Child With No Name

by Franklin Horton

  “You’re not exposed, are you?”

  “No, I drove down the road and pulled over about a mile away. I left home in a hurry and don’t have any gear with me, but I’m thinking I should probably sneak in there tonight and see what I can find. I’d like to make contact with this woman.”

  “That’s a negative on that.”

  Ty was dumbstruck. “Since I’m in the area, shouldn’t I confirm this pregnant lady is actually there?”

  “This case is bigger than one pregnant lady, Ty. We can’t take a chance on screwing it up because we took action too early. I’ve already spoken to a contact at the FBI and he says the U.S. Marshals got wind of Agent Baxter’s request to form a task force. Now they want a piece of the action.”

  “Man, this isn’t a pissing contest. We can’t be fucking around here while they sort out their territorial issues.”

  “Do I need to remind you yet again that we’re not cops, Ty? We assist in investigations when invited. We liaise with law enforcement. We don’t run ops on our own that might impede future prosecution.”

  Ty took a deep breath and let it out, covering the mouthpiece so Cliff wouldn’t hear his frustration, although there was no point in hiding it. Cliff already knew how Ty felt, and he understood. Ty would be a good soldier though. He would say the right things, but maybe he would still sneak out there tonight and poke around.

  Maybe he could get some more cameras and put them in place. Cliff didn’t have to know everything. As long as Ty wasn’t spotted or didn’t leave any evidence of his trespass he could pull this off. He was trained for this. It wasn’t like he was a poacher looking for deer. He was a soldier.

  Perhaps sensing where this was going, understanding that Ty might not be hearing what he was saying, Cliff pushed it a step further. “Ty, I need your word that you’ll go home. I need you to get out of there right now and head back to Virginia.”

  A lot of thoughts rushed through Ty’s head but the big one, perhaps the most important one, was that DKI was the best thing that had happened to him since leaving the military. He needed the organization in his life more than anything else. If Cliff wanted him to pull back, he’d do it. As much as it sucked, he'd choke it down and do what he was asked. “You have my word, Cliff. I’m leaving right now. I’ll head home.”

  There was relief in Cliff’s voice. “I appreciate that, brother. I know it’s not easy but it’s what needs to happen.”

  Cliff was right. It wasn’t easy to leave but that was what Ty did. He put his truck in gear, pulled onto the road, and headed home.

  29

  The RV

  While for most folks, climbing into an RV full of strangers would be a weird experience, Tonya’s threshold of what constituted weird was a little different than that of most people. Without a home of her own, she was used to staying with people she barely knew. She frequently pushed her luck in those arrangements, staying until she was thrown out or asked to leave. Her boundaries were skewed.

  Even beyond her living arrangements, she’d done many other weird things. Sometimes it was by choice and sometimes it wasn’t. Sometimes it was motivated by desperation, cravings, or a need for cash. Other times it was simply the result of poor impulse control and bad decisions.

  There was the time she and another woman posed nude with a man they were partying with. He passed out from the pills he’d snorted and everyone in attendance thought it would be funny to show him pictures the next day of what he’d missed. The two naked women snuggled him and sat in his lap. They did whatever someone in the crowd shouted out for them to do.

  Unfortunately, the sleeping man never woke up. He was already dead of an overdose by the time those pictures were taken and no one had even realized. The cops, finding those Polaroid images on the coffee table, were not impressed, convinced that everyone in the house was a depraved ghoul.

  Tonya had also stolen and lied. She’d sold herself for money and drugs. Though she didn’t think about it too much, most would feel that the lines she crossed with her own children were the worst. She’d allowed people to use them for drugs. When she figured out her children could be used like that, it was like getting a pass that allowed you free drugs for life.

  Eventually, they were taken away by child welfare and she pulled some time in jail for the things that happened. They ended up releasing her early due to overcrowding. She wasn’t supposed to have any more children, which was why she was going to such lengths to hide this pregnancy. Right now she was succeeding, and this would be her best payday yet.

  After they opened the RV door, she stared into the dark recesses before entering. The blinds were closed and the curtains drawn. She could see other faces, men and women, various races and nationalities from what she could tell. She climbed the steps with no fear or trepidation, just the resolute acceptance with which she approached everything.

  A hunched man in his sixties wearing Wrangler jeans, a checked shirt, and a straw cowboy hat gestured toward her. “Grab a seat wherever you can find one.”

  Tonya rested her hands on her belly and waited for her eyes to adjust to the interior. Everyone was looking at her, their eyes moving from her face to her belly, but no one said a word. The attention irritated her. “I don’t know what the hell y’all think you’re staring at,” she snapped.

  Some averted their eyes but others didn’t react, as if they either didn’t understand or chose to ignore her. She eyed the dinette, where there were a few empty spaces, but didn’t feel like she could get her belly in the narrow gap between the table and the back of the seat. Every other option put her sitting too close to someone, so she decided she’d rather sit on the floor. She awkwardly lowered herself against one of the storage cabinets, wondering if she’d even be able to get up on her own when the time came.

  The man in the straw hat plopped into the driver’s seat. He twisted around to look at her before starting the engine. “I done told the rest of them, we got about an hour to go. The john works but it’s liquid only. Got it?”

  She nodded.

  He started the old diesel and let it run for a minute. He adjusted some knobs and Tonya heard the air conditioning kick in. She hoped to God it worked well because she was already starting to sweat. She couldn’t remember the last bath she’d had and judging by the smell she wasn’t the only one in these tight confines who was overdue for some soap and water.

  She was glad they were moving, glad she didn’t have to sit in that parking lot staring at the bunch of strangers around her. At least they were making progress toward wherever they were going. The one thing she hadn’t counted on when she chose her seat was the effect the moving vehicle would have on her. She couldn’t see where they were going and immediately started to feel nauseous.

  In the dim interior, she couldn’t see any other pregnant women with whom she could commiserate. No one else—man or woman, young or old—appeared to be suffering the same ill effects. She experienced a metallic taste in her mouth that was likely a precursor to throwing up all over the interior of the camper. She could imagine no one was going to be happy about that. Not the driver and certainly not the other passengers.

  She tried to get to her feet, but the vehicle rocked as the driver negotiated traffic and she couldn’t get her balance. No one offered to help, though they all watched her struggle with detached interest. It was the same way they’d probably look at a fly trapped in a spider web. Tonya had always been scrawny and limber, but this baby completely restricted her movement. Finally, she gave up trying to get to her feet and just crawled forward to the cab.

  “Can I sit up here?” she gasped, belching as she spoke, a portent of what was about to come.

  The driver didn’t even look at her. “No, Missy. Cargo in the back. Those are the rules.”

  “Listen, asshole, you want me to puke all over this fucking camper? That’s what’s about to happen.”

  The driver pulled his eyes off the road and looked at her. Whatever he saw on her face conveyed the urgenc
y of the situation. “Alright, get up here. Put your seatbelt on and keep your mouth shut. I ain’t interested in jawing with you.”

  She crawled into the passenger seat, cracking her window and taking deep breaths of fresh air to push down the nausea. “Don’t flatter yourself, you crotchety old bastard. Ain’t nobody interested in talking to your wrinkly old ass anyway.”

  The driver frowned at her, grumbling something under his breath, but she gave it right back to him. She wasn’t an illegal, as she suspected some of the other people were. This was her country and she could find her way home if it came to that. She’d be shooting herself in the foot because she’d lose the opportunity to sell her child, but she’d do it if she had to. She wasn’t taking any more of this driver’s lip. She was no stranger to impulsive and self-defeating decisions.

  The driver returned his eyes to the road and Tonya did the same. Gradually the sick feeling lifted from her and she relaxed, settling into the seat. She honored her promise, saying nothing to the driver despite wanting to know where they were going and how long it would be before they got there. It had been the same in the green semi. That driver had said nothing to her, other than providing basic instructions on what she needed to do. She was generally a chatty person, high-strung and nervous. Talking helped her dissipate that energy and relax.

  They navigated their way through the congested streets of Winston-Salem, then exited the city, the traffic thinning with each mile. Soon they were on a rural two-lane road, the driver apparently familiar with the route as he drove it without consulting a map or GPS. They rode for nearly two hours, though Tonya was guessing at the time. She’d never owned a watch and the digital clock on the RV dashboard seemed to be off significantly.

  Twice she had to get up and visit the restroom, passing through the dim and depressing main compartment of the RV with its reeking bodies and soulless eyes. Tonya tried not to look at the other passengers. She didn’t want to know their stories. She’d had enough tragedy in her life that she didn’t have any room for anyone else’s. She’d put her sad story up against other people’s any day of the week.

  She kept her word and maintained her silence up until they turned onto the dirt road leading to a large farm. “Can I talk now?”

  The driver shrugged, pushing his hat back with a calloused thumb. “You can do what you want. Don’t mean I’ll answer you.”

  “Is this it? This where we’re going?”

  The driver looked at her, his eyes hidden behind the reflective lenses of aviator sunglasses. “Lady, I got no fucking clue who you are or where you’re going. I was never here. You were never here. None of these people in the back was ever here. You get what I’m saying to you?”

  “I reckon,” she replied doubtfully. “You’re telling me there ain’t no point in asking questions because I might not get any answers.”

  He nodded, his eyes on the road. “That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”

  The driver stopped the RV in a dirt lot between several metal farming buildings. He sprung out of his seat, made his way to the door, and opened it. “Everybody out,” he said, dropping to the ground.

  Tonya stood and waited as those closer to the door filed out ahead of her. The driver opened a compartment beneath the RV and the other passengers collected their suitcases, packs, and the stained pillowcases stuffed with their possessions. Tonya was the only one with nothing. She had the clothes she was wearing and a pack of cigarettes. In one side of her bra she had the money that the counselor had given her and in the other was the baggie of pills she’d found at the farmhouse. That was it.

  The first thing Tonya noticed about her surroundings was that the air felt different down here. She was only a couple of hours south of her home territory but it was much more humid. This was the first time in her life she’d traveled outside of the five-county area that she called home so she knew nothing of what the world held outside of the mountains. If this was a taste of what it was like, she wanted no part of it.

  When all of the people and luggage were emptied from the RV, the old man who’d driven them there climbed inside and drove off, leaving them all standing there in the heat. Looking around, Tonya spotted another man coming their way. He looked to be in his sixties and wore a blue long-sleeve shirt and jeans. Tonya didn’t know how he could wear so many clothes in this heat because she was ready to throw off every stitch she was wearing. She noticed the man wore a handgun in a stained leather holster on his belt. One of his sleeves, the left, was pinned up because he was missing an arm. With him was a shorter Hispanic man in a broad-brimmed hat and a long-sleeved white t-shirt.

  “Any of you speak English?” the man asked.

  His accent was distinctly Southern, different than the mountain accent Tonya was used to. He had icy blue eyes, made brighter by the contrast against his tanned skin.

  “Of course,” she replied as if it was a stupid question. Then she noticed that she was the only one who’d spoken up. She’d suspected that most of the faces in the RV were foreign but she hadn’t realized it was all of them. Who the hell were these people?

  The one-armed man said something to his Hispanic companion that Tonya couldn’t hear. When he was done, the Hispanic man addressed the other new arrivals in Spanish, then gestured at the group to follow him.

  Tonya looked at the one-armed man in confusion as the rest of her group left. “Am I supposed to go with them?”

  He shook his head. “Nah, they’re going to the bunkhouses. We’re taking you somewhere else.”

  “Where?”

  The man didn’t answer. Didn’t even acknowledge she’d spoken. He started walking off and she fell in behind him, her hackles raised by his rudeness. She wasn’t one to let rudeness slip by.

  “Reckon I’m just supposed to follow you since a son-of-a-bitch can’t even be bothered to answer a question.”

  The man stopped in his tracks and turned to face Tonya, regarding her with cold blue eyes. He whipped the handgun from its holster and leveled it at her face. His eyes dropped down to her belly. “Bitch, my name is Shelby. You will address me as Mr. Shelby and only Mr. Shelby. You call me anything else, including a son-of-a-bitch, and I’ll kill you. You're about far enough along that I can cut that baby out of you. You best keep that in mind when you’re flapping your jaws at me.”

  There was something in the way he said his words that told Tonya he wasn’t joking. If he hadn’t done that very thing before, cut a baby from the womb, he was at least capable of doing it. She’d have to watch her tongue around that one. “Yessir, Mr. Shelby, I'm sorry.”

  He kept the gun on her a little longer as he studied her sincerity. Maybe he was trying to make a point. After a moment, he dropped the gun from her face and holstered it. Tonya didn’t even take a breath until he started walking again. Her lung capacity wasn’t what it had once been with that baby taking up so much room and she felt lightheaded from the oxygen deprivation.

  They wove around some of the biggest tractors she’d ever seen and walked alongside a row of stake-bed trucks overtaken by weeds. The doors of those trucks were hand-lettered with faded paint that read “Sand Creek Farms.” They went behind a long, narrow barn and the man pointed out a short camping trailer. An orange extension cord sagged between the barn and the camper. A flexible white hose ran from beneath the trailer and draped over the bank of a nearby irrigation ditch. Tonya didn’t know anything about plumbing but she recognized a sewer pipe when she saw one.

  “That’s where you’re staying. And by staying I mean staying. You get your ass in there and you keep it in there. I don’t want to see you wandering around. I don’t want to see you bothering the Mexicans or pestering my employees.”

  Tonya raised her hand like she was in school. She needed to ask him a question but wanted to do it respectfully. She didn’t want to stare down the barrel of that gun again.

  “What?” Shelby demanded, looking at her standing there with her raised hand as if she were the biggest idiot he’d seen
all day and he’d already seen a few.

  “Where do I eat? The woman that sent me here said I’d get meals.”

  “You don’t talk about that woman. You don’t talk about how you got here. You don’t talk to nobody about nothing. You see which way those Mexicans went?”

  Tonya nodded.

  “Kitchen is down that way, near the bunkhouses, but your meals will be delivered to you. It ain’t nothing fancy but they serve three meals a day. Breakfast is at 6 AM, lunch at noon, and dinner at 7 PM.”

  She wondered what happened if she missed a meal. She wasn’t used to being on such a regular schedule. She knew better than to ask. She also didn’t bring up the fact that she had no way to tell time unless there was a clock in her trailer.

  “Any questions?”

  She shook her head. She had questions but she’d find another way to get the answers.

  30

  The Farm

  North Carolina

  Tonya was pleased to find that the tiny camper had air conditioning. So pleased that she turned it down cold to the lowest setting and took a nap for most of the afternoon. When she woke up she was parched and in a thick-headed stupor, like she’d awoken from a days-long drug binge. After fumbling around in the cabinets she found some disposable cups and filled one from the sink. The water tasted of rust and smelled funny but she drank it since it was all she had.

  A search revealed there was no food in the camper and she wondered if she’d slept through dinner, but had no way to know. There wasn’t a clock and she didn’t have anything that told time. She unlocked the door and stumbled outside, the oppressive heat hitting her like a fist in the face. Squinting against the sun, she tried to get an approximation of the time of day from its position but couldn’t tell anything. The terrain here was different than home, flatter, and that threw off her perception. There were no high ridges and deep valleys.