Anna Marie was asleep on the end of the bunk and Mona on the box when Margie eased to the end of the truck and looked out. It was quiet and dark.
Brady had said that he would stay near the back of the truck. She thought of calling out to him, but instead she stepped over the tailgate and eased down onto the ground, holding the pistol close to her side.
Cautiously she moved around between the truck and Foley’s car and trailer, wishing she had taken the time to put on her shoes. As her eyes became more accustomed to the darkness, she saw the outline of Brady’s car ahead. She stopped near the cab of the truck to listen.
The unmistakable smell of gasoline caused her to wrinkle her nose. Was Brady’s gas tank leaking? Then she heard a sound and recognized it. She had thrown out enough dishwater to know that what she heard was a splash of liquid.
At that moment a man rounded the back of Brady’s car. She knew instantly that the short man in the cap wasn’t Brady. When he was no more than a few feet away, she saw that he had a can in his hands and was splashing its contents on Brady’s car. It was a few seconds before Margie’s vocal cords thawed enough for her to yell.
“Stop that!”
Catlike, the man spun around. On seeing her he took a quick step toward her and drew back the can to hit her.
She pointed the gun as she had been taught and pulled the trigger.
Bang!
The man dropped the can and grabbed his arm. “Gawdamn! Bitch!” he shouted, then whirled and disappeared behind the car and down into the ditch beside the road.
Shaken by what she had done, Margie let the hand holding the pistol drop to her side. Seconds later a bare-chested Alvin was there; then Brady came running. Foley was a few steps behind him.
“He … he …” Margie tried to point to the car.
“Honey … sweetheart”—Brady took the pistol out of her hand—“are you all right? What were you shooting at?” He tucked the gun in his belt and put his arms around her.
“Good Lord! Smell that gas.” Alvin picked up the can the man had dropped.
Margie began to shake. “I hit him. In the arm, I think.”
Brady held her tightly to him. “What were you doing out here?”
“Something woke me. I was looking for you and smelled the gas before I saw him. He was going to hit me with the can.”
Jody came with a lantern. “Stay back with that, son,” Foley said. “There’s gasoline all over.”
Grace, in her nightgown, joined them. Rusty was with her. Mona climbed out of the truck, went to him and took his hand as if her place was beside him.
“Where’s Blackie?” Rusty asked.
“I think he went courtin’. Don’t blame him,” Brady said. “The bitches in heat were too much for him.”
“He wouldn’t have gone off if Rusty had been out,” Alvin said in defense of the faithful dog.
“I was snookered too.” Brady continued to hold Margie protectively close. “I heard a woman crying. I walked down alongside the ditch a short way and saw her huddled on the ground. She called out to me, ‘Help me. Please, help me.’ Before I could get near her she got up and stumbled away. She was bent over and crying and mumbling about someone trying to kill her. She fell down on her knees. And again, before I could get to her she got up and ran down into the ditch. Then I heard Margie’s yell followed by the shot.”
“Sounds like the woman was drawing you away.” Foley scratched his head.
“They probably didn’t expect to find anyone up at this time of night.”
“Why did they pick your car?” Alvin asked.
“I don’t know anyone out this way—”
“What’s goin’ on? We heard a shot.” Two hastily dressed men approached, the suspenders of one still hanging over his hips. The other man’s shirt was loose over his pants. “There’s a mighty strong smell of gasoline.”
“A man was splashing the car with it,” Alvin explained. “From the looks of it he was going to burn him out. As close as we are, it would have burned us all out if we weren’t able to move the trucks in time.”
“Son of a bitch!” The man pulled the suspenders up over his shoulders.
“A minute or two after I heard the shot, a car took off down the road.”
“Did you get a look at it?” Brady asked.
“Naw. But the motor had a soft purrin’ sound.”
“You fellas travelin’ together?” Foley asked.
“Yeah. There was three of us, but one turned back.” He stuck out his hand. “Name’s Taylor. My trailin’ partner here is Harry Wills. We’re both from over near Kingfisher, Oklahoma.”
The men introduced themselves and shook hands.
“We was a mite leery of this place and glad when you folks drove in.” Taylor was the more talkative of the two.
“We were leery too. It’s why we posted a guard. Good thing we did,” Alvin said.
“We was sleepin’ with one eye open.”
“It wasn’t anyone from inside the camp.” Harry Wills spoke for the first time since grunting a greeting when introduced. “He’da knowed that south wind woulda spread the fire.”
“Maybe he didn’t care,” Foley said.
“We’d better get this mess cleaned up if we want to be away from here by daylight.”
“Mister,” Taylor said, “me and my partner would like to tag along behind you folks for a while, if ya ain’t mindin’ it. We ain’t wantin’ to be no trouble, and we ain’t askin’ for no help.”
Alvin lifted his hands palms-out. “We couldn’t stop you if we wanted to. We’re stopping to gas up before we leave town.”
Margie pushed away from Brady. The realization of what she had just done was taking root in her mind.
“You don’t have your shoes on.” Brady swung her up in his arms. “There’s burs and glass and no telling what all out here.” He carried her to the end of the truck and guided her feet in over the tailgate. “Put on your shoes.”
Margie sat down on the end of the bunk, put her feet in her moccasins and tied them. Brady was waiting. She clung to him for a minute after he’d lifted her down.
“Do you think I killed him?”
“Probably not. It would be no great loss if you did, though. He could have burned down the whole campground.”
“Brady,” Alvin called, “we’re going to use the water we have in the barrels to wash the gas off your car. A spark from a backfire could set off a blaze.”
Rusty drained water from the barrels in both trucks and from the small one in Foley’s trailer into buckets. Brady and Foley washed down the car, diluting the gasoline with the water. Alvin moved the kerosene stove out into an open space away from the cars and trucks so Grace could make coffee.
“You women stay together,” he cautioned. “As soon as it’s safe to start the cars, we’ll leave here.”
Blackie, his tail between his legs and his coat full of cock-leburs, came and sank down under the truck.
“Some watchdog you are,” Alvin scolded. “Off ramming around when we needed you.”
“I’m glad you shot ’em,” Mona said as soon as Alvin left them. “I just wish you’d shot him in the head.”
“I did it before I thought. I didn’t think about anything except that he was going to hit me with the can.”
“A can half full of gasoline would’ve knocked you cold.” Mona shivered. “You’d of burnt up with the car.”
Brady was wiping the windshield on his car and thinking about Margie shooting at a man holding a can of gas.
“I’m sure as hell glad that Margie hit the man and not the gas can,” Foley said as if he had read Brady’s thoughts.
“That’s the gospel truth.”
Foley mopped his forehead with his shirtsleeve. “If she’d shot into that can, it would have exploded, and pieces of her would have been scattered all over the campground.”
Brady paled, then said, “I’d rather she didn’t know that.”
“A half can of gas is more
dangerous than a full one because it’s half full of fumes. I’ve heard it’s the fumes that explode.”
Brady nodded. He felt cold with fear at the thought of her coming out of the truck with that little gun and meeting up with a man rotten enough to start a fire that could have swept through a campground full of poor folk trying to get to where they could make a living. He stopped what he was doing and stared down at the ground.
Dear Lord. He had almost lost her!
Who had picked his car to set ablaze and why? It bothered him that he had been observed without his being aware of it and dumb enough to let himself be suckered away from the camp. The son of a bitch saw him there and used the woman to lure him from the car.
He searched his mind for a description of the woman who had acted as decoy. She had dark thick hair that fell over her face. He was sure of that. She could have been a Mexican, he reasoned. The only Mexicans he knew lived on the ranch, and he got along well with all of them. Something about her voice, though, rang a bell. He was fifty percent sure he’d heard that whine before. But where?
Sugar had come out of the brush and run down into the ditch when she heard the sound of a shot being fired. She ran to the car and started the motor as she had been instructed to do. Looking through the back window, she craned her neck, expecting to see the blaze of the fire. Instead she saw a shadowy figure running down the road toward the car. The door was jerked open. Homer vaulted inside.
“Get goin’! Get goin’!”
The car’s wheels skidded when Sugar stomped on the gas and they shot off down the dark, dirt road that ran alongside the campground. A minute later she turned on the lights and found they were perilously close to the ditch on the other side of the road. During that minute Homer had spewed out a string of curses, some of which Sugar had never even heard before.
“Why didn’t you fire the car?” she asked as soon as she got the car in the middle of the road.
“Shut up, gawddammit! Can’t ya see I been shot?”
“Oh, no! Oh, Jesus!” Sugar’s foot hit the brake.
“Keep goin’, ya stupid bitch,” Homer shouted.
“Are you hurt bad?”
“How in hell do I know? Turn right at the corner.”
“Are we going back to the motor court?”
“Where else? Use yore head, for God’s sake.”
“You don’t have to be so shitty!” Sugar shouted. “I did my part. I got him away like I said I would.”
“Turn left.”
“I know how to get there. Who shot you? It wasn’t the cowboy.”
“It was his bitch! I came around the end of the car, and there she was yellin’ her fuckin’ head off. Then she shot me.”
“Why didn’t you shoot her back?”
“ ’Cause she shot my arm, ya useless fuckhead! I couldn’t get my gun out.”
Sugar stomped down so hard on the brakes the wheels skidded. She jerked open the door and stepped out.
“I don’t have to take your shit! It wasn’t my fault that you got shot.”
“Get back in here, babe. I’m sorry. I hurt so damn bad.”
“Whyer you taking your spite out on me? I did everything you told me to do.”
“I’m hurtin’ so goddamn bad I ain’t got good sense.”
Sugar got back in and started the car. “Are you ready to give up on the cowboy so we can go on to California?”
“Not on yore life, sugar teat! I’m gettin’ him, and I’m gettin’ the bitch that shot me!”
Sugar clamped her mouth shut and said not another word until they stopped in front of the cabin they had rented at the motor court.
“Give me the key,” she whispered so as not to draw attention to their coming in at such a late hour.
Inside the cabin she turned on the overhead light and made sure that the blinds were tightly closed before she turned to look at Homer. His shirtsleeve was blood-soaked.
“Oh, honey, we got to get you to a hospital.”
“No. Help me off with the shirt so I can see how bad it is.”
The bullet had gone through the flesh on the inside of his upper arm, leaving a three-inch gash. Sugar wrapped a wet towel tightly around his arm to stem the flow of blood, then helped him out of his bloodstained britches.
“Don’t you want to go to a hospital and let them sew that up?” She was gently washing the blood from between his fingers.
“As soon as the stores open, we’ll go get some iodine, bandages and sticky tape. That’ll hold it together long enough for it to heal. Bundle up the bloody shirt and pants, babe. We’ll dump them someplace.”
Homer seemed to have calmed down. He lay on the bed unashamedly naked while Sugar fussed over him. She washed him, paying particular attention to his male organs, which brought a smile to his face. After she had finished washing the bloody towels in the rust-stained lavatory, she hung them on the edge of the tub to dry.
“Come here, little puss.” Homer held out his uninjured arm. “Come finish what ya started.”
Sugar removed her wet skirt, took off her blouse and looked at the man on the bed. The cocky little bastard wasn’t all that much to look at, yet he set her on fire. She had lived more since she met him than in all her life put together. Of all the men she had known, he was the horniest. She didn’t doubt that he could screw ten times a day. But, then, he was only twenty-three years old. He hadn’t asked her her age, and if he had, she would have lied.
She was made for this kind of life with this kind of man even if he was years younger than she was. She hated to think of the years she had wasted. God, she wished that she had met someone like him ten years earlier.
Sugar had never intended to spend her life with Foley Luker. She had seduced him into marrying her while fully intending to leave him once they got to California. She readily admitted that she was a woman who loved to fornicate, but, with Foley, she’d been lucky to get a rise out of him once or twice a week after the first couple weeks of marriage.
She flashed a smile at the man on the bed and pulled her slip off over her head. She teased him by cupping her breasts before she slowly slid her panties down over her hips.
“You wicked, angel-faced bitch! Get yore sweet ass over here.”
Chapter 27
THE SUN WAS PEEKING OVER THE HORIZON when Brady lifted Anna Marie out of the truck and gently laid her on the small mattress in the backseat of his car. She snuggled down and went back to sleep. He covered her and rolled down the windows to allow the air to pass through, thankful that the windows had been rolled up when the gasoline was splashed and that there was none inside the car.
While they were packing up to leave, he had asked Margie to ride with him. She had said she would after they filled up at the gas station if Rusty would ride with Jody.
Since the early morning scare, Brady didn’t want to be parted from her. The close call had made him realize, more than ever, how important she was to him, how much he loved her. Was this how Brian had felt about Becky? If so, it was no wonder he went out of his mind when he saw her in bed with another man.
Brady helped Jody tie the canvas down on all sides of the truck, then went to sit in his car until it was time to pull out. It was a hundred and fourteen miles to Albuquerque. If everything went well, they would be there by the middle of the afternoon. He wished he could take Margie and Anna Marie and head for Colorado. But after what they had encountered last night, he wouldn’t feel right about leaving Alvin and Foley to finish the trip alone, even if Margie was willing.
It was hard for Brady to believe that he had been picked as the target by the person who tried to set fire to his car. Who would know him in this place besides the Putmans, the Lukers and Margie? It had to be a random act. But if not, was he putting Margie in more danger by keeping her with him? It was a thought he had wrestled with most of the night.
If this camp was an example of what they would run into the closer they came to Bakersfield, he would suggest that they avoid the public camps and ca
mp back away from the highway in an out-of-the-way place.
The gas station where they stopped provided a welcome sight: two nearly new privies. While Jody waited behind Alvin for their turn at the gas pump, Margie came back to Brady’s car with Anna Marie’s dress and moccasins.
“Wake up, honey. Let’s put on your dress and shoes and go to the outhouse.” Brady came up behind her and ran his hand lovingly up and down her back. She smiled at him over her shoulder. “We can’t afford to pass up this opportunity.”
As soon as she was dressed, Anna Marie scooted out of the car and Margie took her hand. Brady’s hand was still warm on her back.
“The man says we can fill the water barrels for fifteen cents. I told Jody to pull over to the hand pump after he gets gas.”
“I gave him money,” Margie said. “There should be enough left over for the water.”’
“Rusty and Mona want to be together. Rusty asked me if you were going to ride with me today. And, if so, would you mind if they rode with Jody.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That I was sure you wouldn’t mind if they rode with Jody. I told him that I wanted you with me, that I never want to let you out of my sight again, that I like to look at you, touch you and kiss you. I said that I’m so crazy about you that every minute I’m away from you seems like an hour.” His voice was husky and tender.
“You didn’t say that!”
“Yes, I did, and I also told him that I’m thinking about carrying you off someplace where I can have you all to myself for the next hundred years.”
“Be serious.”
“I am serious, sweetheart.”
“Margie, let’s go.” Anna Marie tugged on her hand. Margie looked down at the fidgeting child, then back at Brady with eyes that shone with pure happiness.
“Now, this is serious.”
“Go on,” he said softly. “I’ll be waiting.” Brady watched her walk away with Anna Marie’s hand tucked in hers.
There goes my everything. Lord, help me to keep them safe.
When Alvin’s gas tank was full, he pulled up to the water pump. Rusty worked the pump handle while he carried the buckets of water to his water keg. The women, along with those from the two families that were tagging along behind them, were in front of the outhouse.
Dorothy Garlock - [Route 66] Page 28