by Storm, Buck
“The police are looking for me,” she said. “And Ash says they’re even watching the border. I wouldn’t get very far if I tried to get into Mexico.”
Even as she spoke, disappointment crept in. Could it be she really wanted to do this?
But Paco smiled at her. “Tell you what. You leave that part to me. Loosely quoted, with God and old men, all things are possible.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
A Shift in the Stars
The crisp pre-dawn air made Doc’s muscles twitch in anticipation of an early morning run, a habit since high school.
No run today.
Stars danced in the clear mountain air, having lost none of their intensity though nearing the end of a long work night. The eastern sky streaked gray as the sun grumbled, still a good half hour from breaking the horizon.
Should the light find them there next to the old Airstream, they’d make an odd pair. Paradise resplendent in a World War II era swing outfit—skirt, blouse, short jacket, and shoes to match. Doc’s old jeans and T-shirt made him feel like a poor country relative.
Headlights cut the darkness, and Paradise’s Olds Eighty-Eight crawled to a stop in front of them, Jake behind the wheel. He killed the motor.
“You guys about ready?” Jake said through the open driver’s-side window.
Doc glanced down at Paradise’s huge red suitcase and his old duffle bag, a holdover from his American Legion Baseball years. “Yeah. Traveling light. Ready to hit the road.”
Doc popped the trunk and loaded the bags.
Jake climbed out of the car and met him in the back. “You know where you’re going?” Concern colored the edges of the question.
Doc hugged his brother and grinned. “Hey, we’ve got a member of the clergy praying for us. What could go wrong? And I don’t think we’ll get lost between here and Brownsville. GPS all the way.”
“Be careful, Doc. These people that are after her don’t mess around. They’ve shown that in spades. Keep your head down and drive.”
Doc pointed to the front of the Olds where Paradise had already slid behind the wheel. “Too late. I think I’m riding shotgun.”
“It is her car.”
“She let you drive it, didn’t she?”
“Uh huh, fifty yards. All the way from the shed.”
“Yeah.” Doc stalled as unexpected sadness crept through him.
“You’re gonna be okay, little brother. And I’m always here.”
Jake always could read him like a book. This time, Doc had to force the grin. Jake was family. All he had.
“Yeah, I know. Write the story, right? The one off the diamond.”
“You bet.”
Jake patted Doc’s shoulder, then pulled him into another hug. Paradise turned the engine, and the Olds roared to life. At the thought of her, Doc’s sadness ebbed a good bit.
Paco appeared through the door in the mission wall. He shook Doc’s hand and then waved at Paradise. Her return smile carried with it a bag full of nerves.
“You two be careful,” Paco said. “Stop as little as possible. Just get yourselves to Brownsville. You’ll be fine once you get there. Call when you’re close, and I’ll give you instructions on what to do.”
Doc had a hard time letting go of the old man’s hand. “Thanks, Paco, for everything. We’ll call you. But what about you guys? What if they come after the coin again? They have one. They’re gonna want the other.”
Paco shrugged. “Maybe, but we’ll keep a sharp eye out. Jake’s gonna replace the museum lock system with something more substantial—about time if you ask me. The coin will be behind glass. And the police say they’ll swing by at regular intervals.”
Jake put his hand on Doc’s shoulder again. “Listen, you need to focus on protecting Paradise, little brother, not the coin. And if it’s here, it’ll be one less thing for you to worry about. Besides, the word’s out. I’ve got a couple of professors from U of A coming up to see it tomorrow. Even got a call from the Smithsonian. It needs to be in the museum. It’s the right thing. History should belong to the public.”
“Don’t worry about us, Doc,” Paco said. “You just go solve it. You’re the perfect man for the job.”
“Solve which? The brothers’ mysterious stash or are you talking about my life?”
“Both. Trust God. He won’t leave you hanging.”
“You’ve been telling us that since we were kids.”
“A smart old man used to say it to me. And he was right. Now I’m the smart old man.”
Doc opened the car door and slid in.
Jake shut the door and leaned forward, hands on the doorframe. “It’s good that you’re on the road before the sun. I’m betting they’re keeping an eye on things.”
“I’ll call you.”
“Any time. Love you, Doc.”
“Love you too, Jake.”
The dirt back road behind the mission curved around the ball field and a row of single-level ranches. Doc directed Paradise down the mountain until the car bounced onto pavement as it hit Apache Road. In the passenger rearview mirror, streetlights lit the huge oak tree dominating the town square. As it grew smaller with the distance, Doc wondered whether he’d ever see the town of his youth again. Where did that come from? Of course, he would. They weren’t driving off the edge of the world. Still, the sense of something huge, a shift in the stars, pressed hard on him.
“What are you thinking about?” Paradise asked.
The question surprised him. “The Green Monster.”
She arched an eyebrow without taking her eyes off the road. “What’s the Green Monster?”
“It’s the left-field wall at Fenway Park. It’s what makes up dreams. Everything possible and impossible rolled into one.”
“Is it in Boston?”
“Yup. Boston Red Sox. Why?”
“Just something Ash said. She asked if you played for Boston. She’s from there. It makes sense now. So then, you’re a baseball poet. Why are you thinking about the Green Monster?”
“Because I have a feeling we’re driving right toward it.”
She sighed. “On the lam, kid.”
“Yeah. On the lam.”
“Have you ever been to Texas?” A slight tremor in her voice.
“Sure. Lots of times. I played ball all over Texas. Before that, I traveled with Jake while he rodeoed. Texas, New Mexico, California, Nevada. The Midwest too. Couple of times to the deep south.”
“You and Jake were in California?”
“That surprises you?”
“I guess I just can’t picture it. Where did you go?”
“All over. Even LA. Once we stopped right in the middle of Hollywood. Had the trailer behind Jake’s truck. Parked right down there on Sunset Boulevard. Ate at a Denny’s.”
She stared at him so long he thought she might run off the road. “You went to Denny’s on Sunset? You and Jake?”
“Sure. We wanted to check it out. See some movie stars and all that.”
“Did you? See any stars?”
“The guy that waited on us said he’d been in a commercial. He was a dancing tooth or something.”
“That doesn’t count.”
“No, I guess it doesn’t. You’re right. Not many movie stars at Denny’s.”
Paradise shrugged. “You might be surprised. I saw Dustin Hoffman there once.”
“You’re kidding. Really?”
“Uh huh. He had a grand slam breakfast.”
They hit Highway 30 and turned south. A route that would take them past the Venus Motel and eventually drop them to Highway 70 and then Interstate 10 in New Mexico. Neither spoke for a mile or two.
“What’s it like?” Paradise broke the silence.
Doc did a mental rewind through the previous conversation, although he was getting used to her Breakfast at Tiffany’s verbal shifts. “Denny’s? Better than the Waffle House, I guess. Why? Good enough for Dustin, apparently.”
Doc might have been speaking Swahili by her expression.
He loved the raspy edge in her voice.
“The Green Monster?” he said.
She offered the exasperated sigh of an adult dealing with a two-year-old. “You and Jake. To tell someone you love them? To have them tell you?”
Doc searched for a reply. Slim pickings. “No one’s ever told you they love you before?”
Paradise studied the road. “My friend Ash, I guess. But that’s not the same as you and Father Jake. Not like real family.”
“Your mom?”
“Eve? Hardly.”
“Jake and me. We’re all we have. Each other, you know? He’s always had my back, and I’ll always have his.”
“I guess that’s what love is, isn’t it? An I’ll have your back sort of thing?”
“Sure, that’s part of it.”
“Ash has my back. At least, I think. Still, it’s not like you two.”
“I’m sorry.”
“So am I when I think about it.”
“Is that why you do it? The ’40s movie star thing?”
She didn’t answer right away. Had he gone too far?
They passed the Venus Motel and its unlit sign. To the east, the sun made a brilliant debut as it peeked over the mountains.
“I like the ’50s too. What time do you think?”
“Time?”
The exasperated look again. “The time when we’ll get there? To Texas?”
“Oh. Texas today, but Brownsville late tomorrow night. At least, I hope.”
She gave a satisfied nod. Not, Doc suspected, so much at his answer as at a successful change of subject. She ranked expert on that score.
She turned on the car stereo and swept across the dial. Rap in Spanish—a couple of words there that Doc knew, but wouldn’t repeat. A preacher shouting and Taylor Swift pouting. Paradise settled on Johnny Cash’s comfortable baritone letting everybody know he still missed someone. On the dash, catching the first bold rays of morning sunlight, a bobble-headed Jesus smiled and gave Doc a cheerful thumbs-up.
“Where’d this little guy come from?” Doc gave the Savior’s head an extra wobble.
“The Virgin Mary. Conceived by the Holy Spirit. Your brother’s a priest; you should know all that.”
“I stand without excuse.”
“I picked him up awhile back near some dinosaurs. I thought I could use a friend, and he looked friendly. He’s been keeping me company,” Paradise said.
“I’m not even going to start with the symbolism in that.”
“Do you think they’re following us?”
“Dinosaurs?”
“Dinosaurs are made out of cement. Everybody knows that. I mean the bounty hunters.”
“Who knows? I don’t see how they could be. We’ll make good time and hope for the best. Paco says we’ll be okay once we get to Brownsville. Some friend of his will help us out there.”
“How?”
“I have no idea, but Paco’s always on top of things. If he’s holding his cards close, he has a reason, so I didn’t really ask.”
I-10 cut the deep emptiness of the desert, skirting the northern border of Mexico. The vintage Olds purred along without a hiccup.
“Are you sorry to be here?” Doc said.
“It’s strange, all this empty space. I don’t know. I get nervous thinking about the movie. It’s hard not to be in Los Angeles right now. I think it’s because I don’t know what’s happening there.”
“We’ll figure it out.”
“It’s not your problem. Besides, we’re just following the coins. That’s why you’re here.” She moved the sun visor to the side to shade her eyes.
“Jake says I’m a sucker for movie stars. I’m not here because of the coins.”
She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “You’re out of line, soldier.”
Eventually, Las Cruces loomed up brown and windswept, and Paradise pulled the big car into a gas station on the outskirts of town. Doc filled the tank and watched a plastic bag bounce across the highway, jerked along by the wind, while Paradise disappeared into the market looking for a restroom. She emerged a few seconds later holding a key attached to a green, plastic flying saucer large enough for Doc to read the words Welcome to Roswell on it from across the parking lot. She jiggled the key in a door on the side of the building. When it finally opened, she went in and closed it behind her.
A dirt-crusted pickup pulled up to the pump opposite the Olds, and an old man climbed out, long silver braids framing a lined face that spoke age and stories, though his body had the lean and muscular look of a younger man. He tossed a wave at Doc and pulled the handle from the pump. Behind him, another car pulled in. This one a late-model silver Crown Victoria—the kind the police used to use. The man at the wheel didn’t look Doc’s direction, but the woman in the passenger seat gave him the once-over. The two exited the Crown Vic and stretched. They were both large. Not fat but muscular. The desert sun glinted off the man’s bald, tattooed head. The woman’s Elvis-black hair was shaved close on the sides and pushed up into a spiky Mohawk. She wore Spandex workout shorts and a sweat-stained, tie-dye tank top. Uneasiness touched Doc as the couple headed for the gas station store. He twisted the cap onto the Olds’ gas tank and returned the gas nozzle to the pump, then took a closer look at the Crown Vic.
Cold fingers touched him.
California plates.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Welcome to Roswell
Hollister made a quick sweep of the gas station store, not that there was much to look at. The place consisted of a counter manned by a skinny, pimple-faced teenager staring at his cell phone, a glass case holding a few exhausted hot dogs and a piece of pepperoni pizza with a bite out of it, and five aisles offering everything from candy bars to motor oil to feminine hygiene products. A large framed poster above the soda and beer cooler sported a jackalope with a cartoon bubble above his long ears that read, Welcome to Las Cruces, why don’t you stay a while?
“No thanks,” Hollister mumbled.
His rubbed his neck with his right hand and his lower back with the other. Just focus, man—eighty thousand dollars. Maybe he’d demand the second half in cash just to get under Simmons’ skin. That would be a sight—forty grand in pretty stacks of twenties.
As long as they’d been together, Hollister couldn’t remember the last time he and Crystal had been alone twenty-four-seven for days on end. How much more of it could he take? He watched her reflection in the round, fish-eye mirror above the door. She flexed her shoulder muscles right-left-right while scrutinizing the ingredients listed on a can of peaches. She shuddered, put the can back on the shelf, then reached over and smashed a bag of chips with a single, quick squeeze. The crunch was loud, but the kid behind the counter only scratched absently at his acne-covered face, eyes never leaving his phone.
“Hey, old man, you want an apple?” Crystal said.
“Nah. Grab me a Snickers bar and some chips. And not the bag you smashed.”
Crystal came around the corner with four apples. “She must be in the bathroom.”
“You got a mind like a steel trap. Can’t slip nothin’ past you, can they?”
“Don’t be cranky, moron. What’d you do? Forget to take your Geritol?”
Hollister walked around the corner and picked up a bag of Doritos and four Snickers bars. Crystal rolled her eyes.
She shoved the apples into his arms. “You pay, and I’ll go round up the princess.”
“No need to round anybody up. Just hang loose a minute.”
“What do you mean?”
Hollister jerked his chin toward a sign above the counter. “Says to ask for the key. She’ll be back. She has to return it.”
“Huh,” Crystal said. She pulled the food from his hands. “Give me some money.”
He tossed her his billfold and walked to the front window. The pane was coated with a thick layer of dust behind neon beer signs. A small army of dead flies populated the sill.
He rubbed at the window and tried to see the Oldsmobile, but a big, redneck pickup truck blocked his view. He rubbed the back of his neck again and rolled his head back and forth. In LA, he had a La-Z-Boy recliner and a flat screen. He could be there right now, maybe watching a rerun of Magnum P.I. or Miami Vice. The thought of the long, empty miles between Las Cruces, New Mexico and Los Angeles, California depressed him even further. He missed the smell of the ocean. Missed the traffic. Missed the smog. Missed Tommy’s Burgers chili. Missed everything.
Las Cruces, New Mexico. Oh, man. It might as well be the moon.
Crystal appeared at his side and tossed him an apple.
“Where’s the other stuff?” he said.
“Can’t let my sweetie go putting that junk in his body, can I?”
Hollister gave her a long look. “What color is the sky in your world? Am I sweetie or moron?”
Crystal put up a fist and air-punched at him. “Pow! Wham! Hey, remember the old Batman show? Where the bubbles came on when they punched somebody?”
Hollister shook his head in wonder and took a bite out of the apple. Crystal set a few more apples down next to a cardboard rack of green suckers with scorpions in the middle, dropped to the ground and did a few push-ups.
“Would you get up? The floor’s filthy,” Hollister said.
Crystal showed her wifely obedience by putting an arm behind her back and knocking out five one-handed reps, then five with the other. She climbed to her feet and said, “I hate to admit it, but it was a good idea to put the tracker on her car. But how did you know it’d be at the church?”
“She had the coin when she got to Paradise, didn’t she? She’d have to make contact with the museum guys at some point. I figured one of those priests or preachers or whatever they are might have decided to help her out. Especially if she told them a sob story about Simmons. She knows someone’s after her, especially after you trashed her motel room. I just poked around and found her Olds in that shed. Got lucky.”
“We should’a just grabbed her at the church. Who’s gonna say anything?”
“Yeah, but we don’t have the other coin. And I doubt the Arizona cops would look kindly on us smacking around a couple of preacher guys to get it. It wasn’t in the museum, so they must have it hid someplace. You keep talking about that treasure, and I’ll admit it’s got me curious. Those preachers, I bet they figured the whole thing out already. And the girl and this guy are headed someplace. What do you wanna bet they know where it is?”