by Dan Dowhal
“You know, you have to,” he tells her with a grin.
“Oh? Do tell.”
“Yup. You saved my life, so now you’re responsible for me. I’m pretty sure it’s some kind of cowboy code. You could have left me there on the side of the road to die, but you didn’t, so the code says you’re stuck with me. It’s your own fault.”
Tammy’s laugh is soft but unrestrained, and Shane relishes the sound of it. “Well, okay then, I guess I just picked me up another stray.” She spits on her palm and sticks her hand out across the table. Shane shakes it to seal the deal.
When he climbs back into the truck, he sees shopping bags and a box of groceries on the passenger seat, indicating that Tammy has made immediate use of the newfound cash. He moves the goods to the floor and sits sideways to face Tammy. As they drive back to the ranch, somehow they get on the subject of the legendary Billy the Kid. Shane was unaware that the outlaw’s exploits took place largely in New Mexico and that he’d often hide out among the local Mexican Americans. As genuinely interested as Shane is in the story, he is more fascinated by Tammy’s cheerful, animated face as she relates the details.
When they pull into the driveway to the ranch, Tammy grows quiet, a slight frown skewing her lips. No one greets them when they arrive, but when Shane carries the bags into the kitchen, Yolanda is sitting there shelling peas, and she explodes in anger.
“What’s he doing here? Did this bastardo stiff us for the money again?”
“Would I have bought these groceries if he had?” Tammy replies. “Shane needed a place to bunk for a while longer, and I told him he could stay here.”
Yolanda looks from Tammy to Shane and narrows her eyes before letting loose with a rapid-fire string of Spanish, all rolling R’s and words spat out in staccato. Shane can’t understand them, but he gets the gist.
“Listen here, Yolanda,” Tammy says. “Just because you do it in Spanish don’t mean you can cuss in this house. Now, he’s gonna pay us room and board, he’ll keep sleeping in the stable like before, and he’s agreed to help out around the place, too. We could use the help, and you know darn sure we could use the money.”
Neither one says anything else. They stand there glaring at one another, Yolanda with her legs planted, hands on her hips, Tammy with her arms folded and her head held high.
Maybelline comes hopping into the room. “Shane, Shane, came back again,” she sings when she sees him. Then she clues in to the tension between the other two women and her grin evaporates. “Oh, oh. No, no. Whoa, whoa,” she burbles.
Shane has caused this situation and figures he needs to defuse it. Despite his reputation as a ruffian, he has always deplored locker room conflicts and has often played mediator, especially once he earned veteran status.
“Yolanda, I’m not trying to force myself on you here. And I’m not trying to take advantage of anyone’s good nature. I figured this for a win-win situation, and I’m willing to pay my way and to work. But if you’re not comfortable having me around, then I understand — I’ll go, and no hard feelings.”
Seconds pass, and Yolanda finally blinks. “How much did this one-armed bandit say he’d pay us?”
“A thousand for the next couple of weeks with two hundred up front.”
“Actually, Yolanda, I also came back for your cooking. I was hoping for more of that rattlesnake chili.”
Yolanda does not acknowledge the joke, but she sits down and resumes shelling the peas. “Well, at least the bum took a bath and shaved,” she mutters, and with that, Shane has a place to stay.
He pulls out two hundred dollars and places it on the table where Yolanda can see. “There’s the advance,” he says. “Should I leave my balls, too?”
Yolanda’s face still does not crack. “That’s okay. I know where to find them.”
Maybelline titters and pirouettes over to grab Shane by the chin. “Howdy do, look at you … you’re all purrrrrrrdy.”
Shane catches a disapproving look from Tammy, and turns away from Maybelline’s attention to address everyone. “Look, I know it’s weird having me here. I just wanted to say, well, thanks a lot for everything, I mean it. I’ll go and set up in the stable now. Then, if there’s any chores I can help with, just say the word.”
“Wash line’s coming down,” Maybelline says.
“Hinge is loose on the door of Vern’s shack,” says Tammy.
“You’re going to need to dig yourself a shit hole, ’cause you ain’t using the ladies’ room,” Yolanda says. This time she finally does smile.
The snakes in their cages barely stir as Shane walks past them to the back of the stable, and he speculates that this is because they were recently fed. In the backroom, the mattress is still on the floor, although the bedding has been removed. He scrounges up some pieces of wood and constructs a crude platform to raise the mattress off the ground, then goes in search of the bedroll. He finds it airing out on the clothesline and sagging right down to the ground. One of the supporting posts has tilted inward, so he pushes it upright to restore tension to the clothesline, packs down the dirt again, and adds some bracing.
Next, he adjusts the door on the small outbuilding that Vern uses as his bedroom, relocating the wobbly hinge so its screws find fresh purchase, although this chore proves problematic what with the cast on his left hand. He concocts a workaround solution, wedging the door in position with his shoulder and using a wooden shim to lever the door off the ground.
When it comes to building himself an outhouse, he is able to do much of the crude carpentry once he locates a stack of second-hand lumber behind the stable, but digging a hole with just one hand is difficult. Only the softness of the soil allows any meaningful progress. He decides he will need to enlist the boy Vern for help with the excavation.
When Tammy walks out to the highway to meet the school bus, Shane tags along. Gracie seems shocked to see him waiting, and she skulks around to her mother’s side. Vern, though, is visibly delighted by Shane’s return.
“I thought you’d gone for good,” he says.
“Oh, I came back to tackle that wiring job we started and help out around the place for a while until I get my shhh … my stuff together.”
Gracie is still looking at Shane uncertainly. He has a flash of inspiration. “Hey, I know it’s not as good as a pony, but wanna ride on my shoulders?” he offers. The girl looks at her mother. Tammy just shrugs, so he squats down, and Gracie climbs aboard.
When he stands up, she squeals with joy. “Wow, I can see real far from up here.” She grabs his hair and gives it a playful tug. “Giddy up, horsie.” Shane gives a whinny, and imitating a horse’s trot, canters homeward while the others follow, laughing at his antics.
Shane does not wait to be evicted from the house after dinner. The previous night’s carousing with Doc Sanchez and his bellyful of Yolanda’s chicken enchiladas with beans and salad have him feeling drowsy, anyway. He thanks everyone for their hospitality, solicits chores for the next day, and bids them all pleasant dreams. He is a little surprised, but touched when Gracie comes over from the table to give him a good night hug. Outside, he and Vern linger for a bit discussing prospective work projects.
He occupies himself by tidying the workbench, staying up in the hopes Maybelline will come visit him again. Eventually, he undresses and turns down the lantern. That’s when he hears the light crunch of her feet along the gravel aisle. She appears in the doorway waving the jar of moonshine, which only has a couple of fingers’ worth of liquid left.
“Hey,” she whispers. She kicks off her slippers and crawls right on top of his bed, even though he’s clearly not dressed. “There ain’t hardly but a little left, but I thought you might want a nightcap.” She is wearing a flannel robe, and when she leans forward, it falls open, revealing a baby-blue nightgown beneath.
“Hang on,” he says, and reaches for his pants, which are folded on the ground. “Here,” he says, handing her a fifty-dollar bill.
Her playful expression diss
olves. “What’s this for?”
“I want to buy the next bottle. I’ve been drinking up all your booze.”
“That’s okay, you don’t have to,” she says, but slips the money into the pocket of her robe nonetheless.
Shane takes a swig and grimaces. “Maybe you can buy something that doesn’t take the top of your head off.”
She laughs and takes her own sip, wiping her mouth on her sleeve. “It ain’t so bad once you get used to it. And you gotta admit, it’s got a kick. The thing is, I can’t buy no normal liquor. I mean, I got money, on account of Tammy pays us a share for working, but I don’t never go into town without her driving me, and she watches me like a hawk. Thinks I’ll get into trouble.”
“Where do you get the hooch, then?”
“I buy it from a hand over at the Curly Q — that’s the ranch next door. I go over there to buy eggs.”
“Why don’t you guys raise some chickens, too?” He points toward the adjoining stalls. “Instead of those.”
She shrugs. “We’ve talked about it, but never seems to be enough extra money to get set up.” She holds the jar up high and lets the last couple of drops of moonshine fall on her tongue, then seals up the jar. “We’ve talked about a lot of things.” She’s looking at Shane when she says this, but her gaze is faraway.
Then she catches herself being serious and jumps to her feet. “Little ol’ me has got to flee before Yolanda finds I’m free,” Maybelline sings, bouncing up and down on the mattress as she does. She jumps off to step into her slippers, then pats him on the head, like he’s a little child. “I’m glad I got my drinking buddy back. We are buddies, right?”
“You bet.”
She puts her finger to her lips. “Shhh. Remember. Don’t tell Tammy.”
TWELVE
Late the next morning, after the kids are at school and the women are all working outside, Shane slips into the house to use the phone. With the operator’s help he calls Morrie Getz, who, in addition to being Shane’s agent, also serves as his informal financial manager. Or, more accurately, his financial conscience after bad decisions.
“Bronk! Thank God you called. Your ears must have been burning,” Getz exclaims.
“How so? Am I on the Most Wanted List?”
“Not unless you’re referring to being my most in-demand client.”
“What are you talking about, Morrie? You said no club would touch me.”
“Listen, Bronk, you know I always give it to you straight. I wouldn’t count on lacing up your skates in the NHL anytime soon. But … you’re just about the most famous man in sports right now. We must have had a thousand requests for interviews.”
“I don’t want to talk to no reporters.”
“Then don’t … not for free, anyway. But there’s some serious bidding going on for the rights to an exclusive interview.”
“How serious?”
“I’m pretty sure it’ll go to six figures.”
Shane whistles. “What would I have to do?”
“Do? Nothing. Give them your side of the story. Answer their questions. Mind you, the big bidders want you on camera.”
“I don’t trust reporters.”
Getz laughs. “Always said you were smarter than you let on. But look, Bronk, you should do this … and not just because I get my cut. I know Brandi cleaned you out, so you need the dough.”
“How do you know that?”
“She was bragging about it to one of the wives. You know, word gets around. Didn’t I warn you about Brandi from the beginning? The girl might as well have been wearing a jersey with Gold Digger on the back. Oh well, that’s water under the bridge now. Pick yourself up and get back in the game. Time to start thinking about a future outside of hockey and to grab all the dough you can. I know you’re waiting for your playoff money, and eventually you’ll get your league pension, but for now I’ve asked the club to hold off paying you.”
“Hold off? What the fuck for? I’m broke.”
“Calm down, Bronk. Everything’s deposited directly into your joint account, remember? It’d be like handing that money straight to Brandi.”
“Aw, shit, I didn’t think of that.”
“Yeah, well, I did. So, the first thing you do is open up a new bank account. Where are you, anyway? No, don’t tell me, in case some cop shows up asking after you.”
“Um, I can’t open an account right now.”
“Why not? Wait, you’re not in jail already?”
“No, at least not yet. The thing is, Morrie, I got robbed. Lost my money, my cellphone, my passport, my ID — everything.”
There is a pronounced sigh from the other end of the line. “Fuck, Shane. What did you do? Follow some hooker into a back alley? How many times have I told you —” Getz suddenly stops himself. “How broke are you, kiddo?”
“Well, my dad just wired some emergency cash to get me by … but that’s going fast, and I really need some more. That’s, er, kinda why I was calling.”
“What kind of schmuck do you think I am? Don’t you know an agent’s supposed to suck money out of his clients, not vice versa?” Getz sighs again. “All right, all right. I’ll save you from asking. I think I got two thousand in petty cash … will that tide you over? Just don’t tell anyone, okay? You’ll spoil my reputation as a shark. But, hell, Shane, all the more reason you should do an interview, don’t you think? Strike while the iron is hot, and all that. Besides, who knows how long it’ll be before you’ll be able to sort the rest out. So? I got your permission to cut a deal?”
“All right, Morrie. But get some money up front when you do. I want to pay my dad back right away. And you can take that two K out of it.”
“Oh, don’t worry, Shane. I was going to. Listen, say hi to your dad next time you talk to him. It’s only on account of him I’m so nice to you.”
“My dad? I didn’t think you even knew my dad.”
Getz hesitates. “He never told you?”
“Told me what?”
“Why the hell do you think I’ve spent so much time on a hack like you all these years? It’s on account of your dad. Just before you signed with me … what was that, like eighteen years ago? Anyway, he shows up in my office —”
“Your office? You mean in New York?”
“No, I mean Antarctica. Of course New York.”
“Huh. I didn’t know he’d ever been to New York.”
“Oh, he has, because he came to my office without an appointment and wouldn’t leave until he talked about you signing with me. I said you were legally old enough to do whatever you wanted, and he told me he knew that. Didn’t want to see the representation contract, or talk about your draft prospects. He looks me in the eye, holds out his hand, and says, ‘Just promise me you’ll always take care of my boy.’ There was just something about the way he said it. So, like the putz I am, I gave him my word. And here I am, stuck with you, and lending you money.”
“I love you, too, Morrie.” Shane says it laughingly, but inside he is choked up by what Getz has just revealed. Mostly he feels guilty about the years he’s spent being angry at his father, thinking the old man resented Shane’s success.
After arranging with Getz’s assistant for a wire transfer in Shane’s name, he hangs up and heads outside. It’s a beautiful spring day, and the three women are all together, turning the soil in the vegetable garden behind the ranch house facing south. Although he has chores inside the stable, Shane would rather get some sun, so he goes over to offer his help.
Digging is impractical with the cast on his hand, so he contributes by hauling and dumping sixty-pound bags of fertilizer and black earth. Afterward he helps string the wire for a protective fence to keep animals out of the garden. Once the soil has been tilled and seeds pushed into the earth, he is assigned the task of carrying plastic pails of water from the kitchen pump. Shane is surprised to learn that an aquifer runs beneath this dusty desert land, albeit three hundred feet down. With this supply of water available, it seems to him
that the ranch is not meeting its potential.
Everywhere Shane looks, he sees work that needs doing. On top of the obviously necessary repairs to structures and fences and machines, he envisions dozens of other improvements — a composting toilet, a windmill to pump the water, a solar-heated shower, sliding storage racks for the rattlesnake cages, even a small addition to the ranch house so Vern can have his own bedroom. Somehow, the place reminds him of his own hockey career, with grit, hard work, and determination compensating for a lack of natural gifts.
Shane realizes he has squandered a fortune, even as one of the lowest-paid players in the league. During the rambling mezcal-fuelled conversation in Doc Sanchez’s trailer, the doctor related that Luna County is one of the poorest places in America in terms of household income. There are many stars in the NHL who earn more in a single period of a hockey game than men here earn in a year.
Shane has been called many things — a gladiator, a ruffian, even a clown. Most of Shane’s fellow players are proud of what they do. They consider themselves the elite, the chosen few, performing at the highest level of human skill, bringing entertainment and a dash of passion to millions of ordinary lives. Because of his specialty, however, Shane has always felt like some sideshow freak of the sport, waiting in the wings to be unleashed. His job is to score punches instead of goals. Good players are respected by the fans of other teams, even where there are fierce rivalries. Shane, however, is vilified in most cities of the league.
The thing is, he loves the game, the sweet poetry of it — the speed, the finesse, the grace. He has always felt ten times better making a good play than landing a punishing hit or winning a fight. When he first started out in hockey, still a child, really, he was usually the best on the ice; he could skate through his opponents like they were standing still. He notched hat tricks and scoring titles. But as he progressed up the rungs of the sport and the competition tightened, it was his size and his bullish strength that caught the attention of the scouts. After that, he never stood a chance to become anything else.