"That's good," Jinx said. "That's real good, Ed. Are you gonna be all right this time or do you need someone to go with you? Maybe you oughta take that boy of yours."
Ed shook his gray head. "Len's busy harvesting. I'll be fine."
"You sure?" Jinx prodded.
"I'm sure," Ed said.
"Good." Jinx was satisfied. Ed wouldn't be all right, of course. He never had been. He was too much of a pansy. But after the ragging Ed had taken last time, Jinx was certain an extra effort would be made on the barber's part to make the hunt a success.
"Wait a minute," Kent Vogel said. "What about that friend of Kimmler's? We ain't keepin' him too, are we?"
"No," Jinx said. "He won't be hangin' around too much longer, I don't think. And maybe he'll take Myra and the boy with him when he goes. I'd still like to put a brick to that silly damn Schwarz's head for doin' what he did to that car of hers. Where in hell is he, anyway?"
"Still on town cleanup," Ed Kisner answered.
"Good," Jinx grunted. "Now, where was I? Oh yeah. Myra. Let's just say I think she'll set sail on the first boat out of here…if you know what I mean."
The men looked at each other and chuckled.
"Before long we’ll be shittin' in tall cotton again, boys," Jinx said. "We'll cover the fall planting with what's left over from the stud money, and maybe use what we get out of the brood mares to do some investin'."
"Investin' in what?" Fred Bauer asked.
Jinx smiled and shook his head again. He had to explain everything to them. Just like a bunch of retards.
"In what?" Bauer repeated.
"Vic Kimmler," Jinx said. "If I'm right, he might just give us one hell of a return on our investment."
"And if you're wrong?" the tobacco-drooling Hank Nenndorf asked.
"Then we got two orphaned little girls on our hands," Jinx said, his mud-colored eyes illuminated by a fierce, shining light. "Two of the prettiest little girls you ever seen."
CHAPTER 10
Christa lay on the floor of the barn and counted the stalls again. There were ten on each side. Cal said there was lots of hay somewhere above her, but she didn't want to go and look. It was cool down on the floor. That's why the mother cat kept her babies down here, she guessed. It had rained that morning, but only for a few minutes. Uncle Nolan made everyone laugh by running outside in his underwear and yelling something about the crops being saved. Christa didn't know what he meant but since even Myra had covered her mouth and laughed she thought she should, too.
She liked Myra. Most of the grownup women she knew, even her teachers, tried to act like a mother with her and Andy since their mother was dead. Myra didn't. She was nice, but she didn't try to hug them or tell them what to do. Daddy was always trying to thank her for doing things, but Christa could see that Myra didn't want him to. She told him she needed to stay busy to keep her mind occupied.
Christa watched them when they spoke to each other, to see if her daddy liked Myra, but she didn't think he did. Not that way. Christa was glad. She liked Myra, but she didn't want a new mother.
"Christa?" Andy rolled over to look at her. "Why aren't they coming out?"
"I don't know, Andy." Christa turned to follow Andy's gaze back to the pan of goat's milk in front of the first stall. "I think they're still scared.”
"Scared like we were when we first came here," Andy agreed. She looked at Christa. "Are you still scared?"
Christa ignored the question. "Maybe if we move back a little the kitties will come out for the milk."
"How far?" Andy asked.
"Just a little bit. Come on." Christa pushed herself back on her arms until she was almost to the barn entrance.
Andy followed her example then she sat up. "Christa, where do you think she comes from?"
"Who?"
"The lady in the house. The one who looks like Mommy."
Christa pretended not to hear. "Don't you wish we had fireworks last night?"
Andy tugged at the damp tendrils on her neck before plopping onto her stomach once more. "Yeah, but the ice cream was good. It's so hot today I feel wet all over."
"Yeah," Christa was relieved that Andy had followed the change in subject. "Even my hair feels wet."
"Yeah," Andy said. Then she looked seriously at her older sister. "You didn't answer me, Christa. Where do you think she comes from? The lady with the long wet hair."
Christa looked away. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Andy frowned at her. Then her brow cleared. "Oh. You still haven't been upstairs."
"So?" Christa abruptly stood. "Come on. Let's find something else to do."
"But what if the kitties come while we're gone?" Andy protested. "Cal said they'll outwait us if we let them. He said that's what wild kitties do."
"Well, let's go see what Cal's doing, then," Christa suggested. She stood, and after heaving a reluctant sigh, Andy joined her. They left the barn and Andy immediately squealed as a baseball kissed the air by her left cheek. It bounced off the barn door and rolled to a stop beside a steel post in the corral fence.
"Jesus Christ," Nolan said in annoyance. He was standing ten yards away from the barn entrance. Cal was positioned ninety feet away from him, his back to the house. "Cal, you throw like a goddamned girl. Follow through with the arm instead of jerking it back. If you don't, the ball’ll be all over the place. Andy, go get that ball."
"Can we play?" she asked.
"No. I've only got one glove and one excuse for a glove."
"Then get your own ball," Andy said saucily.
Nolan growled at her and showed his teeth in monster fashion. Andy screamed with laughter at his advance and darted away from him to get the ball. Once she had it, she stuck out her tongue at Nolan and flipped the ball to Cal.
"Andy," Christa said. "Let's go get our Barbie’s and play on the porch."
"Good idea," Nolan said. Then: "Okay, Cal. Take your time and get a line on my glove before you throw."
Cal threw the ball hard, and Christa looked back to see Nolan curse as he caught it. He took his hand out of the glove and looked at his bandage. "Bad idea. We'll have to do this some other time, hot dog. You were fooling with me, weren't you?"
Cal's laugh was shaky, as if he too was a little surprised. "Maybe we should hit the salvage yards before it gets too hot."
"Fine with me," Nolan said.
Christa stopped and turned around. "Can we go with you?"
Nolan shook his head. "Not today. I thought you were going to play with your dolls."
Christa bit her bottom lip and Andy stuck hers out as the males strode past them on their way to the house.
"Turds," Andy said under her breath. "Big turd and little turd. Aren't they, Christa?"
"Daddy told you not to call people that," Christa replied. But yes, she thought they were both turds. At the moment. When they were apart from each other they were both pretty nice. Cal, especially. Christa thought she might like to marry him when she was old enough.
By the time she and Andy had poked their way to the house, Cal and Nolan were in the car and rolling down the drive.
"Too hot already?" Myra asked as the girls trudged up the porch steps. She was sitting in the swing with a bowl full of green beans between her legs.
"Just boring," Andy said. She pointed to Myra's lap. "Can I try to do one?"
Myra handed her a bean and Christa turned toward the screen door. "I'll get our Barbie’s."
"Tell your dad the phone man is here," Myra said, and Christa looked around to see a van cruising up the drive.
"Okay, I'll tell him." She entered the house and found her father trying to fix a leg on the ancient brown sofa. It had broken the night before when he sat down too hard.
"Daddy, the phone man is here."
He glanced up. "You're kidding. Already? Maybe something will go right for a change." He got to his feet and headed for the door, dusting his hands on his cutoffs. Christa went to the screen and looked out as th
e phone man met her father. When they disappeared around the side of the house she turned back inside and went in search of the Barbie’s. In the hall she passed through what felt like a cool spot. Like a freezer door had been opened in front of her. She paused and backed up. Nothing. Warily, she glanced in the direction of the Stairs. She hadn't told anyone about Andy's turtle, Georgie. And Andy was right, Christa hadn't been upstairs yet. She wasn't anxious to meet her sister's imaginary lady—if that's what it was.
Christa went quickly to her room and found the dolls. As she passed through the hall again she felt nothing but stifling heat. Reassured, she decided to stop in the kitchen for a glass of the grape Kool-Aid Myra had made for them yesterday. She put the dolls on the counter top and opened the refrigerator. After removing the heavy plastic pitcher she took a glass from the dram over the sink and filled it almost to the rim with the purple liquid. She took a long drink of the cool sweetness before reaching for the pitcher again. When she lifted it from the counter she felt the icy cold again, this time on her hand.
Christa dropped the pitcher and watched in dismay as the grape Kool-Aid went everywhere. She stared at her hand, and while staring, she felt the freezing touch at the back of her neck, where loose strands of damp hair had escaped from her ponytail. She whirled and backed up at the same time. A woman was there. A woman in a long dress and no shoes. Her hair was long and brown and it looked wet. Her eyes were two empty black orbs that seemed to go deeper than the back of her head. Deeper even than the kitchen wall behind her.
Christa's eyes rounded with fear as the woman reached out for her. The hand wasn't real, it glowed blue at the tips of the fingers. Christa made a noise and shrank away. Her feet slipped in the Kool-Aid and she landed on her bottom in the grape puddle. She began to scream. The hand touched her damp head and Christa felt a jolt go through her body. Her mouth snapped shut and she bit the end of her tongue. Every hair on her scalp tingled and felt as if it were alive. Her limbs jerked as if she was riding over a bumpy road with no way to hang on and nothing to hang onto.
Then it was over. There was a high ringing sound in her ears, a noise of distress, and then she heard the sound of running feet. She felt the pounding through the wet linoleum. She was scooped up into someone's arms, and she forced her fluttering eyelids to stop fluttering long enough to focus on Myra. She couldn't hold her eyelids open very long, so she closed them. She was suddenly so tired.
"What happened?" Myra was asking. "Christa, what happened? Did you slip and bump your head?"
She wanted to say no, but she was too tired even to talk. She wanted to tell Myra that the strange lady had electrocuted her like in the comic books, but that she hadn't meant to. Christa knew the lady hadn't meant to because of the terrible hurting sound she made. But she was already forgetting about sounds and black eyes and blue fingers. She was so tired all she wanted to do was sleep.
"What the hell's going on?" another voice asked. It was her daddy. He sounded scared.
"She was on the floor," Christa heard Myra say. "I think she may have slipped and hit her head."
Fingers began to probe her scalp. Then her daddy said, "I don't feel anything. Could it be heat exhaustion?"
"She doesn't feel clammy or cool," Myra answered. "And it looks like she's still perspiring."
"Well, dammit. Christa? Christa, are you all right, honey? Did you hurt yourself?"
Christa concentrated all her remaining energy and said, "I didn't bump anything, Daddy."
Then she allowed herself to sleep.
When she woke, she felt the fan blowing on her face. Her sister was sitting on the bed beside her. Andy looked at her and said, "Daddy, she's awake now."
Her father came to the bed. His face looked old, Christa thought. She tried to smile at him.
"How do you feel?" he asked. "Do you hurt anywhere?" "No," she said.
"You've been asleep for almost two hours. Are you sure you didn't bump your head?"
"I'm sure," she said.
"Well what happened?" he asked.
Christa took a breath. "I was in the kitchen getting some Kool-Aid and this lady was in there with me. When she touched me I dropped the pitcher and the Kool-Aid spilled. I slipped and she electrocuted me with her hand when she touched my head. But I'm all right now."
Her father smiled. Then he laughed. "Honey, I'm not mad about the spilled Kool-Aid. I just want to know what happened. You don't have to make up any stories."
Christa frowned. "I'm not. She had blue fingers."
"And big black eyes," Andy said.
Christa immediately looked at her sister. Andy dropped her gaze to her hands and then glanced up at Christa again. In that second of silent sisterly communication, Christa realized that she had met Andy's imaginary lady. Only she wasn't imaginary at all.
"Yes, Daddy," Christa said. "Her eyes were real funny-looking. They made me think of that place you took us to once with the deepest hole in the world."
"The well in Greensburg?" he said. Then he smiled again. "And I suppose she had fangs, like the monster in the movie you watched with Nolan last night?"
Christa looked at Andy and sighed. She guessed it was going to have to be their secret. "I didn't see any fangs. But she wears a real long dress."
"And she doesn't have any shoes," Andy added, smiling at her sister. "I've seen her too."
CHAPTER 11
"I can't believe you stole that fan," Cal repeated for the third time. "Right out from under his nose."
"You could build a house under that guy's nose," Nolan said with a scowl. "The sonofabitch charged me twenty bucks more than that gas tank is worth and both of us knew it. I just figured I'd take it out in trade. And listen, kid that extra twenty bucks is between me and you. Vic doesn't have to know how much the thing cost. All right?"
Cal nodded. "Fine. But I'd feel better if we tell Mom we bought the fan. I don't think she'd like the idea of your stealing it from the guy's office."
Nolan made a noise that turned into a chuckle. "Just imagine his face when he finishes screwing that other poor sap and walks in to find it gone. If the next guy screws us maybe we'll get one for you."
"No way," Cal said. "And there's only one more place we can check, the one just over the border. My dad took me there once when he was looking for a bumper for Darwin's Lincoln."
My dad. It was the first time Cal had spoken of him. Nolan decided to snoop a little. "Guess your dad was a Mustang freak, huh?"
"That's my Mom's car. Dad drove a BMW."
Nolan expressed his surprise in the flicker of one brow. "What happened to it? The BMW."
"It went back to Texas along with the rest of his stuff. He was born there. So was I."
Beneath the boy's blasé tone, Nolan detected a hint of hostility. He decided to cut to candor. "You didn't like him very much."
Cal lifted one shoulder. "He was a jerk, always running off on us. Half the time we didn't know where he was."
Nolan took his eyes off the road to glance over. "I can't see your mother putting up with that."
"She preferred his absence to his presence," Cal said. "So did I. He gave her the crabs once."
The Buick swerved a little. "She told you that?"
"No, I saw the prescription shampoo stuff in the bathroom. The prescription had his name on it, but she was using it. He was gone."
Nolan didn't know why he felt embarrassed. He didn't know who he felt embarrassed for—himself, Myra, or Cal.
"Why come out here with him?" he asked when his neck had cooled.
"We followed him out here," Cal said. "And boy was he pissed. He accused my mom of trying to interfere with what he wanted to do."
"And what was that?"
"Learn about breeding horses. Except I don't think he did, really. Want to learn, I mean. He was into something new every six months or so. He never stuck with anything."
Nolan glanced over again. "What did he do for a living?"
"Sponge," Cal said. "And I'll save you the t
rouble of asking the next question. My mom married him because she was pregnant with me. And she didn't tell me that, either. I figured it out for myself."
"I wasn't going to ask you that," Nolan replied. "I was going to ask you where the hell my next turn is." It was a lie, but hey. He didn't want to upset the kid.
"I'll tell you when we're there," Cal said. "It's another ten miles or so. We haven't even crossed the border yet."
Nolan switched on the radio to indicate that he was through asking questions. Nothing but static answered his fingers. Without being asked, Cal leaned forward to find a station. There were none without heavy static, and he finally switched it off again. "Guess you'll just have to sing," he said, and Nolan could hear the grin in his voice.
"You making fun of me, kid?"
"Me? Oh gosh, mister, no."
"Punk," Nolan said. "That's why I stopped singing in the first place. Smartass little punks like you."
"You mean people ridiculed you because you sound like Elvis?"
"How do you know--never mind." Nolan wasn't interested in continuing that particular line of conversation. "Just keep your eyes open for that turn."
Al's Autowreckers had Mustangs aplenty, most of them skeletons without innards. It seemed Al was about to close the place down. He was the fifth owner in fourteen years, he explained, and not even Al Dunwoodie, formerly of Denver Used Car Driveaway, could make a living out here. He was too far away from the big towns. Plenty of little towns, sure, but no big-town business other than by phone and even that was slacking off. Al was a big man, big and intense, so Nolan found it in his favor to listen to the red-fisted man's obligatory country comment about the shape the nation was in. Al was convinced it had something to do with paper towel manufacturers.
"I'm telling you, and you should just listen and think about this. Those cocky little Asians are walking all over us. Why? I'll tell you why. Does the world really need one more brand of paper towel? New, improved, what the hell difference does it make? You use it and that's that. You don't devote too much of your time to thinking about paper towels.
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