Irrational Numbers

by Robert Spiller

  “I can understand that. It’s not a far jump from love to hate.”

  The young woman frowned at Bonnie.

  Can the platitudes, Pinkwater.

  “Anyway, the only thing that seemed to help was rodeoing. I wasn’t competing, but it felt good to hear the crowds, taste the dust, see my old friends.”

  Of course, Caleb was a bull rider!

  “Caleb was there.” Seneca shuddered again and this time seemed unsteady on her feet. She took a wider stance. “I’d seen him around the circuit before. Rode a pretty good bull.”

  Bonnie long suspected that bull riders might be a little crazy, but she was certain none as much so as Caleb Webb.

  “I knew he was screwed up, but when he started coming around—” She shrugged. “There’s something very sexy about being worshiped. He was sweet in a nut job sort of way. Plus he let me know there was nothing he wouldn’t do for me. And I have to admit he was as good as his word.”

  Seneca pointed with her chin, and Bonnie turned around. A cloud of dust was approaching from the west. “I’m thinking the cavalry has arrived. I got a one-time offer for you. Get back into your car and drive the hell out of here.”

  Bonnie shook her head. “I’m not going anywhere unless you come with me.”

  Seneca stretched out her arm and pointed the nine millimeter at Gabe. “I can’t do that.”

  “He … didn’t … kill … Leo … Seneca … you … did.” Bonnie emphasized each word in the ragged hope she might get through to the girl.

  Seneca fired. The gun whistled and a tiny dust devil appeared a meter below Gabe’s crotch. The young man screamed. A trickle of urine sprayed onto the sand.

  Nostrils flaring, Seneca turned a stony countenance Bonnie’s way. “Leo Quinn was an angel sent by God to this earth—the best person I ever knew. Oh, God, how I loved him.” Once again she pointed the nine millimeter at Gabe. “This one and his friends humiliated him, treated him like he was nothing, then hopped into their souped-up car and drove away laughing.”

  Behind her, Bonnie could hear the crunch of vehicles coming to a stop. She was grateful whomever it was had not turned on their sirens. “He’s not laughing now, sweetie. Don’t do this.”

  Seneca blinked away tears, but her arm was steady. “I have to.”

  Car doors opened. “Missus P, get out of there!”

  Even though she expected to hear his voice, Byron’s tenor startled Bonnie. Arms trembling, she held them out in a gesture she hoped would forestall any precipitous action. “Everybody cool it!” she shouted.

  She locked eyes with Seneca. “If you fire that pistol even once, they’re going to kill you.”

  “I know.” Seneca’s finger tightened on the trigger.

  In the remaining heartbeat, Bonnie fumbled about for anything to stop the madness. Her Imp of the Perverse stepped forward. “You selfish little bitch.”

  Seneca’s hand wavered. She gaped openly at Bonnie.

  She had no intention of letting the girl speak. “Leo’s an angel. Leo’s the best person I ever knew.” Bonnie squeezed as much sarcasm as she could into the two sentences.

  “Stop it, Missus Pinkwater.”

  “Stop it, Missus Pinkwater.” If anything, Bonnie piled even more ridicule into her taunt. “Shut up, girl, and pay attention. Two months ago you made a decision. You decided to lie down with Leo Quinn and create a child.”

  A spasm of either pain or remorse shot across Seneca’s features. “That’s over now. Everything’s changed.”

  “Says who? Girl, this isn’t about you anymore. This isn’t some random act of sex that produced an unwanted child. This is a human being you deliberately created and now are willing to sacrifice like you sacrificed Caleb Webb.”

  Seneca violently shook her head. “You’re twisting everything. Be quiet, and let me think.”

  Not on your life. Bonnie waved derisively at Gabe Trotter. “If I hear you right, all this bullshit is about honoring the memory of Leo Quinn.”

  Seneca’s eyes flashed. “That’s right!”

  “Then honor him, Goddammit.” She pointed to the young woman’s abdomen. “You’re carrying a piece of Leo right there in your belly.”

  Seneca’s resolve seemed to waver. A tear formed and slid down her cheek. Then as if some steel coil had been rewound, she tightened her jaw, and her grip on the pistol. “Just words. Leo’s gone. That’s all that matters.”

  Oh, shit. Think, Pinkwater.

  An image of a bus ride across snowy Wolf Creek Pass appeared in Bonnie’s mind. What have you got to lose? “Don’t make these policemen kill Timothy.”

  Seneca turned to gape at Bonnie. “What did you say?”

  Hallelujah! “I said Timothy, Seneca. Timothy Quinn. Leo’s child.”

  “How do you—”

  “Leo told me, sweetie.”

  Bonnie held her breath.

  For a long moment, Seneca Webb remained a malevolent statue, ready to do what she’d come to do. Then, like it had suddenly grown too heavy to bear, the pistol began to lower—ten degrees, then twenty. Finally, Seneca let the gun drop to the dirt. Her hands came to her face, her entire body shaking with sobs.

  From behind, Bonnie heard the sound of footfalls. Byron and the state trooper named Alvin swept past her. The trooper gathered the weapon.

  Bonnie was afraid Byron would roughly slap Seneca into handcuffs. Instead he wrapped an arm around the girl and began to lead her toward the cruisers.

  When she passed Bonnie, Seneca turned back, looking for all the world like an innocent child in one of Bonnie’s classes. “What’s going to happen to me?”

  Bonnie had no more energy to expend on this murderous creature. “If you’re lucky, you’re going to go to jail. Probably for a long, long time.”

  The stark news didn’t seem to faze the girl. She merely nodded her head. “And my baby?”

  Bonnie touched the girl’s arm. “We’ll figure that one out, honey. I promise.”

  Seneca nodded again and let Byron lead her away.

  CHAPTER 26

  BONNIE SMILED AT THE OBVIOUS CLICHÉ, BUT IT HAD been a month of Sundays since she’d last occupied a church pew. Still, she wouldn’t have missed this service for a year of Sabbaths. Hell, she received a personal invite from Harold T. Dobbs himself. The big man and Jason, who was still bandaged and looking a little puny—sat side by side behind the lectern while the choir went nuts, tambourines and all, on a folksy version of “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God.”

  I got to admit the song is growing on me.

  Then there’d been the business of the twin bombshells.

  Immediately following his sermon—a fine one in Bonnie’s estimation, leaning heavily on Saint Paul’s thirteenth chapter of Corinthians—Harold had told of his shameful behavior in Rattlesnake’s bathroom and the hours after. While the air was still abuzz, he tendered his resignation in favor of his son.

  Before the congregation had recovered from that percussion grenade, Jason took the lectern and came clean about his homosexuality, although he did throw the faithful a bone by allowing that he was currently not dancing to that tune.

  It was at this juncture a significant number of the SBTBPT contingent rose and exited in what had to be considered a major huff. On their way out, a few shot Bonnie scathing glares.

  Remembering an obscure verse that mentioned something about not returning evil for evil and the heaping of burning coals on your enemy’s head, Bonnie offered the irate members a glucose-coated smile.

  When the choir finished Martin Luther’s anthem, Jason took the lectern. “Ladies and gentlemen, that concludes the service. However, all of you are invited to continue our fellowship on the lawn adjacent to the church. Go with God.”

  Bonnie was gratified that most of the faithful returned Jason’s parting valediction. She felt certain this reduced congregation would weather the storm. After all, the founder of this popular sect was known to think highly of honesty and reward same. Shoot, one Bonnie Pinkwat
er might even set a record and attend even another SBTBPT service within the year.

  She exited her pew, and immediately adopted the polite saunter of one ensconced in the slow traffic of unhurried crowds. She promised her impatient feet she would pick up the pace once she was free.

  No such luck.

  On the front lawn, three of her Women in Mathematics students were waiting. Emily, the child who had become the Hypatia of Alexandria expert, caught sight of Bonnie and pointed. Oblivious that they were bucking the outward flow of traffic, the girls pressed forward.

  Bonnie pointed with her head toward two long tables that were stocked with a variety of pies, ice cream, and casseroles. “Over there, you ninnies. Can’t you see you’re in the way?”

  With the natural grace that the Maker of All Things wasted on the young, the three girls slid effortlessly through the crowd and congregated by the serving tables.

  As soon as Bonnie laboriously made her way to them, Beatrice Archuleta linked her arm into Bonnie’s. “So, tell us everything.”

  Bonnie laughed. “That’s a tall order. Should I begin with several of the more popular creation myths, or do you have something particular in mind?”

  Always the serious one, Yoki frowned. “You know what she means.”

  And Bonnie did. Still, she considered teasing the girl but then thought better of it. Girls like these were the reason she’d gone into teaching. In the end she couldn’t deny them. Besides, Pinkwater, here you are again the center of attention. While you got it, flaunt it. “I’m assuming you’re talking about Seneca Webb.”

  They nodded like bobble-head dolls.

  “All right. I’ll give in to your macabre interests.” For the next few minutes, Bonnie gave her adolescent audience an abbreviated version of the incidents on Squirrel Creek Road. At several natural Q&A stopping points, Bonnie noted that her charges had been joined by select members of the congregation, so that by the time she’d finished, she’d gathered a sizable crowd. Even Jason and Harold were leaning toward her as they portioned out goodies.

  “Weren’t you scared?” Emily asked.

  Bonnie shook her head. “Don’t know the meaning of the word.” She kept a straight face for all of ten seconds. “But I do know the meaning of the words terrified, petrified, horrified, and frightened stiff. Of course, I was afraid, sweetie. I’m a schoolteacher not a secret agent.”

  Yoki regarded Bonnie through squinted eyes, as if Bonnie might just be some sort of secret agent disguised as a gray-haired math teacher.

  Bonnie felt someone touch her elbow. She turned to see a small white-haired man in a straw cowboy hat blinking at her. He leaned heavily on an aluminum cane.

  Jason Hobbs came from behind the table. “Missus Pinkwater, let me introduce Cyrus Webb, Caleb’s grandfather.”

  Bonnie tried to recollect just how scandalously she’d portrayed this man’s murderous grandson. Serves you right, Pinkwater, for holding court in broad daylight on such a sensitive subject. She was getting ready to apologize when the old man drew close.

  “Crazy as a bedbug,” he said in a voice like desert air escaping a balloon.

  Bonnie stared at the ancient specimen, not quite sure she heard him right. “Pardon?”

  “He said, crazy as a bedbug,” Emily offered.

  Bonnie stifled a chuckle. “Thank you, honey.”

  As if to emphasize his pronouncement, the old man twirled a wizened index finger around his ear. “All his life, I told that boy’s mama there was something not right about the scamp, that he would come to a bad end.”

  Bonnie shot Jason a sidelong glance to ascertain if this old man might be putting her on. The young pastor kept a straight face, giving away nothing.

  Cyrus Webb clutched Bonnie’s elbow. “I’m glad it’s over.”

  This was one statement Bonnie could readily agree with. “Me, too.”

  Without another word, the old man hobbled away. Bonnie watched him until a middle-aged woman opened a car door for him.

  Caleb’s mama?

  She looked up from her elderly charge, and for a long moment, she and Bonnie’s eyes were locked. The woman reddened, perhaps embarrassed that her crazy-as-a-bed-bug son had run amok in this close-knit community.

  Bonnie turned away, not really sure how much comfort she could reasonably be expected to offer. She turned to her girls. “Ladies, do me a favor. Assist Pastor Dobbs while I have a word with this handsome young man.” She laced her fingers into Jason’s and patted his hand.

  They’d walked a few paces in silence before Bonnie piped up. “How you holding up, youngster?”

  Jason rotated his shoulder. “Still hurts like the dickens, especially when I forget to take my meds.”

  “I’m not talking about your arm.” She waved a hand as if to take in the entire church community scene. “Is this what you really want?”

  Jason chewed his lower lip, obviously considering all the ramifications of the question. “If you mean am I happy with my choices, the answer is yes. This is where I want to be right now. These people, my father, this church, they’re worth the trade-off.”

  Bonnie studied the young man’s face to see if he was being straight with her. And himself. As far back into his eyes she could see he believed what he was saying.

  “And down the road? Are you being fair to yourself and to these people? Will this be enough, say, five years from now?”

  The young man inhaled deeply, then with cheeks bulging, let it out. “What can I say? How does anyone know how they’ll feel five or even two years in the future? My heart tells me this is right for me. If that means I have to give up some things, I’m ready to do it.”

  Using her thumb, she pointed back over her shoulder. “And the old man? Is he happy with all his choices?”

  Jason regarded his father. The elder pastor was laughing as he and Emily dished out homemade ice cream.

  “Truth be told, there’s going to be some major battles in the coming weeks. In the end, I don’t think the congregation will accept his resignation. Those who don’t head for the hills, will want the stability.”

  “Will he stay?”

  Jason shrugged a hard-to-say shrug. “I think so, and I’ll be glad of his strong right arm when the feces hits the fan.”

  Bonnie wished for a world where this splendid young man didn’t have to give up who he was for the love of his God and his father. She threw her arms around the young pastor. “These people are lucky to have you.”

  When Jason didn’t answer, she pulled back and studied him.

  He swiped at his eyes and looked around, obviously embarrassed at his naked emotion. “I need to get back with Dad.”

  Bonnie nodded her understanding. The last thing Jason Dobbs needed was one more bit of public evidence he wasn’t a real man. She pushed him away. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

  Her cell phone rang. She waved good-bye to Jason and clicked it open. “Pinkwater.”

  “Missus P, it’s Byron.”

  There was something in the sound of her former student’s voice that held Bonnie in check. “What’s on your mind, Deputy Hickman?”

  “We found Rattlesnake about an hour ago.”

  She was about to go into inquisition mode when she realized Byron had said, We found Rattlesnake—not Rattlesnake’s body. “Is he—”

  “Alive? Yeah, but don’t ask me why. He had three bullets in his upper body. Lost a lot of blood. We just got him to the trauma ward. It’ll be touch and go for a while, but the doctors think there’s good chance he’ll pull through.”

  “Thank God.”

  Even as she expressed her gratitude to a deity who’d seemed more than a little absent in the past week, Bonnie realized Rattlesnake was in deep wasabi up to his bald and tattooed head. He may not have actually killed anyone, but he made it possible for others to do so.

  And how would he feel when he found out that he had been providing weapons to Leo’s killer?

  Bonnie made a mental note to visit the big man wh
en she got back. He’d need a friend. She checked her Mickey Mouse watch. “Listen, Byron, thanks for the info, but I’ve got to go.”

  “… even brought me flowers.” Marjorie slapped Bonnie’s knee. “Who’d have thought Lloyd Whittaker had even one romantic bone in his grizzled carcass?”

  On the duct-taped bench seat of Lloyd’s beat-up truck, Bonnie sat squeezed between Lloyd and his newly energized bride. Ever since Lloyd had picked Bonnie up at her house, one or the other had been nonstop about the wonderful evening they’d shared. And even though Bonnie was delighted for them, there was only so much happy-happy-joy-joy a person should be reasonably expected to endure.

  Marjorie stopped to catch her breath, and Bonnie saw her opportunity. “I went to see Seneca yesterday.”

  The announcement had the desired effect. Both heads swiveled in her direction. She let the moment hang in the air before she spoke. “She asked me if I wanted a hand in the baby’s adoption.”

  Marjorie leaned forward so she could look Bonnie full in the face. “You mean, you as the—”

  Bonnie laughed. “Me as the mama? I don’t think so. She just wanted to know if I’d be part of the process. I’m not sure what that entails, some legal business or other. I told her sure.”

  “What about Seneca’s parents?” Lloyd asked. “Aren’t they interested in keeping their grandchild?”

  Bonnie shook her head. “It seems they haven’t much use for the bastard child of a homosexual lover and his murderous strumpet, even if that strumpet happens to be their own daughter.”

  “That’s so sad,” Marjorie said.

  And that’s the third time in as many days that someone’s offered that commentary. I’ve had to agree each time. “I’m thinking the baby’s better off with people who won’t judge it even before it breathes its first breath. Kid’s going to have enough baggage already.”

  Again Marjorie slapped Bonnie’s knee. “Hey, enough of that. Soooooo, are you excited?”

  “Who wouldn’t be? I’m going to New Jersey.”

  Bonnie grabbed her carry-on and stood. The two legs of the flight had been uneventful and that was just peachy with Bonnie.