Dixie slowly turned from the savaged doorway, to see Chandler pushing her mom before him with her hands bound tightly behind her back. He guided her around the hen clock on the floor, the battery compartment’s cover missing and the Duracell lost under the table somewhere.
“You’re still taking her in after all this?” Dixie asked incredulously.
“I am sworn to execute the warrants of the Commonwealth,” stated Chandler in his solemn duty voice he used on television.
He knelt to retrieve the shotgun he’d tossed aside before starting CPR, and turned off its light. He also found his helmet, and put it on for no other reason probably than to free up a hand. Then Chandler leaned over a final time retrieving the ram. Dixie met her mother’s teary eyes while the equipment was being gathered.
“Dixie, you just forget about me and Dad. We made our choices. This is your place now. Sorry it’s such a mess. Don’t waste your future on us,” the final word cut short as he pushed her in the back toward the stairs.
“Was that really necessary?” challenged Dixie.
“You are requested not to interfere with law enforcement while they are performing their official duties,” said Chandler in passing. “Please stay out of the apartment until investigators release it. Interfering with an active investigation or destroying evidence is a serious matter and carries criminal penalties. Do I make myself clear?”
Dixie stepped out onto the landing, and watched as he guided Mom in the handcuffs through the backdoor to be paraded amongst the kitchen staff and customers. She thought the sheriff was gone, but he reappeared back through the diner’s rear door a few minutes later when blue flashing lights reflected off the asphalt and the motel’s white siding. The state police cruiser had “Crime Scene” on its front fender. She darted down the steps without looking further at either and entered the diner’s kitchen.
All the time around the sheriff’s office and the fire department taught her that immediate leadership in time of crisis was essential. You didn’t have to be perfect, but you had to show up.
“Rachel? Jesus? Carlos?” Dixie called out for waitress, cook and dishwasher.
They gathered around and after validating there were only a couple of patrons at this late hour and Rachel could be spared a few minutes, Dixie rapidly got down to business.
“Mom and Dad were arrested a little bit ago. I’m sure you saw,” began Dixie. “My dad was taken away in an ambulance. That’s all I know. I don’t know what the charges are and I haven’t talked to a doctor yet. But I will keep you posted as I learn more. I’m hiding nothing.”
Rachel’s eyes teared up, and Jesus and Carlos stared impassively.
“First, I want you to know I’m running things and we are open. Everyone’s shifts are to proceed as scheduled,” she nodded her head slightly for emphasis.
Jesus and Carlos both looked at each other and exhaled. Jobs weren’t an easy thing to come by in Lowland County.
“Second, there will have to be some changes. I don’t know what they are yet, but we have to be better to stay in business. I’ll be appreciative of your ideas if you have any.”
Jesus raised a hand slightly and Dixie nodded. His accent was a little thick so Dixie had to concentrate hard on his words to understand him.
“Well, it’s just that everyone has a different shorthand or a way of saying things. Some say eggs over easy, some say over light. They abbreviate differently. Some write really small. Sometimes I misread what they say and I got to do the order over.”
Dixie nodded for him to continue.
“My niece, she put together this check form with all the things we make. If the ladies can use that, I won’t mess up as often. The form is kind of big. Comes off her computer at school. You would need a clip board. But if it works we can maybe make it smaller and get better at it.”
Dixie thought a moment and said, “We have some clipboards we use when we’re doing inventory. Rachel, what do you think?”
“I’m not wild about carrying anything bigger than my pad. But tips are sure a lot better when their order is right. I’m willing to try it. I think the other girls will too.”
“Just for two weeks,” promised Dixie, “and then we can all decide whether we keep doing it or make some improvement to it. What else?”
Rachel jumped in, “I’ve got one. Those drivers at the back of the lot,” she said shifting her eyes for emphasis. “They often stop here for other things and don’t make it inside. Either the walk is too long or they’re embarrassed. But we don’t get a sale. My boyfriend fixes up old vending machines. What if we put some back there with those little low liquid energy drink bottles and slim jims? Neither of those needs refrigeration, the drivers love ‘em, and he’s got some machines in the warehouse that don’t need electricity.”
“Tell him to think about a test proposal we can try out for a month. Any other?” she asked looking around. “Okay, we’ll talk more about it later and we’re going to talk on it regularly. We won’t be able to try everything, but I want to keep a dialogue going. And with that, I think I’m going to order something to eat in my own diner. I sure as hell can’t sleep.”
They all gave her supportive smiles as she made her way out front to sit in one of the booths. But as she got out there, she changed her mind and grabbed a small pad of paper from behind the counter instead. It had been quite a while since she had eaten in her own diner. Eaten as a customer instead of an owner, anyway. Dixie walked out the front door with her pad and stood a moment to clear her mind. I’m going to look at everything with a fresh set of eyes she told herself, and write it all down so I don’t forget.
Then she turned back around as a customer.
CHAPTER—30
Kelton shivered and violently exhaled through his nose to try and clear the drowning mucous away. It wasn’t a terribly cold spring night, according to the thermometer anyway, but his clothes were wet and his stomach was empty. He knew most cases of hypothermia, where the body was losing heat faster than it could produce it leading to a lethal result, didn’t actually happen in harsh wintry weather. They generally occurred when temperatures were in the forties, sneaking up on unsuspecting people over the course of hours. His years of training wouldn’t allow it to sneak up on him. Kelton could see it coming, even before the trimmers began in his body. The question was more, practically, could he do anything about it?
He’d gotten blood on himself everywhere while recovering his bullet stuck in the biker’s spine. The worst had been along his hands and forearms, a thick red painting that rapidly became sticky. Everything he touched spread the evidence, from the bag of money, his knife, to the backpack he didn’t dare leave behind at the scene while he cleaned himself up. Even a small drop, if he was apprehended, would seal his fate and that of his dog’s.
The best he could do was find a stream and plunge in. Doris had made it clear she wouldn’t rent a room to him, and even if she would he couldn’t check-in covered in gore like a horror movie extra to spread DNA all over the floor and walls. There simply wasn’t a hot shower and laundromat option. So plunge in he did, laying prone to completely submerge himself in the chilly running water to clean his body as well as his clothes and equipment. He grabbed handfuls of sandy pebbles using them to scour until he felt clean enough to open a backpack pocket for the laundry soap, baking soda and his washcloth.
He reckoned it was far from sufficient. A detailed cleaning would have to wait until he had light to see, hot water, and the time to scrub every nook and cranny. But it was a vast improvement, albeit at a high cost. Nothing he owned remained dry, the wet fabric rubbing his thighs, his shoulders under the pack’s straps, and his hips as he made hasty strides back toward town.
Kelton considered stopping and making a small fire. A hot drink would go a long way to restoring his constitution. Dicing up green pine needles and adding to boiling water made tea rich in vitamin C. But there wasn’t time for that. Azalea Estates Lane must be nearly twenty miles from where the ca
sh had been stashed he thought. And he had to cover that distance carrying equipment and in the dark. Shep wasn’t a man to be kept waiting. Deals were time bound, and things were working out very differently than what they had talked about. So he pressed on rather than stop for his comfort.
He didn’t make bad time, all things considered. The roads pretty much went the way he needed to go, there being no advantage to fighting through briars or climbing over cattle fences cutting cross country. The hour was also late on the rural roads, and he didn’t have to jump to the side much to hide from potential witnesses. Kelton knew that with a dead deputy amongst the bodies, the search net would be cast wide and with fervor. He didn’t want to be this unusual man seen with a backpack walking his dog. The sheriff would put that one together.
Kelton never considered making his way back to the abandoned motorcycles. Azrael couldn’t ride on one, and he didn’t have the faintest idea how to drive one. He could barely ride a child’s bicycle. Backtracking Buck and Rebel may have led to a car or truck, but there was a good chance it was the deputy’s patrol car. He certainly wouldn’t be able to keep a low profile in that and would have wound up going west when he wanted to go south for nothing. So he walked the dark roads at the ranger quick step, trying to fight his chills with activity.
The protein bars went quickly. With his weight and the pack, hiking on the rolling road, he was burning nearly 800 calories per hour. The bars were under 200 calories apiece. He’d had that burger at Shep’s for a late lunch before they left, but that was getting to be a long time and a long walk ago even before the gun battle had happened. His stomach gurgled and he tightened the waist belt of his pack.
By the time Thigpen Road led him to the outskirts of St. Albans it was well after midnight. Maybe just a few hours until dawn. He rested his hands on his hips breathing hard and peered up at the flashing red light hanging on its cable over the road. Even Azrael lay down with the pause, his chest heaving, but the dog’s eyes were bright and his ears were up. Damned Belgian Malinois, he thought. March them into the ground and they’re like, hey can we do it again tomorrow, Dad? Please, huh, huh, huh?
His head turned toward town, looking down Main Street, but Kelton couldn’t distinguish individual shops from that distance. It was a good example of an artist’s one-point perspective where the buildings on each side of the street seem to shrink and converge into a single spot. Dixie’s house, Mr. Butler’s shop, etc. were indistinguishable. But it didn’t matter because all were dark. There was no money for hot food commerce to be had in that direction until morning.
Kelton looked at the truck stop, its bright lights forming an arching orange halo that made the stars overhead disappear. They taunted him, his mind recalling Doris and her righteousness. He’d just assume take his business elsewhere. She had certainly done him no favors despite his best efforts to help her daughter. But there was nowhere else. At least not for several more hours and he couldn’t wait. He didn’t just need to get to the Outlaw Saloon. He needed to get there prepared to fight in case the deal with Shep wasn’t still amendable. And Doris would likely be sleeping this time of night, giving him a chance to slip in and out unnoticed. Kelton decided to go for it.
He cut diagonally across the intersection. He’d already shot a law enforcement officer so what was a little jay-walking? A few big trucks were parked, dark and quiet, drivers either taking a snooze or getting a meal. A rusty El Camino pulled out from the gas pumps and headed toward the interstate. Kelton looked through the glass windows of the diner and saw patrons were sparse with no sign of Doris. Then he saw Dixie, alone at a booth way back by the soda coolers. She was looking at papers on the table intently.
It made him hesitate in reconsideration, but he needed hot food. Baylee Ann and Bambi needed him. He’d make the Johnson’s tell him no again. He didn’t try a stealth entrance, slipping in quietly and taking the first booth so Azrael could sneak underneath. What was the use? His dirty clothes and backpack, as well as notoriety the last couple of days, made that pointless. Kelton swung the door wide, marched down the tile floor with his dog at the heel, and sat down opposite a wide-eyed Dixie and her open notebook.
“What the hell happened to you?” she said with twisted lips.
Her makeup was far from flawless, he saw. He couldn’t help but notice the abrasions, runny mascara, smudges and redness surrounding her eyes. Hard, determined eyes, which had a special spark to them, glowing like a coal fire’s embers. Kelton took a few seconds to take it in.
“Let’s maybe start with you instead,” he offered.
She didn’t hesitate at all, with a voice clear and forceful.
“This is my place now. Daddy’s dead and Mom’s arrested,” explained Dixie and then yelled toward Rachel, “Hey Girl, get this man our farmer’s breakfast!”
Rachel didn’t bother them with the usual questions about how things should be cooked and adding cheese; she remembered him. Kelton fed his dog soggy kibble beside the table in the single bowl he carried. He felt bad about that, but it was what it was. Dixie then told him about Sheriff Fouche breaking the door of the family apartment down with a no knock warrant and dragging her parents away.
“So it’s my place now, and I’m going to run it the best I can, unburdened by medical bills or a mortgage on Main Street.”
“How are you holding up with your mom’s predicament?” he asked with some sympathy in his voice while pouring syrup over his steaming pancakes.
“I’m fine and I hate her,” Dixie declared.
Kelton slammed his head back against the booth.
“People make mistakes, but I know she loved you. It wasn’t the epitome of selfishness and evil. You should consider forgiving her,” Kelton encouraged as he put down his fork in surrender to the hash browns and bacon.
“It will take a lot of time for that. And even as crazy as it’s all been, I never thought that you’d be back here in the mix. And so disheveled, too. Like a drowned rat that Patsy dragged in. What’s kept you in little St. Albans and Lowland County?”
“Your friends from the pit are in trouble again, although I’m not sure you really care. After you were freed and before I got there, Rebel gave Bambi to this bad biker dude named Shep Primrose.”
“I know who he is. He worked down at the track when I was in middle school. Doing emergency motorbike repairs and such.”
“Well anyway, Baylee Ann went down to Shep’s place to get her friend, and he decided to take her too. I want to try and help them out.”
“Actually, I do care. I don’t hate my mom for winding up in jail. I forgive her for taking part in the drugs. I hate that she whored me out,” said Dixie who covered her face with her hands for a moment to hide a sniffle. “Growing up, she was always telling me how I was different and better than those girls out there,” she said gesturing to the back of the lot. “How she’d look down her noses at them like this truck stop was high society.
I carried that attitude with me all through life. I left those two girls down in that pit when Buck picked me up. Didn’t say a word, because they were nothing but used up lot lizards who reaped what they sowed. I was the one who didn’t belong down there. I was better than they were.
Then my own mother treated me like a prostitute. Sent me to your room. It wasn’t all her fault. I’m not thirteen anymore. I knew what I was doing. She wasn’t some pimp, giving me a black eye. But she was the one who suggested it and I went with it. I’m not any different from them. I was just lucky enough to be born to parents who owned a business instead of a pair of alcoholics.
Those teen girls out there, they got to own their choices. But I can give them some choices to make. I need cleaners and dishwashers. I need waitresses. Maybe I can get some social program grants to support it. Perhaps I can get donation boxes for people to help out. But somehow I’m going to make that work.
Bambi was good to me in the pit, and I let her and Baylee Ann down. I’m not letting them down again. What do you need from me?”
She looked intently at him, with pleading eyes seeking atonement. Kelton felt something for her, regretting turning her down back in the motel room. But then, that hadn’t been the same girl who was now sitting in front of him. Dixie was far from perfect, but had been blessed with an epiphany that put her on a whole new path with life.
“I need a ride. I’ve covered a lot of miles today, but I need to get down to Azalea Estates Lane. Drop me off, and then get clear. I don’t want you involved or getting hurt in some way. It’s likely to be an ugly scene.”
She nodded, “My car’s around back. What direction do you want to arrive from?”
Kelton thought about that for a few hard seconds, remembering Shep’s office and looking out the window at the interstate.
“Let’s take Thigpen Road down. It’s not as fast, but they won’t see us coming. Good question, Miss Dixie.”
Out back, Kelton saw the yellow and black police line tape on the stairs awaiting detectives in the morning. It wasn’t just the door hanging on the single hinge astounding him; the whole door frame had crumpled under the blow to lose its rectangular shape. They got in the car, Azrael entering first and squeezing between the bucket seats to the back. Kelton noted the clean interior despite the car’s age, and felt bad for the ever shedding dog hairs floating in Azrael’s wake.
“Do you want to drive?” said Dixie extending the keys.
He shook his head as his body cringed like a vampire exposed to crucifix, “No, that’s okay. It’s your car.”
“Buck always had to drive. He’s an asshole. I hope I never see him again,” she declared fastening her seatbelt.
Kelton decided it was best to hold his tongue on Buck. He didn’t want to be accused of lying or holding out later, but it wasn’t relevant right now. And being sidetracked by emotional drama was not going to help anyone. And, Dixie was right. The guy had been an asshole who shot at his dog.
In a few minutes they were barreling south on Thigpen Road. Dixie had been a race fan in school, and no one in this town was ever going to give her a ticket.
K-9 Outlaw: A Kelton Jager Adventure Book 1 Page 26