The Pumpkin Seed Massacre

by Susan Slater

  Both of his uncles owned pickups. He’d borrowed the new Dodge Dakota tonight. Ben had told his uncle he had a date. It worked. Ben had promised not to drive it over seventy, but tonight he was anxious to get home and talk to Lorenzo. Would the old man be able to help? It was hard to say. Could they trust him or would they have to look for clues elsewhere?

  “Ben!” Julie screamed. “He’s on the wrong side of the road.”

  Ben saw the headlights. A reservation pickup probably with a drunken driver.

  “Hang on.” Ben flashed his lights. Nothing. He pulled closer to the right side of the road. The drunk followed. Then Ben yanked the wheel and swerved left over the center line. As the drunk tried to respond, Ben gunned the Dakota and spun back into the right lane, onto the shoulder and off the highway. The soft dirt caught at the tires as the rear end fought for traction. Julie bounced against the window as the truck freewheeled its way between two fence posts, sideswiped a juniper and took out a swath of sage and chamisa before it jolted to a stop.

  Through the dust Ben listened for the other truck. Silence. Maybe the guy had rolled. Ben threw open his door and, slipping and sliding, he scrambled up the sloping embankment. At first he didn’t see the other pickup. The swirling dust in the Dakota’s headlights distorted his view. Then he heard the engine turn over. The drunk had stalled his pickup about fifty feet from where Ben had left the highway. Ben swallowed hard hoping to keep a clear head and not let anger make him do something foolish as he sprinted toward the drunk. The first bullet struck the asphalt to his left, the second could have gone anywhere; Ben was already in the ditch on the other side of the road.

  He lay there straining to hear sounds of someone coming toward him. But no, the pickup had roared to life and the driver was accelerating toward Albuquerque. This was the second time in a matter of weeks that he’d been shot at. God, people could do stupid things when they were drunk. Sober, the driver of the truck probably wouldn’t think of taking a shot at anyone.

  “Ben?” Julie sounded panicked.

  “Here.” Ben quickly crossed the road. Julie had slumped to the ground in front of the Dakota; the headlights making the clotted blood along the right side of her head appear as a black swatch.

  “Hit my head.”

  He had to bend down to hear her. “It’ll be okay. We’ll get you to the clinic.” He picked her up and carried her back to the truck. The cut was just below the hairline and would need stitches. He tightened her seat belt and wadded an old jacket behind her head to act as a pillow. Then he kissed her.

  “What are you doing?” She stirred and looked at him.

  “Just making it well.” He thought she smiled before closing her eyes.

  + + +

  “Hold still. This will just take one more minute.” Twila cut a piece of tape and placed it across the bottom of the white square of gauze.

  “There. Done. I think you two were lucky tonight. That road is treacherous. I don’t know what your plans are, but this young woman shouldn’t go anywhere for awhile. I think you ought to take her to your house and let her get some rest.”

  “Good idea,” Ben said. He helped Julie down from the examining table and steadied her. He had never seen her this quiet.

  “I said rest.” Twila looked at Ben accusingly.

  “You’ve got my word.” Ben grinned over Julie’s head and gave Twila a ‘scout’s honor’ salute.

  He left Julie wrapped in a blanket on the living room sofa, her blood-stained blouse soaking in the bathroom sink and went back outside to inspect the pickup. There was remarkably little damage compared to what might have happened. The front bumper was pulled away from the body of the truck and a fistful of underbrush wedged between. A few scratches on the right side. He could get by with having that side painted. His uncle would be mad but understanding.

  Ben leaned against the tailgate. He didn’t feel lucky, but something told him that’s what he had been—lucky that the drunk hadn’t hit them, lucky that the man was a poor shot. If he was going to be a target, better to be one for amateurs. Amateurs. The word jolted him. That was exactly what they weren’t working with. Amateurs didn’t target a particular population with a sophisticated virus. But it could have been coincidence that he’d been shot at twice recently—once over the traps and now.

  Or did someone think they knew too much? Someone here? On the reservation? Or outside? What happened could have been a warning. But only someone from Tewa would have recognized his uncle’s truck. And who knew what time to intercept them? It made no sense. The evening’s events must have been an accident unrelated to the mystery illness. Ben sighed. He’d check on Julie then take the truck back to his uncle.

  + + +

  Julie awoke at seven according to the travel clock on the night stand. She was in a strange bed, in a strange house, and couldn’t remember how she had gotten there. Her head throbbed if she moved. So, she didn’t move but raised a hand to touch the bandage on her forehead. The drunk driver. They’d run off the road. She struggled to sit up. Her head seemed too heavy for her shoulders. She had Advil in her purse, wherever it was.

  “Hot tea, toast, and orange juice.” Ben stood in the doorway.

  “Smells good, but I’m not sure I’m hungry. How about a glass of water and finding my purse with the Advil?”

  “What do you want to do today?” Ben asked. Julie seemed to perk up after the pain relievers, even took a couple bites of toast.

  “Find Lorenzo.”

  “Sure you’re up to it?”

  “Yes. I think he may be able to help.”

  + + +

  Ben decided that they should drive. Their first stop was Lorenzo’s house. The door to his room was open. Ben hopped out to check inside, but the room was empty.

  “Do you know where he likes to go?” Julie asked.

  “All over. He has a couple favorite nap spots, but he could be anywhere. Let’s start at the church and work our way back toward the community center.”

  It was easy to spot the bright poncho coming out of the fire station.

  Ben waved at Lorenzo but was quick to see that Lorenzo only had eyes for Julie. She hugged him then pulled a piece of foil gum wrapper from her purse. In pantomime, she pointed to the bright foil and then mimed putting something in an envelope, then pointed to the foil again. She held her hands, fingers extended, to show an object about the size of the packet then pointed to him and to the poncho. Lorenzo looked confused then began waving his arms and ‘talking.’

  “No use. We just can’t get through.” Ben patted the old man on the arm.

  “I hate to give up. I’m not being clear,” she said. “Have you ever tried to mime a foil package?”

  “Sounds like a killer charade.”

  “Wait. Look. What do you think he’s doing now?” Julie asked.

  Lorenzo, using the tip of his cane, drew two circles in the sand. Then he carefully connected the circles with a straight line through the center.

  “Owl eyes? Glasses?” Ben stood behind Lorenzo to get a better look. Lorenzo then drew two lines, short and slanted like a V on its side on top of the first circle.

  “Handlebars. It’s a bicycle.” Julie mimed riding a bike, and it was clear that she had guessed correctly. Then, methodically, Lorenzo began tracing the same pattern on the front of his shirt.

  “Now what’s he doing?”

  “I think it’s an insignia, you know, a bike on the front of a t-shirt. Maybe a motorcycle, like a Harley-Davidson emblem, something a tourist might wear.”

  “God knows where he might have seen someone on a motorcycle. I can’t think of anyone who owns a bike in the village,” Ben said.

  “I don’t know whether this will work but it’s worth a try. Just don’t laugh.” Julie picked up a sharp pointed rock and drew a stick-figure rider on the bike. Lorenzo, who is this?” She pointed to the rider.

  Lorenzo stood quietly and then slowly put his two index fingers to the sides of his head, one above each eye poin
ted outward like tiny horns.

  “The devil?” Ben said. “The devil now rides around the country on a Harley?”

  Julie patted Lorenzo’s arm. So close, but he just didn’t stay in reality long enough to make sense. She didn’t know what she had hoped to accomplish. A ninety-six year old man would not make a good witness. But there was something about a man on a bike. A man who looked like the devil? Acted like the devil? There was no way of knowing. But it seemed safe to say that the man had upset him.

  + + +

  Bob Crenshaw was waiting for her when she got to the office. “Grab a cup of coffee and tell me how your evening went.”

  “Could have been better.” Julie pointed to the wide Band-Aid that covered the hairline crease above her eye. “Be there in a minute.”

  She grabbed her coffee mug that had BOSS—Better Off Single, Stupid—in red block letters on the side and stopped to fill it.

  “Guess you better close the door. I think this calls for a little privacy.” Bob motioned to an overstuffed chair across the desk from him and waited until she was comfortable. “Shall we start with the Band-Aid. What happened?”

  “A drunk on the reservation was driving on the wrong side of the road.”

  “You were lucky.”

  “I know.”

  “So, tell me, how did the interview go? Weren’t you seeing someone who was going to tell you something about the virus? About it being—did you use the word ‘planted’?”

  “Yes. But the witness has turned out to be, well, unreliable.”

  “Uncooperative?”

  “No. Simply unable to remember anything that might be helpful.” She didn’t want to say too much about Lorenzo. She didn’t want his name to get out and have people hound him for information, scare him to death.

  “Who is this witness?”

  “No fair, Bob. I need to protect this witness. At least, for the time being.”

  “I don’t think I need to be reminded about witness protection, Julie.”

  “Sorry, I’m just not comfortable giving the person a name just yet.” The silence felt awkward. It was tough turning down her boss, but he should know better than to ask. “What I can tell you is that this all started with a packet of pumpkin seeds.”

  “I suppose this prize witness had them?”

  “Yes. The witness found the packet and now we’re waiting for the CDC to come up with some answers.”

  “What do you expect them to find?”

  “The lab here thinks the seeds were doctored in some laboratory to give the victims, those eating them or possibly just handling them, the virus. We’re just waiting on the CDC to confirm that.”

  “Who could kill ten people?” Bob leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on the edge of the desk. “I never understood the mind of a serial killer. So, what happens next?”

  Julie ignored the reference to a serial killer. But that guess was as good as any she’d had. “Depends, of course, on the results. But I suppose the FBI will get involved.”

  “When will you hear something?”

  “In about five days.”

  “If I can help in any way, let me know.” Bob turned to pick up a pile of papers from the credenza behind his desk.

  Meeting’s over, Julie thought. Then she saw the insignia on the back of his t-shirt. A motorcycle with the Harley emblem. She could see how something like that might impress Lorenzo. But instead of assuming that’s what he saw, she should make sure. It would be an easy thing to check.

  “There is something you can do. Would you let me borrow one of your t-shirts? One like that one with a picture of a Harley on the back?”

  “What for?” Bob had grown still and peered at her, his eyes squinted almost shut. Julie was immediately sorry she had said anything. He probably thought she was passing judgement on his clothes.

  “It might help one witness, a young boy, who thought he saw someone tampering with the rodent traps. He had difficulty explaining the clothing that the man had on.” She lied. Bob continued to stare at her. God, please, don’t let me blush.

  “I suppose I could bring one tomorrow.”

  “Thanks.” Julie hoped she didn’t appear too eager to get away as she opened the office door and escaped into the hall.

  + + +

  Julie had left a message for Ben at the clinic, but when he didn’t call back, she decided to drive out to the pueblo anyway. She had the t-shirt in her purse. It was black with the Harley insignia in orange and silver. It probably wasn’t going to prove anything. But she needed to assure Lorenzo that he had communicated. Somehow that was important. If, in fact, he would even remember describing the shirt the other day. His memory seemed so unpredictable.

  She told Twila that she was going to be in the village looking for Lorenzo and to tell Ben when he came back. She left the Miata in front of the community center and walked toward the center of the village, by the church and past the plaza, then back toward the highway and stopped at the grocery store.

  “I’m looking for Lorenzo.”

  “You’re the one who gave him that blanket-coat. Ben Pecos’s girlfriend.” The elderly Anglo man behind the counter leaned forward to look at her and smiled widely enough to show a row of missing molars on the upper right.

  “Yes,” Julie laughed. There seemed to be an active grapevine in the village.

  “Well, you just missed him. He took his orange juice and went out the door not five minutes ago. Sometimes he sits on the steps for awhile, but I guess not today.”

  “Thanks.”

  Julie used the store’s high front porch as a lookout and thought she saw a bright spot of blue and gold disappear around the corner of a house about two blocks away. When she got to the spot, she almost fell over Lorenzo sitting in the shade, leaning back against the cool adobe. She squatted beside him and tugged the poncho forward so that it wouldn’t rub on his throat. He smiled and patted her arm.

  “Lorenzo, look.” She pulled the t-shirt from her purse and spread it on the ground between them. “Is this like the shirt you saw?”

  He looked at it then traced the wheels on the motorcycle with a bent finger. Julie watched him. He seemed to recognize it; he was tracing the same pattern that he had drawn on the ground. Then he put his fingers to his head to form horns and turned to look at her. Yes. That was it. He remembered or, at least, he had given consistent information twice this week.

  This next part was a long shot. Julie knelt over her purse and lifted out the heavy aluminum foil look-alike packet she had made that morning in her kitchen. Either a brilliant idea or just another dead-end, it was difficult to predict which. He would notice that it wasn’t the same, but he might tell her something about the one he had given her if she could jog his memory.

  “Lorenzo. Where did you get the packet like this one?” He probably didn’t understand a word she was saying, but he took the packet and seemed to be talking to himself. “Where?” Julie touched his arm, pointed to the packet and then pointed in a circular motion around the village.

  “Did you find it here?” Julie took the packet back and placed it under a nearby rock and mimed turning the rock over and finding it

  Lorenzo made a noise that sounded like a laugh and then shook his head. He began waving his cane then stuck the tip in the loose dirt. With one hand braced against the house and the other grasping the head of the cane, he struggled to his feet.

  He motioned with his head for her to follow him. Julie scrambled up and stayed a few steps behind as they headed along the road leading to the community center. When they got to the tribal office, Julie held the heavy door for Lorenzo to enter. Mary must have stepped out, Julie thought, as she looked around the reception area. Lorenzo had paused, too. Then quickly he lurched onward and through the door leading to the governor’s office.

  Julie saw the outline of a man hunched forward with his head on the desk. Suddenly waving his cane and shouting gibberish, Lorenzo loomed over the still figure. Johnson Yepa sprang upr
ight then stumbled to his feet. The poor man must have been asleep, the desk blotter had left a crease along his cheek.

  “What do you want?” Johnson’s speech was thick. He rubbed his eyes and blinked repeatedly as if trying to focus.

  Before Julie could answer, Lorenzo grabbed the foil packet from her hand and put it on the corner of Johnson’s desk. The gibberish now was almost deafening in the small room as he pointed triumphantly to what he had done.

  Julie wasn’t sure what happened next. Johnson Yepa started screaming, then he pointed to the packet, jumped backwards and, in his scrambling, tipped over his desk chair. The chair wobbled, then crashed heavily into the glass-fronted bookcase. Each pane burst into a thousand glittering fragments spraying the carpet with dots of light. But her attention was glued on Johnson. His back against the wall, he began to slide, his legs no longer holding him up, to sit bug-eyed and unseeing, his mouth slack, his hands pressing into broken glass.

  “What’s going on in here?” Mary stood in the doorway.

  “Get help. I think. Governor Yepa might have had a stroke.”

  Julie lifted his hands from the glass-filled carpet. His blood stained the white cuffs of his shirt and dripped onto his slacks. She extracted two large slivers from his right palm and talked reassuringly but knew that he couldn’t hear her. The paramedics arrived, stopped the bleeding and put temporary bandages on Johnson’s cuts.

  Where was Lorenzo? Gone. And so was the make-believe foil packet. She smiled. This was the second time he had taken a packet from this office. At least, she knew that much.

  She stood aside as the paramedics wheeled Johnson out. He was ashen and still in shock. He looked like he had seen a ghost. She knew many of the Tewa believed in spirits from the other world. Had Lorenzo frightened him so badly? He had been asleep. But he also had reacted to the packet. He seemed to recognize it. She was sure of it. He was surprised by Lorenzo but went into shock over the packet.