not sleeping with him," Christa said imperiously.

  "You can sleep on the floor," Vic told her.

  Christa opened her mouth and Nolan raised his hands. "Don't wake up the brat. The floor is okay with me. You guys take the bed."

  "Where are you going?" Christa asked as he turned toward the door.

  "To find my first aid stuff. I need to change my bandages."

  "Oh," she said. "Can I watch?"

  "No," her father said. "You go wash up then get into bed."

  "But I don't have my pajamas. They're in my suitcase."

  "Sleep without them tonight. I'm not unpacking anything until we get to Dad's place."

  Nolan left them and went out to the Buick, where he searched until he came to the curse-filled realization that his first aid kit was missing. He had a brief vision of taking it out to fit a sack of toys into the trunk beside his suitcase…but he couldn't remember putting it back in.

  "Well, Jesus Christ," he said in disgust. The small red and white kit was probably still sitting in the drive back at Vic's house. He had no ointment, no gauze, no tape, and nothing for the ache. He went back in the room and told Vic he was going to look for a store. Vic looked up from tucking Christa in beside Andy and nodded wordlessly.

  Forty-five minutes later Nolan came back with a sack from a convenience store and found himself locked out of the room.

  He peered through the drapes and saw the bathroom light on. The room key was on the table by the television. Vic and his girls were sound asleep on the bed. After a meaningful mental ass-kicking, Nolan ate three aspirins and climbed into the Buick to stretch out in the front seat.

  He wasn't going to last a month. He'd known Vic a long time, but there were limits to any friendship. He'd stay two days or maybe three then clear out. The brats were just too much to take. If he stayed the entire month his hair might turn dirty gray. He wasn't equipped to deal with kids, especially little girls. He liked big girls. Big girls with big…

  He wondered if Carrie would take him back right away. It wasn't likely. She'd dig deep into her bedside library of self-help books and find the pride to deny him for at least a week. Not that he would be missing anything. He hated women who talked cutesy to little dogs and complained about piss on the bathroom floor. He hated smelling perfume while he brushed his teeth in the morning. He hated eating wheat germ on everything and drinking tea instead of coffee.

  Maybe it was time to lay off for a while. Just go without. He'd done it before. Before Carrie he had gone six whole months without sleeping with anyone. Well, Dina from dispatch didn't count because she was more of a friend than a lover.

  Okay. That was it. When he got back, he'd avoid getting into any relationships right away. He'd take some time for himself, maybe go to a few ball games, do some fishing, and get shit-faced with the boys a few times. If he felt like it, maybe he'd even go see his mother. She might be able to squeeze a few minutes into her oh-so-busy day for him. Or maybe she'd ask him to make an appointment, like last time. If she did, she could just—

  "Hey. Are you asleep?"

  Nolan shot up from the seat and banged his shoulder against the steering wheel. "Ouch. Goddammit."

  Christa backed away from the car. "What are you doing out here?"

  Nolan rubbed his shoulder. "I was locked out, in case you hadn't noticed."

  "Oh. You're too big to sleep in the car," she observed. "I looked out the window and saw your feet hanging out."

  "I hope you left the door open," Nolan said as he got out of the car.

  "I had to. It would've locked if I hadn't."

  Smarter than I am, Nolan thought. He walked toward the room and glanced over his shoulder to see Christa still beside the car. "Come on. Let's go in."

  "I'm not sleepy anymore," she said. She looked longingly toward a small swing set on a miniscule patch of lawn behind the motel office. "What's it like where we're going, Uncle Nolan?"

  Nolan lifted his brows. Uncle? Jesus, where did that come from? "I don't know, Christa. I've never been there. Come on in now. I'm tired."

  She clasped her small arms and looked at him. "Are you going to live there with us?"

  Nolan sighed and walked back to the car. "No, I'm not. I'm just helping you move."

  "I almost wish you would," Christa said. She looked at her feet. "Live with us, I mean. Daddy feels better when you're around. He used to cry a lot, more than Andy even, but I don't think he likes to cry in front of you."

  Nolan leaned against the Buick and looked down at her. He was better at tatting lace than he was at talking to kids.

  "I know it's hard to understand, Christa, but your dad just needs time."

  "I know," she said. "He won't always cry. After Mommy died he kept saying, 'I wish it was a year from now' over and over again. It's almost been a year, but he still cries. Not as much, though. He probably should have wished for two years. Don't you think?"

  "Yeah, I guess." Nolan shifted his weight from his right leg to his left and wondered why he hadn't bought a six-pack of beer at that store.

  "Daddy smiles at you," Christa said. "He must think you're funny. That's why I wish you could stay, so you could be funny for him until he feels better."

  "I'm going to stay a little while," Nolan said, deliberately avoiding anything that would be a lie. "But he'll get better without me. Trust me."

  He felt a sharp twinge of pain as Christa took him by the hand. He didn't jerk away, he was too surprised.

  "We can go in now," she told him. "It's kinda scary out here in the dark. But I want to watch while you do your bandages. I've never seen burned skin before. And I like to look at your eyes. If I had your eyes I'd look like Mommy, wouldn't I? I wish I had your eyes, Uncle Nolan. They're such a pretty blue."

  Nolan gave an uncomfortable laugh and briefly realized what Maurice Chevalier had been singing and dancing about. His eyes weren't really blue but... hell, maybe little girls weren't so bad after all. Possibly they grew on you or something. Maybe he'd reconsider his decision and stick around. Just to see how things worked out.

  CHAPTER 2

  Myra Callahan ran a hand through her sweat-dampened blonde hair and glanced worriedly out her kitchen window. The yard light at the end of the drive had bur
ned out over a week ago; everything beyond the window was cloaked in darkness. If she stared hard she could just make out the roof of the farmhouse against the sky. Her mobile home sat less than a hundred yards from the house, and only fifty from the barn, but it was as though the darkness impaired her hearing along with her sight. She turned to her son. "I still don't see or hear anything, Cal. Are you sure?"

  He nodded then realized she couldn't see him with all the lights out. "I'm sure. I'm going out there."

  "No," she said immediately. "You're not going anywhere."

  "If I don't, there won't be anything left by the time Mr. Kimmler gets here."

  "He was supposed to be here today. I’m sure he’s tried to call, but doesn’t realize we have no cell phone service out here."

  "I know, Mom. You keep saying that. But he's not here, the landline is dead and they're out there again. I saw something by the house."

  Myra blinked to moisten her staring eyes. "We can't risk it, Cal. It's too dangerous."

  Cal touched her arm. "Today I went in the house and got Darwin's shotgun and a pistol. I know you can handle the pistol, I watched him teach you how to shoot it. It's the nine millimeter."

  "I told you not to go in the house," Myra said. "It's not like we have free run of the place anymore."

  "We need protection," Cal replied.

  Myra bit her lip in indecision. "We don't know that they mean to hurt us."

  "Bullshit," Cal said. "They've cut the phone wires twice and put a hole in our radiator since Darwin died. Whoever it is, they want us isolated and helpless out here. It's time we showed them just how helpless we aren't."

  "Cal, I don't want you hurt. I'd rather let them steal everything on the place than see you injured…or worse."

  "They gutted my dog, Mom," Cal replied in a quavering voice. "I'm not going to let them get away with it. They think they can come in here and start terrorizing us now that Darwin's gone. I'm ready to fight back."

  Myra was too, but not at the expense of her son. He could handle the shotgun, she knew, but against how many men? She didn't know who they were fighting or even why, though she had her suspicions. At first she thought someone was trying to run them off, but then the car had been sabotaged, making it impossible to leave. She hadn't been to the store in days; there was nothing to eat but vegetables from her puny garden and milk from the goats. She and Cal could walk the ten miles into town, but what would happen once they left?