Circles in the Sand

by D. Sallen

  “Call him off then!”

  Efrain whistled. The dog couched, ready to spring again. The two men studied each other. “Look, Efrain. We’re on the same side against the Air Force. We shouldn’t be fighting each other.”

  “You say that after you pull a gun on me?”

  “Yeah. That was pretty stupid of me. But I’ve just got to get down to West Layover…before the big cheese from the Air Force leaves. He’s the only one can stop this bomb site. I didn’t realize how long it would take me to scout the entire bomb range. It’s best for both of us… if I can get him on our side.”

  “I don’t know. Can I trust you? I don’t know.”

  “What’s to trust. Come with me. That canoe will carry the two of us.”

  Efrain thought for a while. “I can not go. No one else to herd sheep and goats. I think you take canoe. Go ahead…for both of us.”

  “Now you’re talking Efrain. I won’t let you down.”

  Fritz soon realized controlling the dugout was more difficult than paddling a canoe. When he reached the Possum, he let the current do most of the work. He steered as best he could. Next…How do I take care of Greybull when I get there? I’ll find a way. I’ll make that sonovabitch sorry he ever heard the words… bomb scoring site!

  When Dorris returned from church, the cook had a message for her: Clint and Patton took some sandwiches, and planned to fish in the Missouri River…said they’d be back for supper.

  As soon as Clint walked into the restaurant looking for Dorris, he continued into the hotel. “Guess what I’ve got for you,” he said when he saw her.

  “A mess of cat fish?”

  “No…Something better, something to do.”

  Dorris looked expectant. “Me to do, you to do, or us to do?”

  “Us to do. A guy we ran into fishing said there’s a drive-in theater up at Glasgow. What say we take in a movie tonight?”

  “Sure, Clint. Sounds like fun. Did he know for sure it was open on Sunday?”

  “That’s what I thought he meant. Even if it’s not we can find something else to do up there.”

  The drive-in showed a B Western movie starring Randolph Scott. Clint and Dorris missed a lot of it from necking and petting. Both got pretty steamed up, and Clint thought they’d make it in the camper. “Look, Honey, It’s awfully crowded in the truck. What say we get into the camper…where we’d have more room?”

  Dorris laughed, “More room to see the movie?”

  “No. More room…for me to take advantage of you.”

  “Oh gosh. Do you have evil designs on my virtue?” Dorris made no effort to move.

  Why is she stalling?

  “Yes I do. Designed to delight you.”

  “Oh Clint. I’d love for you to delight me with your evil designs…but it’s the wrong time of the month. Sorry.”

  “I’m sorry too.”

  Golly. I’d better not let him go back to Lilith’s still feeling horny. Dorris stroked her hand over Clint’s crotch. She opened his belt and zipper. His erection popped out into her hand. Afterwards, his ardor cooled, they saw the rest of the western.

  After an uneven Sunday for the airmen, Monday was just another day of work. They had a lot to do. At Q-1 Sergeant Patton assigned the most urgent task, constructing towers for target two, in charge of S/Sgt Elsas. Lance having located the position of the two side towers, he and Patton took Lt. Byers out there to show him where to dig holes for the supporting poles.

  Clint studied his maps and diagrams for the bomb site, and decided he needed to determine which area target and towers to start on next. Let’s see. Might as well do the easiest ones first. We won’t run into any more trouble from irate rancher and cowhand at area four, but it’s the furthest away. That sheep herder at area three could be a problem. Leave him till last. That leaves area one and a spooky Indian. Maybe I ought to see if our stake is still in the ground Clint took the Jeep and headed north along the track they’d used before. He found the stake was missing. Impaled in the corpse staked out here? The immediate surroundings were still partially covered by some of the white washed spilled from their earlier effort. Wind and sand had either removed or covered up much of it. Guess that idea wasn’t too practical.

  Clint walked around the site looking for any signs of the spooky Indian. Standing there, thumbs hooked in his belt he studied the ground which had held the stake and the nude body. A musty, sweaty odor alerted him.

  “Looking for me, Waischu? You won’t see me unless I want you to.”

  Turning, Clint saw the Indian standing on the other side of the Jeep…tomahawk in his left hand…staring from a coyote cap/mask. “Yeah, just what the hell is your game anyway? You murder that airman?”

  “No game, Waischu Grey Bull. He was dead when I found him.”

  “Feeding him to the buzzards your idea of a joke?”

  “No joke. Was that worse than the catfish disposing of him? He would never have turned up from the river. A warning. I told you before. Leave this place be. You would dishonor your own great-great-grandfather, Grey Bull?”

  “Huh? What you talking about?”

  “Are you so dense, Grey Bull?”

  Clint, small side steps, eased himself around to the back of the Jeep. “You saying I have an Indian ancestor?”

  “Does your name not tell you, Grey Bull?”

  Seeing that the Indian also sidled, keeping the Jeep between them, Clint said, “Even if that is true. How do you know an ancestor of mine is buried in this featureless place?”

  “I am Two Feathers, the Shaman of the Coyote.” He placed his right hand over his heart. This sacred tomahawk source of my power. I am all knowing about my people.”

  “You’re fulla shit, Two Feathers. You’re nuttier than a bag of peanuts. That won’t keep you out of jail for desecrating a body.”

  “Your waischu laws mean nothing to me. You have had the last warning. Abandon this place or die!”

  “You can’t stop the Air Force from building a bomb site here.”

  “Hah. When I leave your body on a stake, and your scalp on my lodge pole, they will think again.” So saying, Two Feathers leapt on the Jeep hood, tomahawk in right hand. He jumped over the Jeep at Clint. Clint ready, body blocked, spilled Two Feather’s feet out from under him. “Uhff…The wind knocked out of the Shaman. Both men were on the ground. Both sprang up. Two Feathers raised his tomahawk. Instantly, Clint jumped up, blocked the blow. Clint jammed his fingers into Two feather’s gut. The Indian doubled up. With his knee, Clint smashed the Shaman’s nose. Then he grabbed the tomahawk hand, twisted the weapon free. He slammed the flat side of the tomahawk against Two Feathers head. The Shaman went down and out. Dust in his lungs, Clint had a hard time catching his breath. He opened Two Feather’s eyes. They looked askew. He may have a skull fracture.

  Throwing the tomahawk under the seat, Clint loaded the Indian in the back of the Jeep and set out for west Layover. On the way he glanced back. Two Feathers was gone! Clint hit the brakes. Two Feathers nowhere in sight. “That damn crafty sonovabitch, well wherever he got to, I hope he’s got a splitting headache.” Clint felt under the seat. Damn it! That sly son of a coyote got his tomahawk back too. We’ll damn sure have to be wary of his turning up again!

  Puzzled, Clint drove the short distance back to target one spot. Confused, he decided to drive due east to see how close the target was to the Possum River. Parked on the bank, he studied the river and surrounding countryside. Curious about the Indian reservation on the far side, he was sorry hadn’t brought along field glasses. All he could see there were trees along the far bank. What he couldn’t see, farther north, near the shore in the shade of the overhanging trees, a man in a pirogue who observed him.

  Fortunately for Fritz, he spotted Clint on the bank when the latter got out of the Jeep and walked dow
n to the water’s edge. Fritz immediately pushed his craft hard into the shore. To keep the current from carrying the boat away, he chanced tilting it when he lifted a leg over the side, and jammed his heel into the mud. Water spilled into his boot. “Damn!” Still floating. He clutched at some exposed roots to keep from moving.

  Fritz almost lost the pirogue before Clint drove away. Back in control of it, he worked his way across the river to the place where Clint had stood. Damn. Couldn’t get a shot off in this wobbly excuse for a canoe. He beached his craft, and bending low, walked up the bank to see where Clint had gone. He could see a cloud of dust running to the south. Too far away. He returned to the pirogue and pushed off downstream.

  In mid-afternoon, Fritz spotted the dock behind the Boar Pen ahead of him. He put into shore again to sit and think about his further moves. I must be opposite the town here. Don’t want anyone to be seeing me yet. His thoughts muddled for a couple of minutes before he focused on the Boar Pen again. Damn. I haven’t been thinking about Marie-Elena cheating on me, I owe her something too. The whoring bitch! She made a sucker out of me. Yeah, and so did Olivia. Paid three thousand dollars for a virgin who wasn’t. How’d they do that?

  Lying back in the pirogue to keep low, he let the current carry him down to the Boar Pen dock. No one was in sight. He threw his gear on the planking. He pulled himself on the dock, and let the pirogue float away. Staying prone on the dock, he studied the layout of this side of the property. Wearing his gun belt, and taking only his revolver, he ran up to the back of the garage. Since he couldn’t hear anyone in the garage, or outside, he made a dash for the back door of the house.

  He eased the door open and slid inside. He stopped and listened some more; let his eyes adjust to the darker corridor. Up ahead he could hear feminine voices coming from the lobby. Though the dangling bead doorway, he could see El Gordo sitting there looking away from Fritz. Wonder if that Mex is armed? Tiptoeing as best he could in his wet boot, Fritz started for the Mexican. The sloshing boot gave him away.

  El Gordo glanced at him, and seeing a man with a gun drawn, jumped up and shouted, “HOLA.”

  Quickly on him, Fritz shoved him down to the floor, into a lobby of screaming women: OOOOHHHHAAAARHA,why you dooooo? What you want?OOAHHHUNGH.

  “Shut up, Shut up all of you right now.” Fritz cocked his revolver and pointed it at the cringing Mexican. “Shut up…or he gets it!”

  Olivia, Marie-Elena, Tawny and Sheree, without any early day business had been sitting around talking when Fritz burst in. Now they huddled together and tried to stifle their sobs and cries.

  Fritz motioned for El Gordo to crawl over near the women. “Now then, who else is around here? Any customers in back?”

  Calmed some from Fritz not shooting, Olivia stood and said, “No one’s here but us. And just what do you want? Why are you here?”

  “To collect a debt for starters. You two God damned bitches owe me three thousand dollar…for Marie-Elena’s missing cherry!”

  “That’s not true, Fritz. You’re the only one to ever screw me. You enjoyed my virginity.”

  “That’s not what I hear. And screwing college boys since, and an abortion. You sure played me for a sucker.”

  Olivia said, “I showed you the affidavit from Doctor Rapunski. He swore she was a virgin.”

  “Yeah? Maybe you paid him too. I’ve been hearing all about her fucking from other people.”

  “Someone’s been lying to you Fritz,” Olivia said.

  “Yeah. You! Now cough up that three thousand. I ain’t got all day.”

  “Fritz, I don’t have three thousand on hand.”

  “Don’t bull shit me.” He aimed his revolver at Olivia and cocked the hammer. “Smith and Wesson here is my debt collecting attorney. Cough it up!”

  Olivia sighed and got the money from her safe. She laid it on the bar counter. Fritz said, “Unhunh. Bring it over here. Count it slowly out to me. None of the rest of you move.”

  After she gave him the money, she said, “All right Fritz. You got what you came for. Why don’t you leave now?”

  “That’s a good question. I’m not through. I think you can give me a hand.”

  “How can we do that? People are looking for you. Why don’t you just leave… before someone finds out you’re here?”

  “Maybe I want a certain person to find me here. That’s how you’re going to help. How do you think you can get Sergeant Greybull to come here?”

  Now standing from behind the bar, Marie-Elena spoke. “How do we know? He’s never been here on our business.”

  “You mean there’s one of those airmen who hasn’t fucked you yet? You must be losing your charm. Wore your pussy out on those college boys, huh?” Damn,I oughta just shoot her… and be through with her cheating ass! “Which one knocked you up, do you know? I’d like to have that one here. I’d sure cut his nuts off. I might do it to Greybull too.”

  Marie-Elena decided to keep quiet. The women were convinced Fritz was insane, and didn’t want to provoke him. “Well, ladies, are you thinking? Have you figured out how to get Greybull in here?”

  “Why do you want him?” Olivia said. “Has he done something to you?”

  “Yeah…he an’ his damn Air Force been fucking up things for me ever since he got here. He shoulda left when I told him too.” Being fucked up reminds me again. Marie-Elena, cheated on me…after I paid for her cherry…or did I? I DON’T THINK SO! And God damned Olivia set me up for it! His rage building up, his breath in gasps, his face screwed up…his eyes bursting…

  BANG!

  He shot Marie-Elena!

  The remaining women screamed hysterically: OHOHOH OHYOU SHOT HER WHHHHY OHHHH, YOUKILL HEROOOH OH YOU C RAZZZYYY! And rushed to her.

  Damn, that was bright. Everyone in West Layover probably heard that noise. Fritz cracked the front door to see if anyone reacted to his shot.

  Olivia screamed, “Why you do that? You really are crazy! OOHHHWHHHHYY You’ve almost killed her.” She howled and cried oblivious to his rage.

  “Damn it! Stop that noise…or if she ain’t dead, I’ll finish the job! STOP IT NOW…or first I shoot the Mex.!” That individual cringed on the floor as the women kept screaming.

  BANG!

  Fritz shot El Gordo in the head. “Keep it up and I’ll shoot all of you!”

  Now the lobby reeked with the smell of gunpowder and the unfortunate Mexican’s blood and loosened bowels. Olivia tried to calm and quiet Tawny and Sheree. They kept on crying but tried to do it less vocally. Fritz cracked the door again. Still couldn’t see any response to the second shot. Damn. I’m getting nowhere.

  In Sheriff Radecker’s office, Tommy said, “I believe I’ve heard a couple of gun shots. But I can’t tell where from.”

  “Go on out and look around. Everyone around here should know better than to be shooting in town.”

  “Maybe it was outside. I’ll see.” Tommy got in the Jeep and slowly drove up Main Street. He kept looking around but didn’t see anything unusual; no activity, no one sporting a weapon. Maybe it was the Injuns across the river. Hard telling.

  From the Boar Pen door, Fritz watched what he could see of Tommy’s travel. Yeah, he heard it, but got no idea where it came from. He turned back to Olivia. “You call that Greybull and get him down here. You better think of something to tell him. Killing more of you don’t make any difference to me.”

  Guardedly, Tawny said, “Tell Greybull we found out something about that dead airman.”

  “Like what?”

  “He wanted to talk to Jill. Tell him she’s here…and got something to tell him.”

  “Sounds like a good idea to me,” Fritz said. “Now get on it.”

  The resourceful prostitutes knew every phone number in the surrounding area. Stalling, Olivia fumbled around behind the bar until s
he found a phone notebook. “I don’t think we can call that military place from here. They got their own phone system.”

  Tawny saw Fritz getting antsy again, and found the number for Olivia. Afraid for their lives, she dialed the number for Q-1 and hoped no one answered.

  Clint was there and said “Hello, Sergeant Greybull speaking.”

  “Oh, Sergeant Greybull.” Olivia’s voice quivered so much she couldn’t continue. Seeing her hesitation, Fritz grabbed the phone out of her hand and gave it to Tawny. He muttered, “You do it!” He stood close to her so he could hear some of the conversation.

  Tawny’s hand shook. She swallowed and weakly said, “Jill is here now and wants to talk to you.”

  “Who?”

  “J-J-Jill. About that airman. The one who drowned.”

  “Okay. Put her on, I’ll talk to her.”

  “Sh-Sh-She’s very upset. Wants you to come here…to the Boar Pen.” She hung up before he could answer.

  “What did ya’ hang up for? God damn it. Now how in hell do I know if and when he’s coming?”

  Olivia said, “Why don’t you just go. What do you need him for? If you left now, you could still get away. The longer you stay here, the worst are your chances. Pretty soon other men will show up here. Then were will you be?”

  Back at Q-1, Clint thought about the phone call from the Boar Pen. Mighty odd. I believe that was the older woman, Olivia, who answered me. And then a younger voice, but both of them sounding funny. Why couldn’t Jill come to the phone? Did I hear a man’s voice snap at the second woman? I wonder what’s going on down there. Guess I better go see.

  When Clint knocked on the front door of the boar Pen, Fritz hissed at Marie, “Just open the door and tell him to come in.”

  Olivia trembled so much she could barely do it. “C-c-come in,” Olivia said while slowly nodding ‘no.’

  Clint stepped over the threshold, “What’s the matter…”