by Brian Gore
In response, Karen watched the two, unknown men behind them, repeat the gesture.
Ben lowered his hand but remained standing, watching these men he didn't know, as they watched him, unspeaking. Unknown, but with whom he felt a strong kinship. It was as if the knowledge of who and what they were, had been transmitted to him by some sort of telepathy.
Slowly, he raised his hand again, this time, in a high five, a wave of good bye. Again, the unknown men repeated the gesture as Ben turned, and limped back to the car.
He got in quietly, put the battered car in gear, and slowly drove away.
Some minutes later, as they drove at a much slower pace through the forest lands, Karen looked at her father, and saw the tears running down his cheeks. Softly, yet with her head still spinning and her heart still pounding, she reached over and took his bloody hand. "Daddy? Who were they?"
"It's a mystery baby girl. I haven't the slightest idea. They just came out of nowhere and happened to be in the right place, at the right time for a girl and a little boy." And the tears streamed down his cheeks.
One more time his answer left her with more questions than answers. Confused, she asked him; "I'm a girl... but... you aren't a little boy... are you... are you... crying for them? The girl and the little boy?"
"Nah, Darlin'... I'm cryin' for a bunch of other boys... I should have cried for a long damn time ago."
His answer only left Karen with yet more questions.
They rolled on silently for many miles. Karen felt her father's need for quiet, and though the questions piled up in her mind, she remained silent. The questions could wait. At least for now.
The flames she'd seen his eyes, had dwindled into nothingness and vanished. Something else had descended into them now. When he occasionally looked over at her, as he drove the back roads, she saw glimpses of a look that she could only describe as melancholy fatigue. He reached out frequently, silently, and covered her hand with his bloody one.
Finally, with a couple of false starts, he found their way through a network of forest roads, back to the pavement. He sat there, without speaking for several minutes, the car just idling, Ben, looking one way up the road, then, back down the other.
"What's wrong Dad?" She asked quietly.
"This ain't over yet Karen. The State Police have questions. There's another mess back there for them to ask questions about." Ben jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. "and, I sure as hell can't go into their office looking like this!" he laughed, looking down at his bloody shirt.
"I need to get you home, you'll be safe now, but, I sure as hell don't want to take this car any closer to Helena than I have to. I've got to clean things up, and get my story lined out before I go plead ignorance to the Law Dogs... Just sittin' here, tryin' to brain it all out... what I should do... before I go to makin' any more moves... and I'm so damn tired."
"But!" he tried hard to shake off the melancholy that had invaded his thoughts. "The first thing I got to do is get you home, and clear of me!"
"That's easy. Just get me to a phone!" She smiled at him.
"Huh? A phone?
"Yes Dad. A phone. You know, one of those little boxes with the buttons on it? I gave you one to keep in your pocket? You take it out and push the buttons. Then the box lights up and you can talk to people miles away?" she made motions of dialing a cell phone with her hands.
"I know what a phone is! What are you gonna do with that?" his fatigue and recent events were blurring his mind.
"Because, you didn't let me get mine back from that man when you came and got me!" then, very slowly, as if she was talking to a person who was just a little slow, "and I need ... a ... phone... to ... call... Kevin."
"Kevin? Who's Kevin?" Ben asked.
"OK Dad, try to keep up. Kevin! The man I've just about been living with for the past six months!"
"Living with? Wha... you never... when...? Ben sputtered.
"I give up! Maybe if you stay sober long enough this time you'll remember his name the next time I introduce you to him!" Karen exclaimed. "Just get me to a phone and he'll come get me!
"I'm not too sure that getting a boyfriend, I don't know, mixed up in this is a good idea. I..."
"Don't!" She said, her voice rising, a tad, "Go there! Father. Kevin is a good man. He loves me. I trust him. Get... me... to... a ... phone."
The tone he heard in her voice was an echo of her Mother. With his hands on the wheel, Ben's head drooped, his chin to his chest, and his eyes closed for just seconds. Ellen's face floated across his mind, softly smiling, her eyebrows raised. Without a word he knew he'd already lost the argument.
Ben up looked at his Daughter with an easy smile seeing her Mother in her eyes. "Ah! A phone! No problem. He reached in his pocket and pulled out the throw down. If it works out here anyway!"
"That's not the phone I gave you!" Karen declared.
"Nope... about that... uh... we'll talk later... Looks like this thing has some signal, so give it a crank and see what happens." Ben handed her the cell.
Chapter 34
Ben had driven west to the town of Avon and left Karen at a convenience store gas station to wait for Kevin to come gather her up. When they pulled in, Ben had stayed in the car, while Karen had gotten out and fueled the car for him, with cash that he gave her. They hoped to reduce the possibility that anyone recognized him or witnessed his bloody clothing.
Then not wanting to highlight that he was leaving her here, she'd walked back inside to get a soda for her wait. Once she was inside, he drove slowly away from the pumps.
He drove northwest for thirty miles or so to the intersection with Highway 200 and cut back North east, bound for Choteau. Twenty miles or so up that road he turned off on another forest road, and followed it back to where a track cut back into the trees toward a creek. Sited next to the creek, as expected he found the remains of a fire ring where campers had roasted their marshmallows over the years.
Ben popped the trunk again and got out. Working quickly, he pulled his kit out of his gearbag and stripped off his bloody clothing. He piled every stitch even his shoes, in the fire ring, covered it all with a goodly pile of kindling and pinecones, and lit it off.
Then, as the fire burned he stepped into the creek with the soap and nail brush from his kit, and scrubbed until his skin was raw. Satisfied that no form of evidence remained, he went back to his gear bag and dressed in fresh clothes from the skin up, and pulled on his boots.
The fire had not yet consumed all the clothing so he piled on some more small sticks and pine cones. As he stood watching the flames a thought crossed his mind. He took the K-bar he'd dropped into the trunk and threw it, sheath and all into the flames.
The pistol he removed, threw the nylon holster into the flames and went to work on the trunk lid, breaking down the gun. He limped a few steps and lay the frame on a large boulder. Then, took a large, heavy rock and repeatedly smashed the frame, until he could find no recognizable markings or numbers.
He did the same with the slide and the barrel. Pounding on them with the heavy rock until any traceable markings, letters or numbers had been smashed, and scarred, into unrecoverable oblivion.
He walked a hundred yards up the creek and threw the frame into the center of the stream. In a few days that piece of steel would be nothing but a chunk of rust.
Ben walked back and stirred the fire with a stick until it was out and the ashes all dispersed. He flipped the remains of the K-bar out onto the ground, its leather rings burned away. Using another stick as a pincer, he picked the ruined blade up and flipped it into the creek as well.
With the barrel and slide on the passenger seat beside him, he drove back to the pavement, and continued north.
Twenty miles or so up the road, he pulled to the shoulder, and the ruined slide sailed out the window into another deep creek. The barrel he consigned to the Sun River near Simms.
He drove slow, but not too slow. He drove careful, aware of the condition of the car, and want
ing to attract zero attention from police.
It was after noon when he pulled into the yard at the lodge, west of Choteau.
Amanda didn't hear the car. She'd been sitting at the dining room table with a cup of coffee, lost in her agonizing over what she should do now. What she could do, now that she'd surely gotten Ben killed. Her phone had sat eerily, terrifyingly, silent since the last words he'd spoken to her, with a hushed urgency.
Timmy sat in a chair at the table, quietly coloring in the book she'd bought him. He knew his Momma was worried and feeling bad. He wasn't sure why. He thought it had something to do with Ben, but he didn't know. He'd asked, but she wouldn't say. What he knew was his Momma had been very quiet since Ben had left. All Timmy could do was be very quiet too.
Startled and alarmed when the sound of tires finally broke into her thoughts, crunching on the gravel as the car pulled up close to the porch, she jumped up and ran toward the window, fear clutching at her throat. She hadn't heard it coming up the road. Lost in her thoughts, she'd not heard it when he turned into the driveway. Her only thought; "Oh God, he found us!"
Then A.H. started the strangest moaning and howling she'd heard him make yet, and her fear grew. "My God! Just like Ben said, They're killing him!"
Her breath caught and she almost fainted, when she looked out. Either Ben Jensen was climbing out of the car and trying to limp toward the steps, under the rearing, slobbering assault of the huge dog...or his ghost was!
She ran to door and tore at the knob. The door smashed against the wall as she flung it wide. When it hit she was already outside, across the porch and had tackled Ben as he put his foot up on the first step.
He lay on his back on the ground, the wind knocked out of him. A wildly sobbing Amanda lay on top of him, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck, as A.H. scrambled on top of them both.
Ben looked up trying to see over the shoulder of the sobbing, crazy woman, lying on top of him, and around the slobbering dog. Timmy, grinning ear to ear, stood up on the porch, holding a crayon in one hand and a picture in the other.
The picture was a Man in a cowboy hat, holding the hand of a little boy in one hand, and his Momma's in the other... Under a Wide Montana sky.
Chapter 35
Ben and Amanda sat at the table, in the early dawn, sipping coffee. His first night back was more stunning and confusing to him than his last night before leaving.
They sat quiet for a long time. They'd not spent much time talking last night either he reflected, a soft smile creasing his face.
Finally, softly he spoke. "This ain't over yet. I've still got to deal with the cops. Dead Jamaicans littering Montana is gonna have 'em stirred up for sure."
"Yeah Ben. I'd think so." she softly replied.
"The news is comforting though" he laughed. "Only says a person of interest, not 'Wanted For' " he continued, making the gesture of a Headline with his hands.
"But, here's the thing Amanda, your car out there?" he punched a thumb at the battered red Saturn still sitting by the porch. "I'm pretty sure if they've got enough time, they can find enough evidence in and on it to use to tie me to both places."
"So? Get rid of it, dump the car Ben." Amanda returned.
"Good. That's really what I need to do" he replied. "It's your car though, just didn't want to..."
"Oh shut up!" She exclaimed. "Like I'd throw you to the cops to protect my precious Junker? Seriously?" She shot him a look that carried the hint of just a little exasperation.
Ben just looked back at her over his coffee cup with a smile. Grinning at her he said; "Well gal, a fella never really knows for sure what a woman's thinking"
"I've got a good idea where I can 'dump' your, Junker" Ben said.
"I've packed all these mountains around here" he made a circle gesture with his hand as he spoke. "The whole area is laced with old, abandoned mines. I've got one in mind that would be just about a perfect fit. I'll take it up there this morning."
He hesitated, started to say something, and then just raised his cup to his lips again.
"What Ben? You were going to say something else? What?" Apprehension of what she knew was coming filled her mind, giving her a faint, nauseous, weak feeling.
"Yeah... something else..." Ben pondered his words.
"Waiting isn't going to help me" he said. "Just as soon as I deal with the car, I'm going to head down to Helena... and take the 'bull by the horns' you might say."
"Yes... I thought you'd say that... Ben... It scares me. I don't trust the police, any more than just about anyone else." Amanda responded.
"Just about?" Ben teased her.
"Yes Ben... just... about!" She shot back, arching her eyebrows.
Ben, in a rare moment of discretion, chose to not pursue the issue; "Yeah, I don't trust 'em either Amanda, but, I still have to deal with 'em. They got the power. I just have to make sure they've got nothing they can get their teeth into. I really don't think they'd totally fabricate evidence here, so I just need to make sure I don't allow 'em anything to work with that they can twist to fit their agenda."
"Be careful Ben. They don't care about you." she told him, very softly.
Ben emptied the last in his cup and stood up. He stepped around the table to stand beside her. With his hand on the back of her head, he leaned down and kissed her forehead; "I know Darlin', I know."
Then, he turned and walked to the door. As he turned the knob and pulled the door open she called to him; "Really?"
He looked back, standing in the open doorway; "Really what?"
"You're going to walk out and leave? After a kiss like you'd give your Aunt?!"
Ben laughed. "Well Darlin'... if I give you any more than that... I'll never leave!" and laughing again, stepped through the doorway and pulled it closed behind him.
It was going to be a long day. He wanted no unintended consequences. Small, tiny, seemingly meaningless bits of information could land a man in an 8x10 cage, and Ben Jensen didn't believe he'd do well in a cage.
So, as he cleaned out the last of any possible evidence, he made sure that there was no physical connection between anything he disposed of, and anything that remained.
He picked up a pillowcase with fresh clothes he'd dropped on the porch earlier, and walked to the car. His gear bag was still in the trunk, and to be honest, since it had been in the car too, and he'd handled it, after both fights, he just didn't trust it any more. It would go with the car.
The one risk he'd have to take was his boots. He didn't have another pair and couldn't risk going in to town to buy any. He thought though, that he had a way to deal with that small risk.
With everything in the car, he drove out and turned to follow the road from Choteau, deeper into the mountains. A few miles uphill he turned off on a narrower branch that he followed for another couple miles before cutting off of it, onto a one lane, rarely used, track. Several times he had to stop and push larger deadfall far enough out of the way to allow the car to pass. The smaller obstacles, he just drove over.
He'd gone in on that narrow track for nearly a half mile when he broke out into a small clearing, of maybe an acre. It sat tight against the shoulder of the mountain. Where the slope met the bulldozed clearing, was a large, now boarded up opening.
Ben pulled the car up in front of the wooden bulkhead and switched off the ignition. From the trunk he pulled a crowbar he'd tossed in, in preparation that morning, and went to work removing the heavy planks spiked across the dark shaft.
They were thick planks and solidly spiked. The work took him most of an hour to pry enough boards loose to allow the car to pass.
When he was a boy, he and some friends on a camping trip had found this shaft and explored it. One of them had nearly fell into it, when in the darkness, a hundred feet in, they discovered it dropped off straight down for they didn't know how far. All they knew was, when you tossed in a large rock, it fell for a damn long time before you heard anything.
With the shaft cleared B
en dropped the pillow case on the ground, along with a hammer he took out of the car, picked up a large rock, which he tossed onto the passenger seat, and climbed in. He started the car, slowly rolling through the narrow opening. Ben slowly, idled the car into the tunnel, the sides just wide enough to allow the car to pass. The headlights illuminated the narrow tunnel up ahead, showing that yawning hole inching nearer, until he stopped, twenty feet short of the hole.
This was the tricky part. He couldn't just push the damn car in. It would high center and not fall in, leaving it on top to be found, and him, totally screwed.
He left the engine running, and put the shifter into neutral. Awkwardly he climbed into the back seat then leaned forward, pulled the release and pushed the drivers seat forward as far as it would go.
Still leaning forward, into the front seat he lowered the rock onto the accelerator, until the engine was running at half speed.
The narrow tunnel left him little room to crawl out the side, so Ben climbed out the now missing rear window.
He walked back to the opening and outside. Looking around he found a long piece of rusty pipe in a scrap pile remaining on the site and walked back to the car with it.
Squeezing in between the Saturn, and the tunnel wall, he could feel the vibrations of the racing engine through the car his legs were pressed against. He was careful to stay behind the rear wheels, and looked carefully at the damaged rear body, making sure there was nothing that would snag him, and take him for a ride he didn't want.
Having assured himself it was safe, he poked the pipe through the side window of the car. Using the seat as his fulcrum he wedged the pipe against it and the gear shift. With a hard shove on the pipe, he slammed the shifter into drive.
The tires spun, kicking up dust in the tight space, and the car disappeared, its belly scraping as its momentum took it over the lip into the black hole.