“Huh, I don’ need no magic. This Creole in my blood. That’ why I look so good. Tell me I need voodoo…”
He ate the chicken with gusto, followed by large bites of baked beans. When he felt his stomach grow taut against his belt, he slowed his pace. The chicken was all but gone and there were only a few bites of the beans left. He sighed and pushed the plate away.
Chick’s barraging voice roused him from his thoughts. “Oh no you don’, you got to finish what’s on your plate. People start tinkin’ I changed my sauce if you don’ clean your plate.”
Nathan held up his hands laughing at her serious expression. He patted his stomach. “Come on Chick, I don’t have your Creole blood. I’m not going to look as good as you, if I don’t watch what I eat.”
She stomped away, his plate in her hand, calling back over her shoulder. “Nothing wrong with a mon with some meat on his bones, make ‘im look healthy.”
Throwing a few bills onto the table that more than covered the meal and tip, Nathan grabbed his hat and started for the door. His radio squawked something about a missing dog and he picked it up to respond. One of the locals nearby snickered and elbowed his buddy. “Goddamn Nathan, that’s a hot one, you better get on it.”
He shot an amused look over his shoulder as he pushed open the door. Celebrity didn’t last long in a small town. Outside the heat radiated off the asphalt, rising up in a humid breath that wafted up his pant legs. He clicked the radio, “Loretta, you got a 10-7 on that last call?”
“435 Fourth Street.”
He paused, recognizing the address. “Where’s Daniel?”
“He’s got a 10-50 out on River Road.”
He dropped the slang. “All right Loretta, I’m coming back to the station. I’ll get this one.”
*
Elise Dupier lived in a dingy, white clapboard house with a porch in such disrepair it looked like it might slide off the front at any given moment. The only thing that distinguished the house from any other on the block were the three shiny brass numbers, displayed on the front; a regulation enforced by the post office just last year. It was sitting on cinder blocks, like every other house in the area, a necessary precaution during the rainy season. Only this year, there hadn’t been any flooding; no rain at all for that matter.
Nathan maneuvered his way up the broken steps of her front porch. He could hear the air-conditioner, mounted outside the living-room window, whining in high gear as it attempted to cool the interior. Central air in this neighborhood was a luxury most people couldn’t afford. Elise’s house, like the rest, boasted a single window unit.
She answered the door wearing a loose cotton smock. A shapeless garment, it would have been unflattering had Nathan not had intimate knowledge of the curves hidden beneath the cloth. She wore her hair back in a ponytail in attempt to stay cool, but he could see small tendrils of hair clinging to the nap of her neck where a fine mist of sweat was present in spite of the air-conditioner. She was not a beautiful woman, at least by most people’s standards, but she exuded sexuality in a way that sent women scurrying to lock up their husbands. Her movements were languid, almost intentionally slow, so as to allow a man to gaze and appreciate the view.
Nathan did so now, noticing how her dress clung to the dampness of her skin and the translucent fabric allowed him to glimpse the shape of her breasts. He felt a stirring in his groin and was reminded once again he was a man who had two heads and the smaller of the two managed to do most of the thinking.
He wondered if her report of a missing dog was only a ploy to get him out to her house. He could have taken the report over the phone, or waited for Daniel to get back from his call. Instead, here he stood watching her as she shifted her weight and leaned slightly against the door jam. As she did, the material of her dress caught and hugged her hip giving him an elusive view of the dark triangle between her legs. His mind took the path of least resistance. He visualized his hand reaching beneath the smock to find what he already knew to be true, it would not be impeded by panties.
Elise’s eyes drifted slowly over Nathan’s body, taking inventory of her affect on him. They took on a knowing look as she noted his obvious discomfort and she murmured in a husky voice, “Why don’t you come inside and cool off?”
As he crossed the threshold, she reached past him to close the door. Her hip brushed against his groin allowing him to feel the heat of her body through the flimsy cloth of her smock. Nathan released a small moan of defeat, and before Elise could move away from the door he had her pinned against its surface, his hands acting out the thoughts in his mind of only a few minutes before. His fingers touched lightly between her legs, he was right, no panties.
This time Elise moaned. Nathan felt her hands scrambling at his belt in response to his touch as she struggled to release him from the confines of his clothing. First he felt the coolness of the air followed by the heat of her smooth hands. Elise gripped him gently, acting as a guide. He hesitated a moment savoring the sensation, then with one deep stroke, he was inside her. Like an animal mounting its mate, he thrust with vengeance and with only one intention, self-gratification.
Oblivious to anything aside from the mounting pressure and the warmth of Elise wrapped around him, he didn’t hear the small voice until the timid call was repeated again. The small voice came again, calling out, “Ma, Ma?”
He slowed his pace, whispering furiously. “Damn it Elise, why didn’t you tell me she was here?”
In a terse voice, she called out to the shadows, “Wait in your room honey, I’ll be right there.”
Frustrated, he tried to pull away but in a husky voice Elise ordered him to finish. God help him, but he did. Not knowing if her daughter stood in the shadows watching, he pushed himself into her, until he felt a surge come up from the soles of his feet and explode through him. Panting, they collapsed together against the door.
She pulled away first, laughing at her own wickedness then whispered, “You go clean yourself up, I’ll tend to Angelina.”
Stepping into the tiny bathroom, he cursed himself for his stupidity and his weakness. Elise was not a complication he needed in his life. Damn it, she was like a lioness laying in wait for him. He should have known better than to come here alone; hell he should have just sent Daniel.
Logic was easy in the aftermath, but the sly voice of truth taunted him: Who are you trying to fool Nathan? If she’s a lioness then you’re the gazelle that wanted to be devoured. He splashed water on his face, trying to come to terms with the man in the mirror who seemed to be wearing a satisfied smile and the man in his heart who felt he was weak and a coward.
Angelina was sitting at the kitchen table, dunking a cookie into a cup of milk when he walked into the room. She squealed in delight when she saw him, dropped her cookie, and ran into his embrace. “Nathan!”
He swung her up into his arms and spun her around. There was a slight pang at the memory of his own daughter but he pushed it away. He looked at the girl who could have easily passed for an angel, with her white-blond hair and large blue eyes. In contrast to the lightness of her hair and her eyes, her skin looked like it had been stroked with a cinnamon stick. Nathan knew very little about Angelina’s father, only he had skipped out on Elise when he discovered she was pregnant.
If Nathan were a betting man, he’d lay odds the father had a little color in his lineage. He stroked Angelina’s arm, tenderly. He had never seen skin like this before on anyone.
Now those blue eyes were as wide as saucers and filled with earnest. “Nathan, did you come to catch the boogeyman?”
He glanced between Elise and the little girl in his arms. “Now just who is this boogeyman you’re talking about?”
“He’s the man who stole Samson.”
He nodded knowingly then whispered in a confidential way. “Well young lady, you have my word the boogeyman won’t be bothering you anymore because Nathan Singer’s on the job, and I’m the best boogeyman catcher in the world. Now eat your cookies before I
do.” Giggling, Angelina snatched up her cookie before Nathan could grab it.
Elise watched them as they talked, noting how at ease he was with the child. She felt a slight twinge of jealousy, sensing his tenderness did not extend to her. “I’ve made some iced tea Nathan, drink a glass before you head back out into the heat.”
He took the glass with appreciation, tasting its coolness. It wasn’t as good as Chick’s down at the diner, but it was still refreshing. After a long drink, he set the glass down and pulled out a note pad turning his full attention to Elise. “All right, when was the last time you saw Samson?”
She thought about it for a moment then said, “I guess it must have been Saturday. Samson sometimes tends to stray. You know how male dogs can be when they catch a scent of something they want.” Sipping her tea, Elise hid a smile behind her glass.
With the slightest nod of his head, Nathan acknowledged the jab and asked another question. “Saturday, that was four days ago. Any neighbors see him?”
Elise shook her head.
*
Nathan was backing down Elise’s driveway when he saw his deputy’s car coming up the street. He felt his face flush at the thought of Daniel catching him with his sister. There were no secrets in Reserve. He and Daniel might not discuss the relationship but it was unlikely Daniel was unaware of its existence. Most of his guilt stemmed from the obvious nature of his relationship with Elise. They didn’t exactly go out to catch a movie, or go around town together.
As the patrol car pulled abreast of his truck, Nathan thought he caught a flash of raw emotion cross Daniel’s face. Jealousy? For a brief moment Daniel’s face had the look of a cuckolded husband who’s come home early to find his wife doing the delivery man.
Daniel rolled down his window. “Afternoon Sheriff, you back on active duty?”
Whatever emotion Nathan thought he saw through the window was gone. Daniel’s face seemed open and genuine.
Nathan waved his hand back the way he’d come. “Not exactly. Elise phoned in a missing dog report. Just thought I’d come check it out, make sure she and Angelina were doing all right.” He added a bit defensively, “You were on another call.”
“Samson will show up, he always does.” Daniel’s jawbone was as tight as a drum.
Out of habit, Nathan reached out and thumped the side of his truck. It was as hot as a stovetop. He jerked his hand back inside the window, cleared his throat and said, “Daniel, I was thinking about asking Elise out to the movies sometime. You mind?”
Daniel barked out a laugh. “Damn Nathan, the woman is almost thirty, she has a child out of wedlock, I imagine she can do anything she wants without my permission.”
“You sure? I don’t want any bad blood between us,” and I don’t believe for a second you’re all right with this.
“Come on Nathan, I’m not your priest, if you want absolution from your guilt, go to church on Sunday.”
Nathan could see Daniel’s lips moving, he could even hear the words falling casually into the hot afternoon air, but when the two men locked eyes he felt a jolt of dry electricity, a spark of two wires crossing, and then the sound of one voice layered over another. It was like someone was thumbing the knob on an old CB trying to pick up a conversation through the static.
She’s a bitch in heat Nathan, any dog will do. And I do mean any dog. You should introduce her to that bloodhound of yours, I’m sure you’d be in for the surprise of your life… might even enjoy it, too.
Nathan jerked away.
Daniel was snapping his fingers. “Hey, where’d you go off to?”
“What did you just say to me?”
I said, if you want to ask Elise out, go for it, I think she’d like that.” A small smile lingered on Daniel’s face.
Some things you can’t lay your finger on, some things you can’t prove, not with words anyway. You just know. You know because your heart is beating a little faster, and your balls have tucked themselves up real tight against your ass and you can feel a cold sweat sliding down your back.
Nathan’s shirt was clinging to the vinyl of his seat when he pulled away. He couldn’t explain what he saw in Daniel’s eyes, couldn’t explain what he thought he heard, but for the first time since the heat index had crested over the 100 mark, Nathan felt a cold chill run through his body.
Chapter Ten
Junction, Texas
Suzy’s father was a drunk. He was not the town drunk, but on special days he was a close contender for the title. On the morning of June 16th, Murphy awoke from an alcohol induced slumber to the sound of someone blasting on a horn. It wasn’t a polite, “tap, tap, could you please move out of the way.” Someone, just outside his window, was pressing against the horn hard enough to come away with the insignia indented into their palm.
He squinted at the clock. “Jesus, can you believe this shit?” It was 8:00 a.m. Still dressed in the clothes he had worn the day before, he rolled out of bed, placed his foot in a box of half eaten pizza and slid the rest of the way to the floor. Swearing as he went, “Shit! Fuck! Shit”
The horn blared again.
He got up, wiped a piece of peperoni off the bottom of his foot and looked out the window. A baby blue pick-up truck was sitting in the driveway behind his own much smaller, crapier truck. That baby blue wouldn’t fly if it weren’t for the Micky-Thompson thirty-three’s and the six inch suspension lift that went with it. It was Rod Sawyer.
Grinning behind the windshield, Rodney blasted the horn again.
Murphy flipped him the bird and dropped the curtain.
Junction was like a furnace with temperatures over 100 and Rod Sawyer wanted to go hunting. In Murphy’s opinion getting up early and the required sobriety were two good reasons to avoid the sport. He pulled his boots on with shaking hands, rummaged through a pile of dirty laundry and found his hunting vest.
The house was a wreck. There was a large hole in one of the walls, furniture was turned over and beer cans littered the floor. Suzy was sitting at the small kitchen table, eating a bowl of cereal, watching the little black and white TV propped on the counter. She glanced over briefly when her dad walked in and said, “You look like shit,” then stuffed another bite of cereal in her mouth.
With little conviction and less authority, he mumbled, “Watch your mouth.” Seeing an unopened can of Lone Star beer on the counter he walked past her, popped the can open and drained the warm fluid.
Suzy, long past the years of disgust but still struggling with disbelief, shook her head. “Rodney’s outside.”
“The fuck you say.” Murph raised his dark eyebrows feighning disbelief. “Is that who’s been blaring on his horn all morning?”
With a roll of her eyes, Suzy stiffened her shoulders and Murphy knew he was dismissed. Teenagers, they were so sensitive. He opened a cabinet and pulled out a jar of Tylenol. He popped three in his mouth, grabbed a half empty bottle of beer and washed them down. Wincing at the taste, he looked at the bottle wondering breifly who in the hell had brought Corona to his party. Murphy preferred his beer canned and he definitly didn’t buy yuppy, shit beer. Just the same, he finished the bottle and tossed the empty into the trash.
Unable to keep her silence, Suzy taunted. “I think there’s a few more unfinished cans over here.”
Ignoring her jab he asked. “Have you seen my hunting cap?”
Undeterred, she gestured to the cans littering the counter space and the table. “I could gather them all together, I bet we could get at least one full glass.”
He grabbed a black hat with the San Antonio Spurs logo stitched across the front and headed for the front of the house. “I’m going hunting.”
Suzy yelled at his back. “Come on DAD, how about one more for the road!”
The front door closed.
The thick heat surprised him. It was like an oven. He took a couple of shallow breaths and felt the onset of a hell of a bender coming his way. Walking to the other side of his truck he retrieved a pistol out of the glov
e box, rummaged around and found a dozen loose shells. He put the shells in the pocket of his vest and grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniels from under the seat.
Rodney was leaning back in his seat with the bill of his fluorescent orange cap resting over his eyes. Murphy thumped the hood of the truck and startled him. He wished he had a fucking air-horn to really deliver a dose of justice. Climbing into the cab he caught sight of Rodney’s crossbow lying in the bed of the truck. He raised a doubtful eyebrow. Javelina were fast and mean and didn’t tend to hang out long enough to be picked off by a bow.
Hunting season didn’t officially open in Kimble County until the first week of November, but Rodney had gotten it up his ass he needed to shoot something. The two men had a friend who owned a beautiful stretch of land up by the North Llano River. It was good hunting, and for a twelve-pack of beer, Doug Pellier would let them stomp around out there all day. Murphy preferred hunting turkey or white tail, but javelina could be had year ’round and in a pinch they offered a challenging hunt. The small, pig-like animal could leave a trail for miles only to disappear around the next ridge. That disappearing act had earned them the name, desert ghosts.
By 9:30 a.m. the sun was a burning white orb in a cloudless sky and Murphy Jobes and Rod Sawyer had hiked a good way out on Pellier’s land. They walked for the most part on the upper bank of the North Llano River until they caught sight of a set of tracks headed down the bank. From there, the tracks cut across the muddy river bottom and continued upriver. The muddy crossing point scared the shit out of Murphy. He had lived his whole life in Kimble County and he’d never seen the Llano go dry. “Bad shit coming,” he mumbled, leaving his boot prints along the muddy bottom.
The mud along the banks of the Llano made tracking the javelina easier. They followed a set of tracks through the mud for a half a mile, until they disappeared into the high grasses above the bank.
Exhausted from the heat, Murphy stopped. “We’ve lost the trail. Let’s take a break.” Rod nodded his assent and pointed at two live oaks whose limbs had become intertwined over the years. The two men climbed the bank and settled themselves in the shade of the twisted trees.
The Drought Page 8