by Ann Charles
That settled nothing. Mac had taken care of his aunt long before any of these people had shown up here; didn’t seniority count for anything? He was tempted to crawl into his pickup and head back to Tucson. He shot Ronnie a glare of frustration.
Sorry, Ronnie mouthed to him before crawling behind the wheel and driving Harley toward the store.
Chester joined Mac, holding out a beer. “I hope you don’t mind a little cigar smoke in the morning.”
Manny joined them, clapping Mac on the shoulder. “Some time away from Claire will do you good, hombre. I hear you two are having some trouble in the bedroom. Good ol’ Chester and Manny have just the fix for you.”
* * *
The women’s bathroom in The Shaft smelled like sex and men’s cologne, all musty with a hint of something spicy. Claire checked under the stall doors to make sure she hadn’t caught anyone in the act of a little commode nookie. Nope, all clear. Maybe Butch had decided to try a new air freshener.
She stepped into the third stall. Locking the door behind her, she lowered her pants and cursed. Aunt Flo hadn’t arrived yet for her monthly visit, and Claire was now two days late.
Two days was nothing, she told herself. The stress alone of dealing with Gramps barking at her, as well as her mom coming to town, was probably enough to interrupt her cycle for months, even years. Add that to her middle of the night worries about the possible thieves wandering around the R.V. park pretending to be part of the archeological crew. With that gold pocket watch still tucked away in the wall safe in Ruby’s office, and lord knew what other pricey antiques stashed around the house that Joe had skimmed during his black-market romps, Ruby and Gramps were sitting ducks for the kind of strangers who shot first and interrogated later.
Take those two cowboys sitting at the corner table across from the bar. They’d been watching Ronnie a little too intently for the last hour. Now if Natalie had been the focus of their attention, Claire wouldn’t have thought twice about it. Nat inspired love-sick looks with her long legs and full lips, especially from drunk cowboys. But Nat had gone back to the R.V. park over an hour ago, before the two had shown up.
Zipping her pants, she ignored the twinge of pain in her lower back that had come from spending too much time bent over on a roof. Yeah, it had to be the stress, mental and physical. With her luck, her period would probably show up about the time she finally got a moment alone with Mac.
She flushed the toilet and headed to the sink, looking past her reflection at the tampon machine on the wall. It mocked her with its two twist-knob eyeballs and slot mouth. The door next to it swung open.
Her younger sister, Kate, burst in, squawking in surprise at the sight of Claire. “What are you doing in here?”
With her wavy blonde hair escaping her pony tail, her face drawn and pale, and her blue eyes underlined with dark half-circles, Kate looked about a decade older than her almost thirty-two years tonight.
“Call me kooky, but I came in here to pee.” Claire squirted soap on her palm. “What else would I be doing in here, nut-job?”
“Why does it smell like sex? Is Mac in here?” Kate walked over to the stalls and slammed one door open after another. “I told you The Shaft is off limits from now on, especially the parking lot. I swear you two are like rabbits sometimes.”
Bristling, Claire dried her hands on a paper towel while glaring at her sister’s profile. Kate had been working at The Shaft for a little over a month as a bar waitress. So what if she was sleeping with Butch. Shacking up with the guy didn’t give her the right to act like she owned the place.
“No, Mac is not in here. And for the record, we were only kissing in his pickup that night, not doing the wild thing.” It wasn’t her fault she couldn’t get a whiff of privacy with Mac these days thanks to Ronnie and everyone else south of the Canadian border. A girl had needs, and cigarettes and MoonPies didn’t always fulfill them all.
“That’s not what Manny and Chester told me.”
Claire didn’t justify that with a response. “What’s wrong with you tonight, Kate? You’ve been stomping around with this sourpuss pinch on your face and acting like somebody broke your favorite flying broomstick. Did you forget to add some eye of newt into your boiling cauldron this morning?”
Kate stepped into a stall. The lock rattled closed. “I’m tired.”
“Tell Butch to give you a night off.”
“I need the money.”
“You’re sleeping with your boss in his big fancy house.”
“Not anymore.”
Claire cocked her head at the closed stall door. “What does that mean?”
“I’m coming back to the R.V. park.”
“Why would you want to do that?”
“Butch and I had a fight this morning.”
“So make up tonight and stay where you are. There’s no room for you now that Mom’s here.”
“I’ll stay in the Skunkmobile with you and Natalie.”
“Nope. The inn’s full. Ronnie’s staying there, too.”
The toilet flushed. Kate joined her in front of the mirror, frowning at her reflection before her gaze moved to Claire. “Why isn’t she sleeping with Mom?”
“She’s mad at Mommy Dearest.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, you both are being absurd about Mother. She may be a little bitter and hard to stomach, but she’s still our mom.”
“Fine, then you sleep with your mom in the spare room.”
Kate broke eye contact, focusing on washing her hands. “I can’t.” She shut off the water.
“Can’t or won’t?”
Kate fixed her ponytail. “Maybe I’ll crash on Chester’s couch.”
“Ronnie told me Mac is sleeping there.” Much to Claire’s frustration. Maybe she could sneak over there in the middle of the night when Chester was buzz-sawing logs in his sleep and snuggle up next to Mac’s warm body. “You could share Manny’s bed.”
“I’d sooner sleep in a tent. Does Ruby have any spare ones?”
“You’re being silly. Just tell Butch you’re sorry and stay at his place where you belong.”
“What do you know about where I belong? You can’t even commit to staying with Mac—where you belong.”
Claire gaped at her sister. “Don’t be turning this around and taking it out on me.”
“Fine.” Kate nudged Claire out of the way. “But I’m not staying with Butch. We need a break.”
Claire grabbed Kate as her sister pulled open the door. “What are you talking about? You two are gaga over each other. I’ve watched you watch him. You look like Elmer Fudd does when Bugs Bunny slaps on red lipstick and a blonde wig.”
“Yeah, well I’m not so sure that feeling is mutual.”
“It’s only been a month.”
“It’s been five weeks since we got together.” Kate drilled Claire with a frown. “If it’s true love, shouldn’t that be enough?” When Claire hesitated, Kate pulled free. “What am I thinking asking the biggest commitment phobe east of the Rockies about love?”
“The Rockies are mostly north of us, Kate.”
“Whatever. You wouldn’t understand. You’ve been with Mac for six months and still break into hives when someone even mentions wedding rings.” She rubbed her hand over her forehead. “I gotta get back to work.”
Claire followed Kate out of the bathroom. “I suppose you could sleep in Jess’s room with her, but she’ll keep you up all night talking about boys and snogging.”
“I’ll figure something out.” Kate grabbed the wall for a moment, holding her stomach. “Oy.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” Kate waved her off. “I ate some fried mushrooms earlier that are now rioting in my gut.”
“Why don’t you take a seat over in my chair and let me play barmaid for a bit.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
Claire took the order pad and pen from Kate’s little apron. “Stop acting like Gramps and go sit down.”
Af
ter nudging Kate toward the table she’d been sharing with Ronnie, Claire made her way closer to the corner table where the two lookie-loo cowpokes still watched Ronnie. She had a nose for strangers in these parts, and with their pristine cowboy hats and shiny boots, they smelled plenty fishy.
She followed their line of sight. Ronnie seemed to be oblivious to their stares, which wasn’t surprising. Ever since her sister had come home from her shopping trip in Yuccaville yesterday, she’d had the attention span of a gnat. Something was up with Ronnie, and maybe it had something to do with these two slicksters.
Claire strolled up to their table, blocking their view of her older sister, who’d been joined by Kate. “Do either of you two need something?” she yelled over Waylon Jennings and Johnny Cash singing on the jukebox about the lack of good in an evil-hearted woman.
Two freshly-shaven faces looked up at her, both smiling too wide too fast.
“We’re good,” said the one wearing the fancy brown Stetson hat.
“Not right now,” said the other, pulling his dust-free, black Stetson lower over his light blue eyes.
“Great.” She stuffed the order pad in the back pocket of her blue jeans and crossed her arms over her T-shirt. “Then maybe you can tell me why you’re so damned interested in my sister?”
Chapter Four
Ronnie swirled her gin and tonic, her stomach roiling. She needed an escape plan. Something logical and rational. Something that didn’t involve fire, a puff of smoke, or a panic-filled scramble out of The Shaft. Some way to sneak out of the bar without the two beady-eyed goons in the brand-spanking new cowboy hats noticing she had high-tailed it into the dark desert before they could grab their guns and give chase. Not that she’d seen any guns on them, but they sure looked the type a mob boss would hire, all pale-faced and slick.
She scanned the bar. Plastic plants swayed in the breeze from the overhead fans, a 1970s looking jukebox lit up the semi-darkness, video games sported plastic rifles to practice killing Bambi and his buddies. The musky smell of sweat filled the warm, humid air, mixed with different notes of cheap cologne and bargain-bin perfume. Butch’s multiple no-smoking signs posted throughout the bar undoubtedly saved her from a lungful of smoke on top of it. Behind the bar, a cue-ball wearing glasses with lenses thick enough to view the Horseshoe Nebula tugged on the tap.
Butch, the owner of the place—aka her youngest sister’s current heartthrob, was out of town at the moment according to Katie, who had just joined her at the table. A bit pasty-looking with pink blotches on her cheeks and watery eyes, Katie looked like she’d been paying homage to the porcelain god recently. She claimed to be feeling fine, but Ronnie saw the tension lining her lips and fanning from the corners of her eyes. Something was up with her little sister, but she would dig into that later. Right now, goons were waiting to pounce.
She took a rough count of the other patrons, coming up with fifteen women and about twice as many men, including the goons. More men were pouring in as she sat nursing her drink, savoring the hint of lemon along with the sharp bite of gin while contemplating her potential escape options. Maybe there was a window in the women’s restroom she could squeeze through, or a back door out of the kitchen. Katie would know.
“Katie, if I needed to—”
“What is she doing?” Katie asked, half-standing up from her chair across the table, her forehead all crinkled like when she’d caught Claire giving their dog a reverse Mohawk.
Ronnie followed her sister’s line of sight. Oh, shit! What was Claire doing over by the two goons? She was going to get herself hurt if not killed. Those two hadn’t been admiring Ronnie’s fake Tiffany earrings for the past hour. She’d bet her last two hundred-dollar bills they had been sent by whomever Lyle had stolen from before he was busted by the Feds. Sent for what, she didn’t know and shuddered at the idea of finding out.
As she watched, Claire snatched the black hat off one, flipped it over, and pointed at something inside of it before throwing it back at him. The hat bounced off his chest and dropped to the floor. His whole face pinched up, like somebody had wound it too tight.
“Oh, he didn’t like that one bit.” Katie rose fully to her feet. “I’m going over there before she gets herself into another fight.”
Before Ronnie could catch her arm, Katie was gone, zig-zagging between tables on her way over to where Claire now stood on her tiptoes, nose-to-nose with the scrunch-faced goon.
Ronnie stood there, frozen in dilemma. Her instincts told her to use this distraction Claire had created to escape, but she hesitated. Claire didn’t understand who she was up against here. These men were hired to break bones and crack skulls, not play patty cake with nosy sisters.
Katie made it to Claire’s side at the same time the second goon slid between the two contenders, stiff-arming both. Ronnie took a step toward them, her fists clenched so tight her fingernails bit into her palms. Tugging Claire back by the T-shirt, Katie joined the goon who was playing monkey in the middle; her head bowed slightly, her body language all apology as she shoved Claire in Ronnie’s direction.
Claire reached around Katie, blasting the dark haired goon with a middle finger salute. “Next time take a picture, asshole!” Ronnie heard her yell over Glen Campbell starting in on the jukebox about being a lineman for the county.
The goon strained in his friend’s hold, his face rippling in fury. Ronnie grinned in spite of the whole mess. Claire had a real knack for pissing people off. A true gift. Just ask their mother.
Her escape window was closing. Ronnie made a break for it. She glanced back as she reached the door, making sure nobody had noticed her flight. All focus was still on Claire, who was threatening something with her fist raised while struggling to pull free of Katie’s hold on her arm.
Ronnie shoved open the door and raced out into the cool night air, slamming into a wall of shirt. “Oof!”
Hands grabbed her by the shoulders, peeling her from the chest she’d face-planted into. A row of buttons and a metal star came into focus.
“Hello, Mrs. Jefferson.” Sheriff Hardass frowned all the way down at her from under the curled brim of his hat.
Ronnie had forgotten how tall he was. His mama had done well corn-feeding him. She should have entered him into the county fair. He’d have been a sure-fire blue ribbon winner.
“I had a feeling I’d find you inside,” he added in that deep, deep voice of his.
The Sheriff of Cholla County was having feelings about her? That didn’t bode well. Neither did the grip he still had on her shoulders, as if he didn’t want to let go in case she decided to make a run for it.
“You did? Why?” Was he in cahoots with the two goons inside? A crooked lawman down in these parts wouldn’t make her blink twice. Jackrabbit Junction might be a tiny town, but it wasn’t Mayberry. For one thing, there were too many dirty old men in town … and too many secrets, according to Claire.
Ronnie matched the Sheriff’s squint. Was he waiting for his buddies to come out so they could throw her in the back of a van and drag her off to torture her for information on where her piece of shit not-husband had hidden some skimmed money?
He nudged his head in the direction of Ruby’s pickup, sitting under an orange-tinted street light next to the road, looking like a tired old dog. “I saw Ruby’s Ford.”
She stepped back, slipping out of his grip and away from his sweet and spicy scent. “Well, Sheriff, it looks like your feelings were dead on.”
“They usually are.”
“Great. Bully for you. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m just going to be on my way.” She continued back stepping toward the safety of the truck.
“Actually, I do mind.” His comment stopped her short.
“You do?” She spoke just above a whisper. She couldn’t help it, what with her heart clinging to her uvula for dear life.
He crossed his arms over his chest, his legs taking that wide authoritative stance he probably practiced every morning in front of the locker room
mirror down at headquarters. “You and I need to have a little talk.”
A semi-truck roared past, giving Ronnie a moment to get a hold of her voice and force it to obey.
“About what?” She cleared her throat, buying more time. “If this is regarding what I said about your niece’s promiscuity, I apologize. You know, at her age she’s probably just exploring her options.” Exactly how old was his niece anyway?
His chin jutted. “You’re illegally parked next to a fire hydrant.”
She stared at him for a couple of seconds, trying to make sense of his words. Then the bubble of fear that had been lodged in her esophagus for the last half-hour popped and a burst of laughter exploded from her chest, echoing across the parking lot.
“You find breaking the law here in Arizona funny, Mrs. Jefferson? Because I don’t.”
“No, not at all. I was just thinking—” The bar’s door creaked open. She glanced back and locked eyes with the dark-hatted goon from inside. His friend followed on his boot heels. Breath held, she watched as they tipped their hats at Sheriff Hardass and moseyed on out into the parking lot.
“You were thinking what, Mrs. Jefferson? Enlighten me.” The Sheriff didn’t seem to take any extra notice of the two men.
“Umm, I was thinking you were …” The goons had made it to their car, which was a late model black sedan with tinted windows. Sheesh, couldn’t they at least try to be original? Instead of opening the doors and climbing inside, they leaned against the side of the car. The one in the brown hat fished out a pack of cigarettes, the match flaring in the night.
“Thinking I was what?” the Sheriff pressed.
Damn it, those two were going to wait the Sheriff out. Wait until she was all alone and then stash her in their back seat and take her out to their shanty in the boonies and torture her. Or something worse. The dueling banjos from Deliverance played a riff in her head.
Sheriff Hardass nudged his hat brim toward her two hit men. “Those boys friends of yours?”
“No.” Were they friends of his? It appeared not.