by Sharon Sala
She got up from the bed, undoing her clothes as she walked toward the bathroom. Moments later, she was standing beneath the showerhead, massaging shampoo into her hair while the jets of hot water peppered her skin. As the water sluiced down her body, washing away the grit and the dust, she kept wishing it would be this easy to wash away the ghosts of her past.
Once she’d asked one of her foster mothers where she was from, and the woman had laughed in her face, telling her she’d be better off worrying about where she was going to wind up if she didn’t hurry and finish her chores. After that, she had stifled her curiosity and focused on getting through life… one day at a time.
Eight
It took Tory less than two hours to cover the entire business section of Dellpoint, Iowa. One bank, one pharmacy, two grocery stores, three cafés, four convenience stores, five beauty shops and a barbershop later, she didn’t know any more than she had when she started.
She’d faxed a copy of the old man’s picture to Amherst Entertainment, the carnival she’d been shooting, but had little hopes of getting a favorable reply. She already knew that while some of the carnie crowd stayed in the business for years, many of the workers were transients who often left without notice. So when she headed toward her motel, her hopes were close to zero. There was a feed store on the outskirts of town that she had yet to visit, and a bar on the north side of the city limits sign that didn’t open until six. Other than that, she’d done Dellpoint, and with no sign of the tattooed man.
When she got to the motel, she noticed that a bright red pickup truck pulling a matching but empty horse trailer had parked beside her car. The smell of horse manure was evident as she headed for her room. She wrinkled her nose and then dodged the cleaning lady’s cart that had been left unattended outside the room next to hers.
Remembering the threadbare towels, on impulse, she snatched up an extra towel as she passed. She tossed her bag on the chair as she locked the door behind her, then flopped down on the bed in a dejected slump. A handful of the pictures had fallen out of the bag, and the tattooed man’s face and his cold, blank stare seemed to be mocking her from a distance. She couldn’t get past the idea that he knew something about her life that she didn’t. In anger, she flung the extra towel onto the floor, smiling grimly with satisfaction as it landed on top of the pictures, covering them up.
Disappointed with her afternoon’s effort, she reached for the phone and then paused. Maybe she should wait and call Brett after she’d gone to the bar tonight. Hopefully by then she’d have something positive to tell him.
A burst of raucous laughter, followed by a round of high-pitched giggles, came from the room next to hers. She remembered the abandoned cleaning cart and the shiny red truck and sighed. If she was a betting woman, she would be laying good money on the fact that the cowboy who owned the truck was having himself a real good time with the motel’s cleaning woman.
***
“Just put it in there,” Brett said, pointing to the first room on the right, down the hall.
The movers were almost through. Only a couple more trips back to the truck and then all his worldly goods would be in his new home. He walked from room to room, surveying the added space of the house he’d just rented. He wouldn’t let himself think about why he’d decided on a house instead of another apartment. He refused to admit, even to himself, that when he’d seen the renovated family room next to the master bedroom, his first thought had been what a perfect office it would make for Tory’s work, and that the roomy, connecting storage room would be a great darkroom. Those thoughts didn’t belong in his world anymore. Not until he knew if she really wanted him in her life.
“That’s the last one,” the mover said, as he set down a box marked Kitchen.
Brett nodded and reached for his checkbook. A few minutes later the movers were gone. He stood in the midst of what was left of his life and realized he had never felt so alone. Then he took a deep breath and pulled out his pocketknife. Whether Tory remained in his life remained to be seen. Meanwhile, there were things to be done.
He opened the box marked Kitchen, pulled out a phone, then plugged it into the jack. The dial tone sounded in his ear. At least one thing had gone right today. His service was on.
He punched a series of numbers, then waited.
“Hello.”
At the familiar voice, Brett gripped the receiver a little tighter, then started to talk.
“Hey, Mom. It’s me, Brett. Got a pen and paper handy? I want to give you my new address and number. No, nothing’s wrong. I just decided I needed more space.”
***
When Tory woke up it was just after 8:00 p.m. She had a pounding headache and a pain in her side. She wasn’t surprised about the headache. She had them often. But the pain in her side gave her pause until she looked where she’d been lying. She’d fallen asleep on top of her shoe. The irony of it was that she didn’t remember even pulling it off. She yawned and stretched, then put her shoe back on before heading for the bathroom. If she was going barhopping, she needed to look her best.
But a short while later, as she entered the smoke-filled establishment known only as Dump’s, she decided she could have saved herself a little hair spray. From the level of the lighting and the quality of the clientele, she could have been bald and it would have gone unnoticed.
“What’ll it be?” the bartender asked, as Tory slid onto a stool at the end of the bar.
She reached in her purse for a picture. “I don’t want anything to drink. I just want to know if—”
“Ain’t nothin’ free in here,” the bartender growled. “Not even the talk. What’ll it be?”
Tory sighed. The bartender’s apron was dirty, and so were his hands, which didn’t say much for the condition of the glasses sitting in a row on the counter behind him.
“Oh, how about a Coke… in the can,” she added, unwilling to take her chances with the glasses.
The bartender popped the top, slapped a napkin down in front of her and all but dropped the can on top, sending a small spray of cola fizzing up into the air above it.
“’At’ll be two bucks.”
Tory’s dander rose at the high-handed manner in which the man had behaved. Before she thought, she slapped a picture of the tattooed man on the bar and then laid a five dollar bill down on top of it. When the bartender reached for the money, she slapped her hand on top, and then leaned forward.
“As I was about to ask earlier… do you know this man?”
The bartender grinned at her gutsy move and leaned over for a closer look.
“Hmm, yeah, he looks familiar,” he muttered, then pointed to the scorpion tattoo. “Once you seen one of them, you ain’t likely to forget it. Know what I mean?”
Tory’s hopes rose. “What’s his name? Do you know where—”
“Whoa,” the bartender said. “I said he looked familiar. I didn’t say as how I knew him. Lots of people come and go in a place like this. I’ve seen him, all right, but it’s been a while back.”
Tory refused to be discouraged by the small setback. “Do you know where he lives?”
He shook his head, then glanced up and around the room, narrowing his eyes to see through the smoke and shadows.
“See that man at the back pool table? That big guy wearing jeans?”
Tory stared. Four of the five men standing around the pool table were wearing jeans.
“Which one of them?” she asked.
The bartender pointed. “The one with the bald head and the eagle on his jacket.”
At that point, her heart sank. It would be that one. The man was a good four inches over six feet, with a face like a road map. Even from here, she could see the scars crisscrossing his cheek, and she didn’t know what bothered her most—the ring in his ear or the one in his nose.
“Yes, I see him,” Tory said.
“His name’s Bull. If anyone knows your man, he will.”
Tory stared at the rowdy crowd of men, and for the f
irst time since she’d started this quest, she began to realize how quickly she could get in over her head. But there was too much riding on her need to know, and she’d come too far to back out now. Besides, she reminded herself, she was good at hiding her feelings.
Well, Bull, ready or not, here I come.
Like an animal on the hunt, the man called Bull sensed her presence before he ever looked up, and then, when he did, a feral smile broke the frown he’d been wearing. Instead of taking his shot with the cue stick he was holding, he used the end to lift a lock of her hair from her breast.
“Hey, sweet thing, old Bull don’t like messy hair. I like my women well-groomed,” he said.
Tory glanced at his bald head and then met his stare head-on. “Yes, I can see why you would,” she drawled.
Bull looked startled that she hadn’t backed down, then grinned when the other men standing around the pool table began to laugh. He took the point of the pool cue and circled her breast, tapping lightly on the end of the nipple.
“Something I can do for you, honey?”
Tory grabbed the cue stick and yanked, then flung it aside. It fell to the floor with a clatter as she pointed at him.
“For starters, you can keep your damned hands—and your stick—to yourself.” Then she reached in her purse.
Before she could pull her hand out, Bull grabbed her wrist.
“Take it easy, you feisty little bitch. Let’s just see what you’ve got in there, okay?”
He eased her hand out, expecting to see a weapon, not the eight-by-ten blowup of the tattooed man’s face.
“What the—” He yanked it out of her hand. “What are you doing with Stinger’s picture?”
Tory forgot she was out of her element, forgot she was supposed to be afraid. At last she had a name to go with the face.
“What did you call him?”
Bull frowned. “Stinger. Stinger Hale. What are you doing with old Stinger’s picture?” His frown deepened as he reached for her purse. “What the hell are you, a cop?”
Tory yanked her purse away. “No, no,” she muttered. “I’m not a cop. I’m a photographer. Actually, a photojournalist. I’m just trying to find this man. Do you know where he lives?”
Bull took a step forward, but Tory held her ground. “Prove it,” he said harshly.
“Prove what?”
“Empty your purse on the table. If there’s no badge or gun in there, then we’ll talk. Otherwise, get the hell out of Dump’s before I throw you out.”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Tory muttered, and pushed past him angrily. Without thought for what she was about to do, she swept the game balls aside and dumped out the contents of her purse.
“Hey,” one of the men shouted as the balls began bouncing off the sides of the table. “There was a hundred dollars riding on that game.”
“This wasn’t my idea,” she said shortly, and then stood back with her hands on her hips, waiting for him to make the first move.
Bull dug through her stuff, even opening her lipstick and ballpoints as if they were some sort of secret weapons.
“It’s not your color,” Tory said, yanking a lipstick out of his hand as she began stuffing her things back in her purse. “I did as you asked, now it’s your turn to talk, remember?”
He grinned. “What do you want to know?”
She pointed back at the picture. “Where I can find that man.”
He gave her another long, hard stare. “If you’re playing me for a fool… if I find out you went and got old Stinger in trouble, I’ll come looking for you.”
At that point, all the last few weeks of fear and frustration came to a head. She shoved her finger against Bull’s chest, her voice just below a shout.
“Damn you! I don’t want to hurt him, I want to talk to him. And if I don’t find that man, I’m the one who’s going to be in trouble.”
One of the bystanders took it upon himself to end the confrontation.
“Hell, Bull, tell her what she wants to know and let’s get on with the game. I need to win my money back or my old lady won’t let me in the house tonight.”
Bull stared at Tory for several long, silent moments until he was satisfied that she was who she’d sworn to be.
“I haven’t seen him in months. For all I know, he could have moved.”
Tory bit her lip to keep from screaming. “Then tell me where he used to live. Let me worry about the rest.”
“In Morrow.”
“Where’s Morrow?”
“About twenty-five miles that way,” Bull said, pointing east. “I been to his house before. It’s a rent house on the backside of some old lady’s property.”
Tory was scribbling frantically, making notes so she wouldn’t forget a thing the man said.
“Do you remember the address?” she asked.
He snorted. “Hell, no. He’s not on my Christmas card list.”
Tory sighed. She would have to be satisfied with this.
“Thanks,” she said, and started to leave when she felt that pool cue again, this time poking into the middle of her back. Her nerves were shot, and her patience was gone. She pivoted angrily.
“What?”
Bull grinned, then scratched at a spot just below the ring in his nose. “Turner Avenue. I think his house was on the corner of Turner and Fourth Street.”
Anger faded. “Thanks,” she said softly. “More than you will ever know.”
By the time she got outside, she was shaking with relief.
“Oh God, oh God.”
Her legs felt like rubber, and her heart was beating ninety to nothing. Without looking behind her, she sprinted toward her car. Only after she was safely inside, with all the doors locked and the engine running, did she take the time to take a deep breath. Brett would kill me for that. Then she put the car in gear and headed back to the motel. Tomorrow was a new day in the search for the tattooed man, but one thing had changed. Now she knew his name.
Stinger Hale.
It didn’t mean anything to her, but maybe when she saw him, or when she heard his voice, maybe then she would have some answers.
***
Sunshine beamed on the little girl’s face as she walked along the dusty road. A butterfly darted in front of her, and she laughed, then gave chase. Faster and faster she ran, trying to catch it, then trying to outrun it, but no matter how fast her little legs churned, she couldn’t catch up.
“Wait!” she cried. “Wait for me.”
A shadow passed over the sun. The air was beginning to cool as the butterfly disappeared. The little girl paused to look up, then gasped as she saw the dark thunderheads beginning to gather. It was going to rain! She had to hurry or she’d be in trouble if she got herself wet.
Ignoring everything but the house she could see at the end of the road, she began to run. She had to get there before the first drops fell. Her hair flew out behind her like a pale, yellow sail. The skirt of her dress was first plastered against her little legs, then bunched above her knees. With elbows pumping and her heart beating in a frantic rhythm, the distance to the house grew shorter and shorter.
The wind began to rise, wailing through the trees along the road in high-pitched shrieks. Just ahead, she saw someone, a woman, step out of the house. The woman was shouting her name, begging her to hurry… hurry… hurry.
And then the door swung shut, and just as her foot was about to hit the first step, the house disappeared. She pitched facedown on the hard-packed earth as the first raindrops began to fall.
“No! No!” she screamed. “Wait for me! Wait for me!”
Crying and begging, she scrambled to her feet and began to run in circles, looking for the house. It had to be here somewhere. If she could only find it, then she would be safe.
Rain was coming down harder now, plastering her hair to her face and her dress to her body. She looked down at herself, at the water running off her body and onto the ground. Lightning flashed above her, and in that instant, she looked do
wn into the puddle in which she was standing and screamed. She couldn’t see her reflection. Like the house… and the woman who’d called out her name… she was already gone.
Tory woke up to find herself standing in the middle of the floor, drenched in sweat and tears, and shaking like a leaf.
“Dear God.”
With trembling fingers, she combed her hair away from her face and staggered to the bathroom. When she flipped on the light, she braced herself against the sink, looking deep into the eyes of the woman looking back.
“What’s wrong with you?” she whispered. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
But the woman didn’t answer, and Tory couldn’t bear to look at the panic in her own eyes. She ducked her head and turned on the faucet, sluicing her face with the tepid water in a desperate attempt to wash away the memories of that dream. Instead of going back to bed, she crawled into a chair, curled her feet up beneath her and watched the sunrise through a crack in the curtain. Within an hour of the event, she was on her way to Morrow.
***
“Hey, Hooker, it’s good to see you back.”
“Same to you,” Brett said, waving to one of Lacey’s assistant D.A.s as he slid into a chair in the district attorney’s outer office.
A few moments later, the door opened and Don Lacey exited with a briefcase in one hand and a black cowboy hat in the other. When he saw Brett, a slow smile spread across his face.
“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised to see you,” Lacey said. “And I’m not going to ask you what you’re doing here, because I can see the look on your face. You’re worse than a damned bloodhound, you know that?”
Brett grinned. “I want you to—”
Lacey interrupted. “My answer is no. Not until your doctor releases you.”
Brett sighed. “Damn it, Don. Give me something to do. I’m going nuts sitting in that house by myself.”
Lacey grinned. “With a woman as pretty as your Victoria, I could think of several things to do.”