Dark Places

by Reavis Z. Wortham

  “Did John T. work there?”

  “Nope. I can’t find anywhere he’s worked.” She took out a sheet of paper and read from it. “Marty’s another story. They hired him fresh out of high school and he worked his way up to driver. The foreman didn’t think much of him, but he always showed up on time. Picked up his check regular as clockwork, but he hasn’t been by to get the last one.”

  They passed the stores, following the winding road west. Water filled the ditches on both sides. “John T. lives south of the Sulphur River in the bottoms.”

  Cody steered onto the dirt road leading to Leland’s house. He pulled into the drive two hundred yards later. The only vehicle in sight was the old truck in a nest of grass.

  “I don’t believe Marty’s here.” Cody shifted into park.

  “What do you want to do?”

  “Let’s go in and ask Melva where he is.” Talking to the strange old giggling woman was far down Cody’s list of things to do, but he thought she might know when he was coming back.

  When they stepped up on the porch. Cody pointed down at the rotting boards. “Watch your step there. All this rain will make those old planks soft.”

  Cody rapped on the frame and waited. It didn’t take but a second to tell there was no one in the house. People give off a certain vibe, even if they’re trying to be quiet. Not even a ticking clock broke the stillness. Doors in Center Springs were seldom locked, so Cody hooked a finger in the handle and opened the rusty screen. The tired spring screeched in protest.

  “Are you going in?”

  “Yep. Serving a warrant here.” The door was unlocked, so he swung it wide to step into the gloomy interior. He paused. “Anybody home? This is Sheriff Parker, Miss Melva. I’m coming in. I have a warrant for Marty Smallwood.”

  The floorboards squeaked under Cody’s boots. Anna stayed where she was, breathing the musty air that smelled of dust, soiled sheets, and material long folded and forgotten. All the lights were out. The only illumination came through the dirty windows covered with equally grubby flour sack curtains.

  Knowing the layout of the house, Cody went through the living and dining rooms, and into the kitchen. Scummy dishes filled the sink and countertops. He jumped when the Frigidaire’s compressor kicked in and rattled to life. Anna followed.

  They exchanged glances and chuckled. Cody pointed at the back door. “Check out the back, and I’ll finish in here. They aren’t here, though.”

  The hinges squalled when she went out. The land sloped sharply away, and the porch was six feet off the ground. The boards weren’t any newer back there, so she took care to reach the ground. The slope behind the house was covered in rotting food. Some of it still in plates and casserole dishes once covered in foil. Anna realized it was food brought by well-meaning neighbors.

  Inside, the beds hadn’t been made in days. None of Marty’s clothes were in the pasteboard wardrobe, or in the rickety chest of drawers.

  Cody came back through the living room, wondering at the number of romance magazines scattered on the furniture and crammed into a wooden rack beside the couch. Anna met him in the front yard.

  “The chickens in the brooder house need water.”

  Cody studied the pasture beside them. Leland’s cows grazed on the lush grass, their coats soaked from the constant rains. The saturated pasture on the far side of the truck was empty, except for an old swayback mare scratching her neck against a bois d’arc tree. It was the highest point in the pasture, and the driest.

  He pointed at the ground. “Tracks there that don’t belong to my car. They ain’t been gone long.” Cody chewed the inside of his lip. “All right. We’ll find him, but being here convinced me that we’ve waited long enough to find out who killed Leland. There’s a connection here. Him getting run over and Marty helping kill those businessmen makes too much of a coincidence.”

  Cody’s Motorola came to life, blaring through the one-inch gap at the top of the drivers’ side window. “Sheriff Parker.” He crossed the yard, opened the door, and reached inside for the microphone.

  “Go ahead, John”

  “We need assistance one mile east of town on Highway 82. Two tow-truck drivers are fighting over a car stalled in high water. It’s raining to beat the band and everyone else is working wrecks.”

  Ambulances in Chisum were owned by the two funeral homes in town. Wrecker drivers constantly monitored the police and sheriff departments’ radio broadcasts, so when calls came in for accidents, they raced to the scene to take the tow. It was first come, first served. Disagreements often dissolved into fisticuffs.

  “We have to do something,” Cody told Anna. He keyed the mike. “I’m in Center Springs with Anna. It’ll be over by the time one of us gets there.”

  “All right. Y’all need to know that we’re having more and more roads to flood, ’specially my side of town. It won’t be long ’til this whole county is underwater, if this rain keeps up.”

  Cody pitched the mike onto the bench seat. “Climb in.” Anna slammed her door. “I’ve been thinking. We have enough people out there working car wrecks. I want you to go pick up John T. at his house. After I drop you off, I’m going back up to the store to see if anyone’s seen Marty. He’s mine, yours is West. Let’s pick these guys up today.”

  “That’s Hopkins County, you know.”

  “Yep. I’ll give the sheriff a holler and let him know you’re coming. You need someone to go with you?”

  She rolled her eyes and gave him a grin. “I’m not a guy, but I can serve an arrest warrant.”

  “Fine, but you be careful. It’ll be you and him down there in the bottom, and I’ve heard you don’t want to fool around with this guy.”

  “Don’t worry.”

  “I always worry.”

  It was still raining when they reached the new Lake Lamar dam. Anna glanced out the window to see the dragline was safely out of the lake, and the water already covered the hole that held the Impala.

  “You know what?”

  “Hum?” He kept his eyes on the wet road. The long dam with the curve in the middle always made him nervous.

  “I had a thought. What if there’s others buried down here at the lake?”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “Nothing really, but Freddy was talking like he knew something else. It made me wonder if we’d have ever found them once it was all underwater. Do you think that was the only time somebody was buried down there?”

  “Who knows?”

  “Burying the car looks a little slick to me, like maybe it wasn’t the first time Marty or John T. could have done that, don’t you think?”

  Cody shrugged, slowing to make the bend. He shivered. “Lord, I hope not.”

  Chapter Fifty-nine

  Careful to watch the speed limits, Rocky steered through Barstow. Crow rode easily in the back, hands resting on his thighs. They ended up at the parking lot in front of the Skateland roller rink.

  Only a few cars were scattered around and no one paid them any attention as Crow swung off the Hardtail and waited for James to pull up in his car. He was out in a split second. “What the hell went on in there? Did you find her? Who’s this guy? Why did you leave so quick? The cops barely had time to show up.”

  Crow held out a hand. “Slow down. Was it you that called the cops?”

  “Sure was.” James didn’t take his eyes off Rocky and the silver earring in his left ear. He’d never seen a man with an earring before. “I didn’t like that place one little bit, so I went back to that gas station we passed and made a call. I told them my fourteen-year-old daughter was in that bar. They came pretty quick.”

  Rocky frowned at Crow, who wanted to be mad because the arrival of the police might have caused problems. Instead, James’ unexpected move saved his bacon.

  “What do you have to do with this?” James radiated an
ger, but it had no effect on the biker. “What do you know about my daughter?”

  As if James wasn’t grilling him, Rocky absently dug a red bandana from his back pocket and twirled a finger. Crow made sure his back was away from the road while Rocky lifted his shirttail and pressed the bandana against the cut. That done, he answered James. “Cool down, man. I’m on your side.”

  “Take it easy, hoss.” Crow pulled the bandana tight with his shirt. “He was there when things got out of hand. If it hadn’t been for him, I’d be dead and on my way out into the desert to dry up and blow away.”

  James aimed a finger at Rocky. “He’s one of them motorcycle gangsters.”

  “He knows where Pepper might be.”

  Like he’d been slapped silent, James gaped a moment, then swelled up again. “Did you have anything to do with her being there?”

  “Dude, you are angry.” Rocky rolled his eyes. “I’ve never laid eyes on the girl.”

  “James.” Crow’s voice was sharp for the first time since they met. “Rocky’ll tell you what he knows if you’ll let him.”

  He took a deep breath. “I’m listening.”

  The biker jerked his head to the north. “I heard them say they have a house here in town. One of the girls invited me to party with them.”

  “Where is it?”

  Rocky shrugged. “I’m not sure.”

  “Oh, great! You think we’ll go door to door and ask people if a motorcycle gang lived there?”

  “Man, would you back off? I need to get my bike out of sight. I’m going to pull it around back there. Then we’re going to wait in your car and watch the highway. Those guys’ll come by on their way to the house, and we’ll follow them. But I need to get this thing out of sight right now, and Crow needs to get in the car before somebody asks him why he’s bleeding.”

  “Good idea.”

  Crow opened the passenger door as Rocky kicked his bike to life and disappeared around back of the huge Skateland building. When James dropped into the seat, his demeanor completely changed. “Great idea. Now we’re getting somewhere.”

  “Following them to the house will be the easy part,” Crow said.

  “Why?”

  He winced when the bandana pulled the cut. “Because if she’s there, and not by choice, getting her out’s gonna be a bitch.”

  Chapter Sixty

  Pepper finally arrived back in Flagstaff with the aid of an elderly couple driving from California to Missouri. She felt like screaming again when they saw the sign for the Tomahawk Trading Post and pulled off the highway. She wanted to go home, and here they were stopping for souvenirs.

  “I need gas, Little Missy.” Earl’s blue eyes in the rearview mirror reminded Pepper of her Grandpa. “I haven’t seen a Conoco station for a while, and Mama wanted to pick up a couple of things for the grandkids.”

  He pulled up to the ethyl pump behind a pair of ten-foot-high plaster Indians. A sign beside them read, “San Francisco Peaks, 32.9 miles.” In that moment Pepper realized she was as close to anything named San Francisco that she would reach.

  Her energy drained away. Ready to cry, she sat with her knees together in the tuck-and-roll-covered backseat.

  “Honey, why don’t you go in with me and get something to eat?”

  Pepper knew the woman had other plans, most likely to call the police and hold her there as a runaway. Neither of the adults believed the story she spun about being separated from her truck-driving brother one stop back.

  “No, thank you. This is where I’m supposed to meet Bobby Clifford. We always said that if we got separated, we’d meet up at the next town.”

  “That’s a hard, dangerous life for a little girl.”

  “I’m seventeen. That’s an adult in…Arkansas.”

  “You’re awful little for seventeen. Why, you haven’t even filled out yet.”

  “I come from a family of late bloomers. I’m all right, really. Thanks.”

  While Earl filled the gas tank, “Mama” gave her shoulder a pat. “Well, if you’re still here by the time we leave, I might need to call someone.”

  “You won’t.” Pepper pointed at a dusty eighteen-wheeler pulling up to the diesel pump on the far side. “There he is! Bobby Clifford!” Catching sight of the gesturing girl with an eagle feather woven into her hair, the truck driver gave her a friendly wave back.

  “See? Bye, and thanks!”

  She trotted past the giant plaster figures and an out-of-place totem pole. She ducked behind a covered wagon with two kids sitting on the seat. Their mother snapped a picture with a Polaroid. Catching the familiar and surprisingly comforting aroma of fresh manure and hay, Pepper was drawn to a weathered pen made of rough boards.

  “Welcome to the OK Corral.”

  “Authentic Buffalo! Do Not Pet!”

  She glanced back to see Mama gone and Earl alone at the pump. She rounded the corral and sank down out of sight, overwhelmed with homesickness. A ragged old buffalo lay in the pen devoid of shade. The water trough was empty, with no sign of hay or grain.

  Eyes closed, the bull’s head drooped.

  Pepper’s eyes welled. “You poor old thing.”

  Her mood shifted as anger took over. She found a cheap plastic water hose attached to a faucet. She stomped around the pen and twisted the handle. When the water gushed out, she dragged it across the open space and shoved the end through the slats and into the dry trough.

  Smelling the water, the buffalo huffed and struggled to its feet. It crossed the pen and nosed the gurgling water, then drank deep. Seeing red, Pepper stomped around the building and found a feed barrel. She flipped the top off and filled the bucket beside it.

  Half a dozen trips later, the feed trough was full. Tourists snapped pictures of her as she broke a bale of dusty alfalfa and threw the whole thing into the pen, scattering the squares.

  A tourist wearing a cheap tourist cowboy hat from the gift shop pointed at the buffalo. “Can I pet it?”

  Her eyes flicked to the “Do Not Pet” sign. The old Pepper that she thought was almost gone resurfaced. “Sure.”

  He turned to a plain woman standing beside him. “See? I knew those signs were for show. They put them up so the buffalo seem dangerous. It’s all for the tourists who don’t know different, right?”

  Signs.

  Little bluebirds dusted in a corner of the corral.

  Pepper paused, thinking about the different kind of signs which had been in front of her nose for the past few days. She absently touched the eagle feather in her hair and came to a decision.

  “Mister, Old Buff there is as gentle as a kitten. See those little bluebirds dusting there at his feet. He’s so easy going, he don’t care about anything.” She flashed the tourist a brilliant grin. “Climb on over there so she can take your picture. Get on his back if you want to. He won’t care.”

  He gave her a frown. “You sure it’s all right?”

  “Of course it is. It’ll make a great picture. But one thing, though.”

  “What?”

  “I’d turn that hat around. You have it on backwards.”

  His wife snickered as he took it off and replaced it. “I was doing it for a picture.”

  Pepper winked. “I knew that.”

  As the man reached for the latch to open the gate, Pepper left, heading down the street toward the twin rows of motels and cafes.

  There was a spring in her step, because she was going home.

  Chapter Sixty-one

  Cale made a complete turnaround and found his true calling, taking care of Ned. Frightened at the shape the old man was in, he stuck close, bringing him water to wash down the aspirin that seemed to do no good. Whenever Ned needed assistance, Cale was right there.

  A string of motorcycles rumbled past Skateland not far away. Down Route 66, past motels sitting shoulder
to shoulder with names like The Cactus, The Torch, and of course, the Route 66 Motel, James and Crow slumped down in the front seat of the car and watched the line of roaring Harleys.

  Rocky positioned himself in the middle of the backseat so he could see. “There they go.”

  Without having to be told, James waited until the last bike passed and pulled in behind them. He wasn’t worried that they’d see him. The traffic had increased on the busy highway and he blended right in.

  The last bike was driven by Griz. He had a rag tied over his nose like a bandana that had slipped down from his forehead. It was stained dark with blood.

  James slowed to let them get ahead. They didn’t need to worry about losing the gang. With the windows down on the sedan, the roar was like following a jet.

  Griz’s brake light flashed and he entered a neighborhood of small houses. James followed them for another block and then saw the taillight flash again as Griz stopped in a yard full of bikes.

  “Y’all get down. I have to drive past. If I turn around, they might notice.”

  Rocky lay flat across the backseat and Crow ducked. It was dark enough that when they passed, only James’ silhouette was visible in the car. Trying to take in as much as possible without turning his head, he passed and stopped in front of a vacant house a block away.

  “Now what do we do?”

  Crow sat up. “Sneak a few peeks in the windows when it gets dark.”

  James shook his head. “You’ll get caught.”

  “We don’t have much choice.”

  James took a deep breath. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but we need to wait until tomorrow.”

  Crow studied him with newfound respect. “I’d think you’d want to go blasting in there.”

  “I do. But somebody’ll get hurt or killed, and I can’t afford to lose either one of you.”

  Rocky rested his arms on the seat back. “Hey man, I told you I’d help find the house. That’s all.”