by ZaneDoe
The usual coffee and donut crew was in the office first thing in the morning with Mr. Chitwell taking his place in the vinyl chair by the phone. The mood was cheery and they were already laughing as Martha rehashed the story of Jose’s ex-wife, Carla, coming to the office to rake Jose over the coals again for some long-past event. Lila’s bird, Zoe, who enjoyed her living space in the office, squawked in pace with Carla while she verbally flogged Jose. As Carla got louder, Zoe got louder. The competition became too much for Carla and she stomped out of the office. Martha loved that story and the retelling brought as much laughter as the day it occurred. The other mention-worthy event was the expected arrival of Charlie with his mules (or were they donkeys, Martha wasn’t sure).
Charlie’s only profession was as a part-time clown, very part time. If he happened to be where there was a carnival, he put on his clown suit and went to work as “Chunky the Clown.” His presence was welcome by everyone. Charlie was quite good as a clown and entertaining to both children and adults. He worked the state fair if his mules got him there on time.
Charlie lived and traveled in a wood gypsy-style wagon pulled by his family of mules. He never was in a hurry and he didn’t ride the side of the road in his mule-fueled wagon either. Cars could go around him if they didn’t want to go at a Charlie pace. They did, often with horns blaring and less than civil instructions for him too move off the road. He took his time and little if anything upset him; he was content wherever he happened to be, that’s what made Charlie Charlie--same long johns, same coveralls, same old hat, same old Charlie. Martha got word that Charlie was heading their way. As always, Broken Arrow greeted Charlie like a one-man parade when he entered the campground. He was an oddity to the unfamiliar and an old welcome friend to the rest. Charlie was akin to the classic King of the Hobos. He was the King of the Road, a well-traveled character with entertaining stories to share with the amazed and amused stationary folk. Charlie counted on the campers’ generosity to carry him along, and they never disappointed him. He ate and drank at Broken Arrow as if every night was a celebration. His mules also generously stuffed themselves while at Broken Arrow; Lila always had hay and Eric’s carefully landscaped hedges and flowers became sacrificial meals. Charlie didn’t pass by too often so all indiscretions by him or his mules were forgiven.
After a week stay, Charlie harnessed the mules and was on his way. He left with hugs, gifts and bags of sweetened corn from Lila for the mules. Eric was relieved and busied himself repairing the damage done by Charlie’s four-legged family. Charlie waved appreciation and headed off to a destination known only to him. He was a loner but loved talking to a certain style of person and Jose was that style, and a good listener, so Jose always hitched a ride and rode with Charlie through town before saying goodbye.
“Good morning, Scout,” greeted Bella.
“Good morning, how are you Bella?”
“I’m just wonderful, Scout; how ‘bout you?”
“I’m doing great.” Scout smiled, always appreciative of the happy faces and warm welcomes that greeted her first thing in the morning. “I wanted to ask you and Burt a favor.”
“What’s that?”
“If you would mind keeping an eye on Pepper this afternoon. I’m going to be gone for a few hours and planned on leaving him on a long lead under the tree outside my camper. I just wondered if you would check on him to make sure that he still has water, and he’s okay. He can be a bit dramatic.” Scout would have asked Penny but Penny was on an outing herself that day.
“Why sure, we would be happy to.”
“Thank you; I really appreciate it.”
“Do you have some fun plans for the day?” Bella asked.
“Where ya headed?” Burt popped into view, quick to join in.
“I thought I would take a ride through the mountains, try to find that lake. I’d take Pepper with me but it’s so hot and it gets too hot in my car for him.”
“It’s too hot in that vehicle for that dog, I mean if you park it at all. Maybe if you left the windows down it would be okay.”
“It gets too hot for me in that car, Burt. The engine seems to blow hot air to the rest of the car. Even with the windows down and all the leaks or holes where the air blows through, it still gets too hot in that car. I think he’d be miserable.”
“Too damn hot to take the dog,” Burt agreed. “Leave Pooper here; we’ll watch him.”
“Great,” Scout responded, thankfully. “I really do appreciate it, Burt.” She continued, “I heard there was a lake northeast of here, in the mountains, do you know if that’s true or where exactly it is, Burt?”
He took a pen from his pocket and on the back of an envelope that he grabbed from Bella Burt drew a map while explaining the various routes one could take. His directions lasted longer than Bella’s patience. She excused herself. Burt repeated himself to the degree that Scout tuned him out; he was talking and she was looking towards the mountains she planned to explore.
“You got it?” Burt asked.
“Yes, thank you. I’ll be back before dark. I really appreciate you and Bella checking on Pepper.” She reexamined the map Burt drew, trying to layout in her head the swirls and the big “X” designating the lake.
“Where you going?” Burt hollered over when he saw Jose walking his bicycle past the office.
“Bike ride. Wanna go?” Jose asked facetiously. He knew he wasn’t getting on with his ride until Burt critiqued his bike and then some. Burt told Jose the names, dates, distances, deals and obituaries of the bikes in his past. Soon others joined in and the focus was off Jose’s bike and to whether or not Burt could still ride a unicycle. Jose made his escape.
He met up with Lester leaning against his truck once he got into town. Lester had a cup of coffee in one hand and the newspaper opened to the personals in the other. He read a few of the singles ads and asked Jose for his opinion about women who advertised themselves
“No different than the men who read them,” Jose answered. “Gotta go, Lester. Good luck” and Jose went on his way but again was distracted from his intended bike ride when he encountered Dwayne, a friend he hadn’t seen in quite a while. Conversation started up as though the considerable span of time apart never existed. Jose stuck around and checked out Dwayne’s new truck that he was so proud and eager to show off. He offered Jose, with his bike, a lift to the mountain and a demonstration of the truck’s powerful four-wheel drive capabilities. Jose accepted. He hadn’t planned on riding that far but with a one way ride he’d do the mountain trails and make it back to Pista before dark. They caught up on each other’s lives while Dwayne negotiated the worst roads he could find but when he insisted on bringing up Carla, Jose decided that it was time to get out and get on with his ride--a decision for which Scout would be forever grateful.
She was touring the mountain roads trying to follow Burt’s psychedelic map. Scout was having no luck whatsoever. She found a little town with a few houses, a gas station and a video store. To be safe, since the gas gauge on the Scout didn’t work, she stopped to fill the tank.
Exack change only- drop in slot. A drawing of a shotgun braced the instructions to threaten the less than honest. So she did, plus a few cents extra since she didn’t have the “exack” change. Scout pulled back onto the road as lost as before, though not minding at that point because the scenery was magnificent. She stopped to admire several decaying remnants of days gone by. On the side of a hill, not far from the road, were the remains of an adobe structure with each room still recognizable. There was a branch built corral with a raven anchored on one of the posts, so still that it looked like a statue. Jackrabbits with ears like antennas were going about their lives in the pale grass, scurrying about the dusty terrain. She passed cattle ranches, landscapes of cacti and scenes as serene as an Ansel Adams and as vivid as a Remmington. Aside from the screeching sound of her engine, that was progressively getting worse, the ride was quiet and solitary; she passed only three other vehicles
.
Scout drove up and down back roads, on narrow dirt roads that came to dead ends and anywhere she thought might lead to a lake or remotely followed Burt’s map. She trespassed on private roads with no notice other than a dog, cattle or a raven. Nothing even hinted at a lake. She decided to call off the search; she would venture out another day and maybe Penny would join her on her next try.
Scout found her way back onto a main road via remembered landmarks and headed in the direction of Pista using the flat top mountain as her guide. About five miles into her return the International Scout began to sputter and hesitate. She had filled the tank with gas in the little town. This must mean engine trouble--something she could do little about. She pulled the Scout over to the side of the road before it died in the middle of it. Knowing nothing about engines, she lifted the hood anyway to see if there was a problem obvious to an untrained eye, such as a disconnected hose--some minor repair she could rectify herself. The engine looked like Burt’s road map minus the “X.” She was stuck.
Scout left the hood up to indicate car trouble to a passerby, if one should pass by, and sat in the shade of a short tree by the road. When nature called, Scout dare not walk up the hill to relieve herself; she knew Murphy’s Law took precedent over nature’s law and if a car were to pass by it would be at those few moments. Nature’s law won out. She returned quickly and sat in the shade of the International to wait for help. But when it became apparent that the sun would most likely disappear before a passerby would appear, Scout grabbed her backpack and began the trek back to Pista. A long hike had not been in the day’s plan: a drive to the lake and maybe a short walk to the water but no hiking otherwise she would have worn a different pair of shoes. The clogs with the wooden soles made it difficult to maneuver on the rough, rocky uneven road. Scout had to walk slowly to keep her footing and to not lose a shoe. The rocks, pebbles and prickly plant life took away the option of removing the uncooperative footwear.
She looked back; the Scout looked small at the side of the road and the upright hood looked like a big hand in a stationary wave. She kept on walking. Between the heat and the shoes, it was a miserable walk.
Finally, the answer to her prayers, she could see a car a distance down the road; it was going the opposite direction from Pista and coming in her direction. She stopped to wait and rest her feet. She remembered hearing that it was against the law not to pick up a hitchhiker in Alaska due to the extreme cold. She dearly hoped that it was the same in New Mexico due to the extreme heat. As the car approached Scout jumped up and waved, shouted but the blue Taurus sped by. She cursed the shoes from hell, curled her toes to tighten her grip and keep them from slipping off then continued her journey to Pista. The Taurus was suddenly behind her slowing to a stop. Grateful, Scout ran to the driver’s side, losing a shoe in the process. The electric window came down revealing a kid in his mid-teens slouched down so far that he could hardly see over the steering wheel.
“That your car up there?” he asked.
“Yes, the International Scout. I—“ She was interrupted before she could explain her predicament.
“What’s wrong with it?”
She told him she had no idea what was wrong with it and explained what happened that made her pull to the side of the road. Maybe he was skilled with cars, she hoped. He made no offer to examine the disabled vehicle. Scout offered him money for his time and gas if he would give her a ride to Pista; she could get some help there.
“You alone?” he asked as he scanned the immediate area then he looked back to where the International sat by the side of the road.
“Yes. Do you think you could give me a ride? Like I said, I ‘d be happy to pay you.” He didn’t seem to be listening but she continued anyway, “Pista shouldn’t be too far from here. You can just drop me off at the gas station which is at the edge of town.”
“Get in.”
She walked around to the passenger’s side, retrieving her shoe along the way, and eagerly hopped into the car. She was surprised to see, in this hot weather, that he was wearing an oversized winter coat bearing the Bulls logo.
“Aren’t you hot in that coat?” she asked to start conversation.
He sped off towards Pista with rocks and dust in chaos behind him.
“Does your car have air conditioning?” He didn’t respond to this question either. She decided to keep her questions to herself and just be grateful for the ride.
After a few miles, he turned off the main road and onto a narrow side road much like the ones she spent the day negotiating to find the lake.
“Wait, wait. Pista is straight down the main road.” Again, he did not respond but increased his speed. The car skid across the dirt as he raced up the hill barely maintaining control. Scout grabbed onto the dash.
“Stop! Stop the car!” she shouted, angry that the kid was showing off and putting her at risk with his antics.
His eyes were fixed on the road as if he were playing a video game. He maintained his speed to the top of the hill, slowed, aimed the car at the rocky cliff, sped up again then hit the brakes skidding to a stop. The kid remained expressionless.
“If your intent was to scare me, okay you did,” Scout mumbled as she struggled to get her seat belt off, opened the door then stepped out of the car to make her way back to the main road. She looked back at the kid, half expecting to witness a pleased smirk on his juvenile face for having succeeded in scaring the hell out of her but instead she saw a gun at the end of his outstretched arm.
“Damn. What is this about?” Scout remained still while she waited for an answer.
“Give me the backpack,” he demanded. His manner of speaking was non-threatening yet the gun said otherwise.
“Is that what this is? I’m being robbed!” She tossed him her backpack. “You could have robbed me on the main road; God knows no one was around. Why drive me out here.” She looked him in the eyes, bypassing the gun and said, “Take it. Drive away. Leave.” She stepped further back from the car.
“You get back in the car,” he said with a slight laugh.
“You have my backpack. I’ll just start walking back; you could be in Utah by the time I get to Pista.” She dared to start walking. She heard the car door open and glanced back. The gun wasn’t in sight so she ran, losing a shoe right away. She pulled her foot out of the other shoe and continued to run in her bare feet. The kid was within arm’s reach in no time, twisting the gun into her back and ordering her to “get back to the fucking car” or he would “blow” her “fucking head off.” No longer the soft-spoken juvenile.
He rummaged through her backpack while Scout sat still, watching.
“Just take---“
“Shut the fuck up! What are you, stupid?” He tapped the barrel of the gun against her head. His eyes appeared wild instead of docile and disinterested as before. After he felt he made his point he pulled the gun away and continued looking through her backpack. Her wallet contained a single twenty-dollar bill.
“I bagged a rich bitch, shit.” He spoke in an artificially deep voice. Scout thought he was attempting to sound more menacing and wasn’t sure if she should act more frightened to appease him or to play it cool and not respond, not appear a willing or helpless victim. She chose the latter, stayed silent and donned a stern expression while waiting for his next move.
He got out of the car and walked around to the passenger’s side window. “Get out,” he said using the same strained deep voice.
She did as he asked. He began pushing Scout forward with quick sharp jabs to her back ending with a shove against the hood of the car. The kid looked into her eyes as though he was pondering or questioning something. He held the gun in his right hand and stepped back. His probing stare was dangerously slow. True panic began to set in for Scout. He no longer appeared the juvenile punk guilty of petty theft but a practiced heartless criminal.
“Can I talk to you one minute, please?” Scout hoped she could convince him to st
op whatever he was planning and not let things go any further. “If you want money, you’ve got all I have.”
Taken by his own sudden power and amused at the pleading victim before him, his face lifted slightly as if he were about to smile.
“Why don’t you just go your way and let me go mine?” She didn’t know how to interpret his odd smile.
His eyes roamed her body and he dropped the grin.
“Look, I’ll walk off. You just drive away. I don’t know you. You can be in another state by the time I get to Pista.” She couldn’t read him, she didn’t know if her comments had affected him one way or the other. Cautiously, Scout turned toward the wooded hillside. She stepped away from the car attempting to show confidence and to not use the gait of a victim as she walked away. When she reached the first tree she stopped, her back to the kid and waited for the sound of the car.
He was again behind her.
“Please just go,” she said quietly.
He pushed himself against her and the gun against her cheek. His breath on her neck felt hot and horrible. She flinched when she felt his tongue replace the gun. His hands gripped her shoulders pulling her back into him then slamming her forward against the tree. His palm rammed against the middle of her back and followed up her spine, pulling at the skin, stopping at her neck. She felt his fingers on her neck and feared he was about to strangle her. She readied to thrust her elbow into his abdomen and fight for her life but he quickly reached for her hair and tugged so tightly that her head arched back and she lost her balance. He reached with equal force with his other hand down the front of her tee shirt, painfully grabbing one of her breasts. She realized that he no longer held the gun in his hand but couldn’t maneuver to see where he had put it. He bit down on her exposed neck. Scout focused on the whereabouts of the gun. He groped and bit, but the biting wasn’t hard or threatening; it was more a pathetic attempt at being wild. His hands and mouth moved from place to place while he turned and twisted her body as though unaware of its limitations.
“Take it off,” he said with the voice of a boy yet eyes of a predator. This was a kid, a teenager. She wondered just how dangerous could he really be.
A stolen low-budget pornographic video had become the kid’s fixation. He memorized the script, placed it in his young malleable mind and waited for an opportunity to play it out. The innocence of youth seized for this kid years ago. The intensity was authentic, the moves rehearsed. The kid’s festering fantasy exploded onto Scout. He made sounds that pathetically emulated lovemaking. His face brushed against hers as he made panting sounds with sweat on his brow and his eyes were half shut.
Taking on a rigid posture, he became rough and resumed the status of the attacker. He positioned and repositioned. He made every effort but ultimately was unable to fulfill his fantasy and Scout feared his frustration might have deadly consequences. He raised himself up; his hopes incomplete yet he appeared pleased with himself. He stood and danced around like a boxer punching his fist out in front of him—in his mind, the victor.
While he danced about, Scout searched for the gun but it was nowhere in sight. She got to her feet and ran to the car. He continued to box the air while she searched the car for the keys.
Scout watched the kid toss her clothes over the cliff then casually walk back to the car. He stopped at the window and pointed the gun. With her eyes closed and her head down, Scout stuttered a prayer. The kid then opened the door, reached in and pulled her from the car; he swung her to the front and tossed the Bulls coat at her. Scout was relieved; it was a good sign. She figured the kid wouldn’t bloody his Bulls coat.
“I’m hungry,” he said as if nothing out of the norm had happened, as though he were talking to a friend.
Scout snapped the coat shut.
“Ya got food in your car, ya know, picnic stuff ‘n shit?”
“No, there isn’t any food in my car. There’s a store in a little town not far from here, not Pista, the other direction, just a little town.” She believed her encounter with the kid was about to end and she survived the fate of a bullet.
“Your car’s outta gas, right?”
If that’s what he wanted to believe, that was fine with her. “It might be; I’m not sure.”
“I can siphon from this piece a shit,” he said and got back into the car. She remained outside.
“Get in the car,” he yelled using his deeper voice again.
She complied. Her worst fear quelled; he chose not to shoot her and leave her body in that isolated spot. What little would be left after the coyotes and other scavengers were done with it may never have been found. She was alive and therefore the potential for escape was alive. She counted on the kid to drive recklessly when he hit the main road, drawing attention to the Taurus from a possible passerby. He sped onto the road and turned in the opposite direction from Pista. The kid slowed the car and drove inconspicuously as he had initially.
The International was just as she left it. The kid pulled up behind it, parking the Taurus in the opposite direction. He pulled the keys from the ignition, tucked the gun into waistband of his pants then got out of the car, warning Scout to stay put. A bicycle was leaning against the passenger’s side of the Scout. As the kid lowered the attention-grabbing hood, Scout leaned out the driver’s side window to get a better look at the bicycle; it looked like Jose’s bike and she panicked. Scout feared what the unbalanced kid with a gun would do if Jose unexpectedly approached the scene. Against her captor’s orders, Scout got out of the car.
“Where the keys?” he yelled to her.
“They’re in the backpack,” she responded in an intentionally loud voice while scanning for Jose’s whereabouts. She hoped to get Jose’s attention if he was within hearing distance and she could possibly warn him to stay away.
“Then get me the backpack, man.” He looked up at Scout, noticed her looking around and shouted louder, “Bring me the fuckin’ backpack!”
“I’m getting it,” she shouted back even louder, still hoping for Jose’s attention if he was in the vicinity—and he was.
“Scout!” Jose joyfully scurried out from the trees.
She waved for him to go back but Jose continued at the same pace, heading towards the kid who was now facing him. Scout shook her head no, quickly, and mimed fear.
Jose slowed his approach.
“Car trouble?” He said to both Scout and the kid, wondering who this kid was.
The kid’s eyes nervously ping-ponged between Jose and Scout. Jose was ready to shout out an expected wisecrack but stopped as he saw the trepidation on Scout’s face. The kid noticed. They were all still for a moment then Jose turned to face the kid.
“Stop right there, motherfucker!” The kid used his artificially deep voice. He pulled the gun from his pants, pointing it at Jose. “Stop right fuckin’ there, man.”
Jose looked back over his shoulder at Scout, then back at the gun and asked, “What’s going on, Scout?”
“You talkin’ to the fuckin’ truck or her?”
Scout braved to step forward and stand next to Jose. “Just let him get back on his bike and go.”
It was obvious that the kid now felt threatened and his power was through the gun.
“You know this guy?” the kid asked, keeping the gun pointed at Jose.
“You’re going to draw a lot of attention standing there with a gun on somebody, you can get in your car and drive off, I can’t follow you. Neither can he.”
Jose glanced over Scout’s bare feet and heavy coat and asked once more, “What’s going on?”
“Don’t fuckin’ move or I’ll blow a fuckin’ hole in ya.”
Jose moved his eyes back to the kid, displaying confidence and no fear of the kid with a gun.
“I told ya to get the fuckin’ keys.”
“I’ll get them. Don’t do anything, please. Just let him be on his way.” Scout hurried to the Taurus and pulled out her backpack. She retu
rned and stood slightly in front of Jose holding out the backpack to the kid.
“Yo, mothafuckur, go stand behind her truck,” he ordered while changing the aim of the gun to Scout, “before I blow her fuckin’ head off!” The kid was reveling in his gun-gained power. His eyes looked wild again and he was jumpy.
“Just do it, Jose.” Scout was unmistakably frightened.
Jose complied, though reluctantly. He stood by the back of the International keeping his eyes fixed on the kid, which seemed to provoke the kid. He began wielding orders at Jose, telling him to stand closer to the vehicle, to put his hands in his pockets, to look at the ground in front of him and to not even think about being a “fuckin’ hero” or he’d “blow both” of them away.
“Her fuckin truck is outta gas and were gunna fill it.…”
Scout turned to Jose, “It was sort of missing then it felt like it was going to die so I pulled over to the side of the road.”
“Shut the fuck up. He doesn’t need no explanation.”
She nervously continued, “It may be out of gas, I don’t know the gauge doesn’t work. But, I filled it with gas in that little town so I don’t know.” She rattled on, nervous, then she turned to the kid. “We’re going to siphon gas from your Taurus, right?”
“It’s not my Taurus; I wouldn’t buy a fuckin’ Taurus, man, fuckin’ old man car.”
He ordered Scout to stand by the driver’s side door.
“Let me check it out,” Jose said. “It doesn’t sound like it’s out of gas.”
The kid thought for a second then said, “What are you, a mechanic, a greasemonkey? Go ahead.” He stepped up to Scout and pulled her into him. “Try sumthin’ and I’ll pop her.”
Jose confidently walked over to the hood and lifted it. He leaned over the engine, wiggled parts and declared he could fix it.
The kid pulled Scout to his chest, placed the gun at her neck and responded, “Then fix it.”
Jose eyes focused on the kid a scary few seconds as Scout looked on, worried. The air was thick with tension, frightening Scout all the more.
“He’ll need the keys,” she apprehensively interjected. The kid let her toss Jose the backpack. He slowly picked it up, opened it and dumped everything onto the ground, doing his best to disperse the contents. He grabbed the keys and leaned back into the engine compartment. Both the kid and Scout watched Jose move things around in the engine. When Jose put his hands up in the air, the kid responded. Jose told him he needed to get behind the wheel. He warned Jose again not to try anything “stupid” and raised the gun to Scout’s temple.
Jose inserted the key with one hand and covertly flipped the gas tank switch with the other. He pushed the gas pedal down a few times, cranked the engine and it started right up.
“Get out,” the kid shouted as soon as the truck was running.
Scout sensed Jose was going to try something bold.
“Jose, please get out of the car,” Scout pleaded.
“Hooooosay,” the kid dragged out his name. He pressed the gun against her head and said, “Get out of the fucking car, Hooooosay, or I’ll splatter your girlfriend right here.”
Jose had one foot out of the car and the kid began shouting orders, “Put your fuckin’ hands over your head. Stand at the back of the car.” The kid moved back a few steps pulling Scout back with him. Jose walked with his hands up to the back of the car. “Take off your clothes,” the kid shouted in his again feigned deep voice.
The way that Jose lowered his hands made Scout fear that he was going to rush the kid so she spoke up quickly. “Jose, just do it.”
He started with his tee shirt and was interrupted by the kid telling him to leave the tee shirt on but take everything else off.
“Get over there.” The kid shoved Scout towards Jose using the gun to direct her. They stood side by side, barefoot, watching the kid as he rolled Jose’s bike down the hill and out of sight. He instructed Scout to take Jose’s wallet then wrap his clothes around his shoes and throw them as far as she could down the hill.
“Fuckin’ lame throw, man! Get in the truck.” With the gun now pointed at Jose, he took the wallet and put it in his back pocket.
He ordered Scout beside him in the back seat and Jose to the driver’s seat with a warning that if he didn’t do everything he was told that Scout would “get a bullet in her fuckin’ head.” Jose glimpsed at the kid in the rearview mirror; he had the barrel of the gun to Scout’s head. Jose pulled out onto the road and headed away from Pista as instructed.
“Where am I driving to?” Jose calmly questioned.
“Just fuckin’ drive, man. Shut the fuck up. You talk when I tell ya. Just fuckin’ drive.”
Lester waltzed into the office with a newspaper in his hand seeking out Jose. He wanted him to join him for a drink so he could run a few personal ads by him to get his opinions. Martha let Lester know that Jose hadn’t come back from his bike ride and invited him to join in a game of Mexican dominos. Lester declined the invite but sat down at the table; he opened the newspaper and resolutely went over the ads, circling perspectives and jotting down the symbols of his own rating system. The others went about preparing coffee, filling the bowl with hard candy and putting pillows on the chairs in preparation for the game. Lila showed up with Stoey’s freshly made burritos--a regular meal in itself and a regular takeout item from Elena’s. Mr. Chitwell had placed a pie in the office refrigerator because the one in his RV was full. Martha took for granted that it was for the evening’s game and sliced it accordingly.
“Are you looking for a job, Lester?” asked Lila as she watched him circle and jot down notes on the paper.
“No, looking for a nice lady,” he responded without taking his eyes off the paper.
“In the paper?” Lila wasn’t familiar with the personals section of the paper.
“They sellin’ women now!” George yelled over. “Buy me a rich blonde with a big butt.” Everyone ignored George since to laugh at one of his comments was to open the floodgates of annoyance.
Lila strolled over to observe Lester’s menu.
“They’re the personals. Women, and men. Singles looking for other singles.” He smiled up at Lila, “Like me.”
“Have you found any prospective mates?” She was most curious about how Lester would describe himself in a personals ad. “Have you placed an ad, Lester?”
“I might, haven’t yet.” He paused. “Here, this one seems like my type of woman.” He lifted the paper up closer to Lila who was now looking over his shoulder. “She likes to go out to eat, go out dancing, long walks in the woods, loves the outdoors and to travel. Sounds good, aye?”
Lila bent down to read the ad herself.
“What are the abbreviations?” Lila asked.
Lester pointed to the list of definitions to the abbreviations. She read them then glanced back at Lester’s prize personal ad.
“I’m sure she would like long walks in the outdoors, to eat out and mostly to travel, Lester.” Lila snickered, “According to the abbreviation here, Lester, your single is incarcerated.”
Lester briefed the ad again. “Damn, your right!”
“You might have more in common than you think,” Lila replied but Lester didn’t respond; he was focusing on the abbreviations now.
“If I see Jose I will tell him you’re in here waiting for him, Lester.” Lila left the office for the evening.
Shortly after sunset Penny came into the office inquiring about Scout. She was concerned if anyone had fed Pepper. Eric offered a can of dog food and the two left the office for Eric’s camper, intentionally escaping before Martha put the pressure on Penny to come back and join in the table games.
Jose was driving north, following his abductor’s directions. All the while the kid talked about Mexico and how once there he would let them go. Jose mumbled something in Spanish. The kid leaned forward, told Jose to shut up and to quit looking at them in the rearview mirror then kno
cked the mirror off-center with the gun.
“Jose can help you getting into Mexico since he speaks Spanish.” Scout feared the kid was getting more agitated by him.
Jose began to ask the kid questions in Spanish then made a comment directed at Scout in Spanish. He figured that the kid didn’t understand Spanish but wasn’t sure about Scout. Again, the kid told Jose to shut up, to save it for when they got to Mexico.
Jose turned on the radio that only received AM stations. The speakers were of less than stellar quality and they fuzzed and rattled as he tuned in a Spanish station. The kid demanded he change it. Intentionally, Jose overshot the station the kid wanted, going back and forth over the stations like a big brother teasing his kid brother. Scout didn’t understand Jose’s objective particularly when the kid had the gun pressed against her temple.
Jose asked the kid, in Spanish, what his name was.
“Speak English, mothafuckur.”
“What’s your name?” Jose asked in a sedate voice.
“None of your fuckin’ business, that’s my name. What, you gunna be my best friend?” he snapped back, amusing himself.
Scout cut in, “No, just what do you want to be called. Make up a name. They ask for names at the border….” She talked on to offset Jose’s antagonistic manner. She had no clue what they did or asked for at the border but she also was aware that they were driving in the opposite direction from the Mexican border. She figured that the kid was living out some outlaw fantasy and didn’t know the reality of what he was doing; he sure didn’t know where he was going. That could be a good thing or a bad thing and she was panicking.
“Should we call you Mr. Dumas?” Jose retorted.
“Fuck you! And shut the fuck up.”
Dumas? Doomoss. Scout ran that one through her head repeatedly wondering why Jose would come up with that name. Mr. Dumas. Mr. Du Mas. Mr. Dum As. Mr. Dumb Ass. She worried that Jose was not taking the kid as seriously as he should be and the kid’s gun was pointed at her head. The kid’s fantasy hadn’t been fulfilled as desired. The abduction plan didn’t include an added man. The kid seemed increasingly agitated as the miles progressed.
“Turn down that road,” he said breathing down Jose’s neck.
Jose was familiar with the road and knew it went through private property. The road was full of rocks and ruts. They dipped, bounced and rocked with the terrain. The car rode like an old covered wagon and Scout worried the gun might accidentally go off at each bump.
“Could you aim that away from my head until we get onto a smoother road, please? I’m afraid it’s going to accidentally go off.”
He tilted his head cockeyed up to her face. He appeared to be thinking. Then looked like he was about to explode.
“Maybe I want the fucking gun to go off in your head. Maybe I want you and your friend Hooooosay to shut the fuck up!” He backed up, pulled her over his lap and pushed her head up to the back of Jose’s head. “Maybe I’ll put a bullet through your head and it’ll come out in Hooooosay’s head. Maybe I---“
The car made a loud grinding sound and the engine died. The kid pushed Scout away and put the gun on Jose.
“What happened?”
Jose let the car roll a bit farther then stepped on the brake before answering the kid. “Not sure. I have to get out and check. Something probably rocked loose on this bumpy road.”
The kid checked the road for any other cars then ordered Jose to turn the key and try to start it. The engine wasn’t starting. He repeatedly told Jose to turn the key. He did and each time with the same result. The kid again checked to see if anyone was around then commanded Jose and Scout out of the truck. He had Scout get down on her knees in front of the truck where he could keep her in close range but out of view of possible passersby. He ordered Jose to check the engine.
Jose secured the hood, feigning the mechanic. He displayed sincere concern about getting the engine in repair and the vehicle on its way. Unlike a short time prior, the kid was responding favorably to Jose, honoring his request for assistance. Scout was uneasy about the sudden change in Jose’s demeanor. The kid’s mercurial reactions while still in possession of the gun made Scout stay in a constant state of panic. Even though her knees were hurting, she remained in the kneeling position as she watched, worried.
Jose and the kid were leaning over the engine pulling this thing, tapping that thing, unfastening, reattaching and talking back and forth. The kid was making suggestions and Jose was following through, adding possibilities, and handing the kid an engine part as the kid asked questions. Aside from Jose’s lack of pants, they looked like father and son cooperatively working on the engine.
“Do you mind if I sit instead, my knees can’t take this,” Scout interrupted.
They both turned and looked at her as though they had forgotten she was there. The kid nodded a yes and added, “Watch the coat.”
She pulled the coat up so it would not touch the ground and sat bare-ass on the prickly terrain watching the two pseudo-mechanics at work, wondering what was actually going on. Jose had told Scout previously at the campground that he knew little if anything about her vehicle and therefore couldn’t tell her the possible cause of the screeching from the International, not even a guess. But Scout knew that Jose was good at faking; he had a lot of practice at the campground. Whatever Jose was doing, he had lessened the tension between him and the kid. The kid tucked the gun back into his pants, periodically checked the road for cars and people, and then continued working with Jose on the engine problem at an even keel.
With the tension lifted, Scout felt safe to change positions without sending the kid into a trigger-happy rage. She scooted back to lean against a boulder--ever so careful, making sure that she didn’t soil the kid’s coat. She watched the foamy clouds drift across the bright-blue sky and Lauren came to mind. Their fates had run side by side in so many ways in life, she now wondered if they would be likewise in death--would some twisted individual with a quick temper also take her life out in the woods?
A lizard scurried from behind her to the top of a rock. It extended its front legs, lifting its upper body as if surveying the area. She wondered what it would be looking for. Its head turned from side to side, and then it lowered itself, raced off the rock and camouflaged into the terrain. The reptile reminded Scout she was in rattlesnake territory. She was sitting next to boulders, a favorite sunning spot for rattlers. She scooted away and back to her designated kneeling spot.
“Okay, turn it over!” yelled Jose. The kid was sitting behind the wheel. The car made an airy nananananana sound then stopped.
“Again.”
The kid turned the key again and the same sound played out until Jose told him to stop.
“Hold on, let me try this.” Jose was fooling with the engine while the kid waited in the driver’s seat.
Scout lowered her head onto her knees. She was thirsty.
“Okay, again.” Jose was giving the orders now and the kid was obeying.
Something hit Scout’s cheek and she jerked her head up. Jose was leaning into the engine signaling to her. He pointed to her, then to himself. He moved his two fingers back and forth to simulate running, then lifted his palm as to say “wait.”
She alternated between watching the kid and watching Jose as the two continued calling out to each other regarding the engine.
“Maybe we can push start this piece of shit.” The frustrated kid got out of the car.
Jose had a plan and responded, “Naaah, this whole engine is loose. It’s rough. Things shook loose. I need to tighten them down but I don’t have the tools. I need a rag.”
The kid turned to Scout. “You got a rag in this piece of shit?”
“Not that I know of. Do you want me to look?”
Jose interrupted, “Forget it, I’ll manage. Just don’t turn it over until I have everything tightened down.”
The kid got back behind the wheel and waited.
&nb
sp; “Do you have your foot on the gas?” Jose yelled.
“Turn it?”
“No, do you have your foot on the gas, the gas pedal?” Jose looked at Scout in a way that said get ready.
The kid claimed he hadn’t “touched a fuckin’ thing.”
“Okay.” Jose instructed the kid to lift the pedal and pull up on the cable. “You’re going to have to pull it pretty hard and turn the key in the ignition at the same time. Can you handle it?”
“Fuck yeah. Now?” the kid shouted back.
“Okay, crank the key and hold the pedal until I say stop or it starts. Got it?”
The kid contorted his body to have one hand on the cable and the other on the key in the ignition. As soon as the nanananana sound began, Jose crouched down and waved for Scout to join him. She quickly crawled over to Jose, scraping her hands and knees, and the coat. He reached for her arm to help her up and whispered, “Go as fast as you can but stick by me.” They tucked themselves as close to the ground as possible and dashed to the rickety branch and wire fence. He helped her over then the two stood upright and ran into the pasture, Jose in the lead and Scout on his tail like an animal on the heels of its prey. Jose aimed for the closest cluster of trees for protection.
The engine noise stopped followed by “fuck!” and a gunshot. In their desperation to put space between them and the gun, the two didn’t look back to see if the kid was in pursuit or if the gun was aimed their way; they kept running toward the trees for cover. The enraged kid had a clear view of his former captives as they ran across the open area. They were too far away. The handgun was of no help. The kid stopped at the fence and screamed his bloody threats for all they were worth but returned to the truck. He needed to get out of there.
Jose sat exhausted against the base of a tree and Scout joined him.
“My God, my feet,” exclaimed Scout in pain. Her bare feet had been mercilessly assaulted from the small cacti, the stray cacti needles, rocks, sticks and the harsh ground cover as they ran across the pasture. Her blessed adrenaline delayed the pain response so the pain did not delay her.
Jose kept his eyes on the kid, watching him kick at the dirt, the tires and yell in frustration.
“Do you think he’s going to get it started and be able to come after us?”
“Only if he finds the tank switch on your truck,” Jose responded still eyeing the kid.
“What tank switch?”
“You have two tanks on that truck,” Jose began to explain.
“You mean my car has two gas tanks?”
“It’s a truck, not a car.” He continued, “You have two gas tanks, you have a gas cap on each side of your truck, right?”
She was aware of the two gas caps, she filled both tanks but didn’t know that they did not merge; she thought they both attached to one gas line. Feeling stupid, she said nothing.
“I just flipped the switch. One of your tanks is empty.” He smiled at Scout. “So, you didn’t know you had two tanks?”
Scout attempted to pull the needles and other sharp objects out of her feet.
“You owe me,” Jose said as he pulled stickers from his own feet while still keeping an eye on the kid.
“What were you doing by my car, why were you out there?” She asked then winced, “God, my feet.” Scout was now biting down on the tips of needles too small to grab with her fingertips.
“Look!” Jose alerted Scout to a car coming down the road towards the kid.
She crawled over to Jose’s side to have a look. The International had its hood up and the kid stood by it looking stranded and in need of help. The car pulled up behind him.
“Shouldn’t we warn them?”
“Hold on.” He didn’t want to alarm them if it wasn’t going to be necessary. He didn’t want to put the passersby in danger if the kid had no intention but to use their help to get the truck started.
“He’s got the gun, Jose. He’ll carjack their car to have something to get out of here.”
“There’s two men,” he said, intently watching. “Just wait.”
The two men got out of the car and the kid met them halfway. Jose figured one of them would discover the tank switch and the kid would be on his way but Scout feared the kid would shoot the two men and take their car.
“Don’t worry.” Jose sounded confident. “There’s someone in the back seat. There are three of them; it’s too much for the kid, too many people. He’s just a punk.”
“A punk with a gun,” Scout worried.
Jose wanted to take this opportunity to gain more distance from the kid but Scout insisted on knowing what fate befell the good Samaritans. They watched and waited. One of the men leaned into the International. He found the switch and within minutes, the truck started up. The two men got back into their own car and drove off unharmed as the kid stood by the truck waving a friendly goodbye as they passed. He then turned and looked up in the direction of Jose and Scout.
“What do you think he’s going to do?” Scout asked, focused on the kid.
“Get the hell out of here.”
The kid got into the truck and was off down the road in full screech. She watched her beloved International Scout disappear down the winding dirt road along with its distinctive sound.
“Why didn’t you fix that?” Jose commented on the hair-raising engine sound.
“At least we’ll hear him coming. Anyway, it never bothered me.”
“It’s going to draw a hell of a lot of attention to the punk.” Jose turned to Scout and asked, “Think he’ll make it to the border?” He enjoyed the thought of the kid heading north to the Mexican border and added, “Fucking punk.”
With the kid on his way, their focus was back on their feet. They had stinging objects too small to be seen and needles of various sizes buried and some protruding from the bottoms of their feet. Jose pulled his foot up onto his knee to get a closer look.
“Are you intentionally exposing yourself?” Scout raised her eyebrows; it was a relief to joke again.
“If you must look, feel free.” Jose then stuck his foot out, holding it up to Scout. Jose’s large fingers made it difficult for him to grab onto the tiny needles. “I saved your life and you owe me, me-The Great Lion.” Jose beamed a smile. Both were feeling as though they could finally relax and breathe easy for the time being. She took Jose’s foot in her hand and did her best to remove what needles she could then continued to foster the lighthearted banter, at least temporarily. She needed it. They both needed it.
He withdrew his one foot and stuck out his other foot. “I’m bipedal,” he hinted.
“From this angle you’re tri-pedal.”
“Well, you begged me to take off my clothes,” Jose wisecracked.
“Speaking of which, how are we going to make it back dressed like this?” she asked.
“Let’s just be glad we’re going back.”
They stretched out their legs and took some time to rest.
“God, I really thought the kid was going to shoot you, or me. You seemed calm but I was panicked. I was afraid you were going to jump him or something.”
“And you criticize the women I pick up!” Jose kept the joking going.
“Funny.”
“Aaaaaah, inbreeding. Creates a find breed of youngins. How did you run into the psycho-kid anyway?”
“I was walking back to Pista. He stopped to give me a ride and I was grateful that he stopped. I had those damn clogs on and I could hardly walk. Anyway, he wasn’t interested in helping me or giving me a ride; he wanted my car.”
“And your clothes?”
“Same as with you. I’m sure he thought it would keep us from running. No shoes, no clothes, no going anywhere.” She didn’t want to talk about how she came to lose her clothes, at least not then. “Let’s just figure how we are going to get back to Pista barefoot and half naked and without bullet holes.”
“Yeah, out in the middle of nowhere where
it hurts like hell to walk and we don’t have clothes--good start. I’ve been in worse. We may not get your truck back but we’ll get back.” Jose looked around to get his bearings. “We should at least start for the main road.” He stood up, ready to go.
“What about the kid? What if he comes back?”
“Don’t worry; we’ll hear him far in advance.”
“Do you think we’ll make it to the main road before it gets dark?” She trusted that Jose knew their location.
“No, but we can try. I know it’s going to get cold if we don’t make it back.” Jose knew that they needed to get started. “Come on.” He began walking east.
She watched him for a minute or so, ever mindful of her sensitive feet.
“Wait up!” she shouted once he got past the trees.
The pace was slow as they made their way across the side of the hill. They listened for the sound of the screeching engine and kept their distance from the winding road and their sights on getting to the main road before dark.
“Look! A truck!” Excited, Scout pointed to a pickup truck heading their way along the winding road.
“I saw it.”
It was coming from the direction of the main road and was going west, winding down the same dirt road where they ran from the kid. They both at once started down the side of the hill in a painful trot.
“You think they could hear us if we yell?” Scout hollered to Jose as she tried to keep up.
“I doubt it.” Jose stopped. “I think I can make it down to the fence by the time they get there and wave them down. You stay here.”
“Why?”
“It looks like two men in the truck,” he said with regard. “I don’t want any problems,” and gave her a quick reminder of their attire.
“Go over by the rocks; sit down behind the rocks, okay?” He turned to look at her and said firmly, “I’m serious.”
“Okay, okay.” She turned, taking the biggest steps she could manage to avoid the painful plants.
“If I get in the truck without waving to you,” he continued as she walked away, “or if I don’t look up at you, then it’s because I don’t think it’s safe for you but I’ll be back. Just stay right by those rocks; don’t wander off, at all. Okay?”
Scout stopped. “I temporarily apologize for everything mean I have ever said to you, Jose. In other words, don’t leave me here in the dark.”
Jose jogged and hopped as fast as he was able and made it before the truck got to that section of fencing. He stood a bit self-conscious, barelegged, dressed only in his tee shirt. He thought how he would explain immediately that he had been carjacked, threatened with a gun and had his clothes taken.
As the truck approached, he saw three men in the cab and all three spotted Jose at the same time. He stepped up to the fence, waving for them to stop. They stared, a hostile stare, slowing just enough to get a better look. Jose continued to yell and wave his arms for them to stop. It worked; they slammed on the brakes. One of the men stuck his head out the window and said something that Jose couldn’t decipher. They put the truck in reverse and stepped on the gas, weaving back and forth, stopping only yards away from where Jose stood cautiously from the other side of the fence. The man leaning out the window was sweaty, dirty and drunk. The man in the middle leaned over and by accident knocked the hat off the other man’s head exposing his thin stringy hair drenched in sweat. The hatless man held a can of beer loosely in his hand. He balanced himself on the door as he hung out the window to spew two words like venom.
“Fuckin’ faggot!”
He flipped Jose off with the same hand that held his can of Budweiser, spilling beer on himself and the truck. That loss of valuable beer became the fault of the wayward faggot and they scrambled to get out of the truck.
“Wait, man,” Jose quickly yelled to the men. “Hey, man, wait a minute! Let me explain the---“Jose couldn’t be heard over the shouts of “Fuckin’ homo; we’ll feed your dick to a coyote…” and the continuum of perils-to-the-penis comments as they stumbled out of the truck. Jose had sobriety on his side and took off running across the open space and away from where Scout hid by the boulders. Besides throwing a few rocks, the inebriated trio didn’t overexert themselves; they got back into their truck and went on their merry way, popping open fresh cans of Budweiser--self-assured of their heterosexual status.
“Jose!” she shouted from atop the boulders. “They’re gone!” Scout met him halfway, hopping and swearing at the assaulting vegetation.
“Wow, you made a good impression, Mr. Jose,” she poked.
“You go next time,” Jose retorted. “I need to sit, fuckin’ assholes. I gotta let my feet recover.”
They climbed onto a rock formation that had a large flat boulder still warm from the day’s sun to lie on their backs and rest their feet. Scout laughed aloud as Jose described the men in the truck with creative and insulting verbiage.
“Why don’t we make this rock our mattress for the night, since I don’t think we have a better choice from the looks of it,” Jose suggested. Scout scanned the area and saw acres of prickly terrain and the next rock cluster quite a distance away. His suggestion sounded agreeable under the dire circumstances, and she was exhausted. The adrenaline was fading along with her energy. The flat rock gave them a good view of the road yet they could slide back and quickly be hidden from sight.
“We may have better luck tomorrow catching a sympathetic ride then we did today,” Scout hoped. “I’m just glad we are bullet-free, Jose. I am so relieved. That kid was nuts.”
“We’re going to freeze our asses off tonight, ya know,” Jose informed.
They discussed sleeping arrangements, which consisted of Scout willing to share the kid’s coat and Jose willing to make like a pillow. Once agreed upon, they turned their attention to Broken Arrow. It was a good distraction since they had no food and more important, no water. They needed a diversion and Scout had no interest in talking about anything that transpired with the kid.
“They’ll definitely notice that both you and I are gone all night,” Jose remarked.
“I hope someone thinks to feed Pepper.”
Jose assured her that if Burt or Bella didn’t feed Pepper, then Eric or Penny surely would, “…and Eric always has spare dog food.”
“Why?”
“He wants a dog; he just hasn’t found the right dog. He’s preparing, buying the food before the dog. Who knows; it’s Eric.”
Scout smiled. Her encounters with Eric seemed to back such a theory.
The temperature was just right. It was quiet, calm and soon the sun would be setting—a beautiful close to a day under different circumstances and different attire.
“What a day, what a day,” Jose proclaimed in exhaustion as he stretched and twisted to get more comfortable.
“Please, any other topic. I don’t want to even think about it. Just for a while, let’s change the subject. Any other topic…but keep it light, okay?”
“We’re safe here and tomorrow we’ll be back at the campground. We can handle it.” Jose was confident and Scout appreciated how he took their present situation in stride.“Question for you,” she began.
“Shoot.”
“Okay, speaking of Eric, how does he stay so clean?” she asked in all seriousness. Eric landscaped, poured cement, did general construction and managed to look as if he were leaving for a round of golf. His collegiate attire was always spotless while his coworkers looked like they had been landscaping, pouring cement and had been doing general construction.
Jose got a chuckle out of the question, not that it wasn’t one others pondered also.
“I’m serious, how does he stay so clean? He works, I see him.” Trivial topics seemed appropriate and she persisted. “Well? I couldn’t do it.”
“That’s just Eric. I don’t know how he does it. He doesn’t like being asked either. Have you seen the inside of his trailer?”
“N
o but I can imagine.”
“No, opposite. A fricken mess. I wouldn’t eat anything stored in his fridge.” Jose contorted his mouth in disgust.
“That’s odd, he is so clean when he works, as if he’d been Scotchguarded or coated in Teflon, and he doesn’t even have a hair out of place.”
“I got a beer from his trailer once and had to wash the can before I got it near my mouth.”
“So, dirt sticks to his house but not him.” She added, “I think he’s a really nice person.”
“To you,” Jose said with obvious annoyance.
“You mean he’s not normally friendly?”
“I don’t think he likes his job there or likes living there. Actually, I think he hates it.”
“Then why does he work there?” She paused for second to add, “Look, we are having a civil conversation, remarkable. Please continue.”
“Yeah, let’s see how long we can keep this up.”
“Go on.”
“You’ve seen that tall skinny guy that looks like a drug dealer?”
“Pierre?”
“Yeah, Pierre, the one who wears the Hawaiian shirts. He’s Eric’s brother. Pierre is a long story, a bad long story. Eric showed up looking for him and Lila hired him and gave him that trailer to live in.”
“Showed up from where?”
“Louisiana.”
“Louisiana? But he doesn’t have an accent, a Louisiana accent, I mean.”
“Pierre does, and Eric doesn’t look anything like his brother either…” Jose proceeded to tell Scout about the peculiar circumstances of Eric and the long drawn-out story of Pierre and his shady dealings with Lila. Lila trusted the wrong person and Eric wanted to make it up to her.
“Okay, I have another question, as long as we are being civil and having a normal conversation….” Scout wanted to talk, focus elsewhere, and let the day’s events disappear with the sun.
“Shoot.” Jose figured that was what she was doing. He also thought she might be chatty to mask a degree of fear.
“What about Tom, does he talk to anyone at Broken Arrow? Does he ever talk to you?”
“Tom’s Navajo,” Jose said very matter of fact.
“What, Navajos aren’t allowed to talk at Broken Arrow,” Scout replied mocking Jose’s blunt uninformative response.
“He’s Navajo and doesn’t talk to white people.”
“So he works for Lila and but won’t talk to her?” She doubted Jose’s account of why Tom was silent.
“He talks to Eric. I think he talks to Lila through Eric. I’ve seen Lila talk to him but he shakes his head in response, never heard him really talk to Lila.”
“But why?”
“You want to hear the whole story?” Jose asked her as though preparing her for a long one.
“Well hurry it up, my ride should be here any minute now.”
“Tom’s brother was killed by three white kids,” Jose began to explain.
“Murdered?” she asked.
“Yeah, ugly situation.”
“Why and how?”
“Beat him up. They were all drunk and high. He could have squeezed the life out of those little bastards if he wasn’t so drunk. He was a big guy like Tom, he could have kicked all three of their scrawny asses with one hand tied behind his back if he wasn’t so fucking drunk.”
“So he won’t talk to all white people because his brother was murdered by whites?”
“It was what happened to the three that did it, or what didn’t happen.”
“I think I know this story.”
“You heard about the murder?”
“No, go on.”
“They were caught, convicted and sent to some boys’ camp for a few years and let out.” He took an audible breath then continued, “Having your brother murdered and the murderers walking around town free, how do you live with that?”
“Unfortunately, a lot of people do.”
“It’s no secret, everyone knows. It was in the papers, the trial and everything. He had to leave that town. I think that’s why Lila hired him. She understands and feels bad for him. Lila doesn’t mind that he doesn’t talk to her.”
“Does he really blame all Anglos?”
“Anglos?” Jose grinned.
“Anglo, white, you know what I mean.”
“Tom doesn’t trust them.” Jose was blunt. “You haven’t been there.”
Scout felt tightness in her stomach.
“You have to experience that kind of death---”
Scout interrupted, “You don’t know what I have experienced, Jose. Thousands in this country, this world, have experienced a murder in their life.”
“But you haven’t,” Jose stated so matter of fact that it was hard for Scout to hold back.
“I know the affects of a brutal murder. I know what it’s like to have some scum murder someone you love and get by with it.”
Jose waited for her to elaborate but she said nothing more.
“You know what it’s like to lose someone to murder?” Jose was curious. “How do you know about murder? Tell me.”
“How do we all know, it’s in the paper, in the news; it’s everywhere. It’s in our entertainment; hell, I’ve spent time with Lester haven’t I.”
Jose gave a quick laugh.
“Wow, we got on a perky topic, sort of adds to the ambiance of the day.”
“You asked about Tom; I was answering.”
A disquieted silence consumed the next increment of time as they lie on their bed of stone.
“I feel like Fred and Wilma,” Scout commented.
The swirls of vivid color adorned the setting sun. Soon the light faded along with the warm air.
“Are you tired?” Jose asked.
“Yes, but very uncomfortable on this slab and getting cold and my camper seems like a palace right now. Anything but this Flintstone bed would do.”
“You can use me for a pillow, we agreed.” He tucked the coat around her and scooted up a touch so that Scout could place her head on his chest. Little time had passed before Scout fell asleep. Jose watched as the stars multiplied and blanketed the dark blue night sky. He slept in spurts while Scout slept like a baby in a prehistoric cradle.
Come morning the same scent and warmth that cradled Scout to sleep was uncomfortably intimate. She quickly sat up and put distance between her body and Jose’s. Her obvious discomfort by the unavoidable physicality of the circumstances amused him.
“Good morning,” Jose greeted.
“I’m freezing, how about you?” Scout tucked her feet under the coat.
“I’m fine.”
There was an uneasy quiet but Jose didn’t allow it to last long. “So shall we call room service?”
“Oh, of course. You are such a gentleman. I’ll have a latte, avocado and cheese omelet, sourdough toast, fresh strawberries with half whipped cream and half vanilla yogurt and a pair of pants and hiking boots. How ‘bout you?”
“Hot coffee and pants sounds nice, and shoes.”
Both scurried off in different directions to take care of personal matters. Scout arrived back at the rock formation before Jose and watched him hobble through the prickly plants knowing they faced miles more of such terrain.
“We should get started,” Jose said as he looked around, watching the area come to life with birds, lizards and the sounds of cattle in the distance.
“I guess we should start walking, but I’m still freezing.”
“The walk and the sun will warm you up. Come on, let’s get started.” Jose stood up and stretched, exposing more than intended and making Scout laugh.
“Quit looking,” Jose retorted.
“Oh my, my, it looks just like a penis, only smaller,” Scout joked back.
They bantered in jest while they began their long trek to the road. The cocky Broken Arrow employee Scout first encountered with contempt evolved into a playful adversary and now a hero.
> She noticed that Jose’s tee shirt and privates were vying for the same border. She shouted down to him, “We have to find you some kind of cover.”
“Hard pressed to find a fig leaf around here,” he shouted back. Jose wasn’t pleased about hobbling around the countryside dressed like a toddler at the beach.
Scout offered to exchange clothing since the coat was longer than the tee shirt.
“Longer and hotter!” Jose shook his head while she donned a knowing smile. “Okay, toss me the coat.”
Scout hopped down behind the rock and tossed up the coat. He made her wait for irritation sake.
“Toss me the shirt!” she yelled up knowing full well what he was doing.
“Say please, try the polite thing and see if it works,” he taunted.
“Please, toss down the fucking tee shirt,” she shouted. “How was that? Was that the polite you were looking for?” Scout leaned against the rocks and waited. Eventually the shirt flopped down in front of her. With the coat tied around his waist and Scout complaining that the tee shirt stunk, they headed east towards the main road.
Soon they were both complaining aloud of the bitter brush beneath their already abused feet. The only way they could tolerate the hike was to try to travel on the rocks and dirt as much as possible. This kept them a distance from the road but at that point, they didn’t care; they were making their way in the right direction in less pain. Their route via the rocks led them to the top of a large rock mass where they rested, and again pulled plant particles from the bottoms of their feet. Scout voiced her concern about Pepper’s care while Jose made light of the inevitable speculation buzzing about Broken Arrow due to their combined absence. Soon they were off, again trying their best to follow a trail of rocks and plant-less ground. Neither wanted to do another night in the chilly mountains and they were thirsty which motivated them to avoid frequent rests. They covered decent ground with little conversation.
They heard a distinguishable sound in the distance, which stopped them in their tracks. They looked at each other and waited to hear it again. And did.
“Could it be?” Scout asked.
“Sounds like Charlie to me. God bless Charlie!”
The distinct sound of Charlie’s mule and the faint sound of whistling, Charlie’s whistling, meant that Charlie was near. He was on one of those back roads inching along with his wooden home and family of mules.
“All right!” Jose punched the air in celebration.
Chapter Seven
The Posse