Dark Places

by Reavis Z. Wortham

  Some of that grass there was yellow, protected from the sun.

  Cody jerked up straight. “John, that truck’s been moved.”

  “What?” He scanned the area. “Which one?”

  “Melva’s truck. That wore-out old truck sitting beside the fence in front of her house. It’d been moved.”

  “So?”

  “When you move a truck or a car that’s been sitting in the same place for a long time and try to put it back in exactly the same place, you’ll miss. You always do. It’s impossible to park right where it was, especially in the dark.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “The truck runs. It don’t look like it, but it runs.”

  John’s face broke into a grin. “Somebody drove that truck and used it to run Leland Hale down on the highway.”

  “Sure did. I bet if we check the fender on the opposite side, it’s liable to have a dent in it.” He mentally kicked himself. “I didn’t pay it no mind, because it looked like it hadn’t run in years.”

  “Which one of ’em do you think did it, Marty or John T.?”

  “Could have been Freddy, but we’ll find out. We’re done here. Let’s go talk to Marty and see what he says.”

  Chapter Eighty-eight

  Crow dodged a creosote bush, nearly yanking Tammy off her feet. “You need to go faster!”

  They ran like bandits through the desert. Halfway to Ned’s car, the throaty sound of a Harley rumbled in the distance.

  “Missed one.” Rocky loped easily beside Crow and Tammy. Another bike roared to life. “Two. They’re probably the ones under that cover. Didn’t get that far.”

  Sucking air, James followed at a distance. “Slow up some!”

  Needing to cross the deep arroyo, the bikes had to turn west before they could circle around and cut the fleeing trio’s trail. It was only a matter of minutes before they caught up. If they were riding double, at least four armed and angry gang members were on their way.

  Crow reached the Bel Air first and yanked the door open, startling Cale who was soaking a rag with water from a small plastic bucket they’d taken from the motel. He’d been bathing Ned’s face with ice water while they were gone, the only thing he could think of to cool the old constable’s dangerous fever. “Get the hell out of the way, kid!”

  Wide-eyed, Cale dropped the rag and slid to the middle of the bench seat.

  In the backseat, Ned jerked upright. Glassy-eyed, he had difficulty getting his bearings and came within a hair of shooting the strange woman who jerked the back door open. She hesitated, staring down the muzzle of Ned’s 32.20. He lowered it and pulled his feet into the wheel well on his side. “Get in.”

  Rocky straddled his bike and hit the kick start. The engine refused to cooperate. He glanced over his shoulder and saw James fifty yards away, followed by three plumes of dust. He put all his weight onto the starter and pushed again. This time the engine roared to life. He gave Crow a thumbs-up.

  Dropping the shifter into gear, Crow growled through gritted teeth. “C’mon! C’mon!”

  The distance closed as James raced as hard as his legs could pump. He circled a thick clump of cactus and didn’t see a twisted piece of wood nearly buried in the sand. It tripped him as effectively as if he’d been lassoed. He hit the ground hard, nearly losing his grip on the shotgun.

  A third Harley appeared and they split into three prongs. James rolled and came up on one knee. The passengers riding on the back threw round after round through the desert brush and cactus with crisp snaps. A rolling thunder of shots came from the backseat of the car, causing the riders to veer. James threw the twelve-gauge shotgun to his shoulder and swung the muzzle past a bike like leading a rabbit running through the brush back home. The pattern had plenty of time to spread before it arrived, spraying the two bikers with over two dozen .24 caliber pellets.

  The driver shrieked and threw up his hands. They slammed into a particularly tall silver cholla cactus. It exploded around them, covering both men in lush branches full of long thorns.

  Ignoring the screaming men, James snapped another shot at a second bike, but had no idea if it connected. Taking out the nearest bike, though, gave him the time he needed to reach the car. He rose and sprinted with a second wind, arriving only seconds ahead of the growling Harleys. He threw the shotgun into the open window, nearly knocking Cale in the head. The Bel Air was already moving as he opened the door and jumped inside, falling onto both the gun and the kid. The door slammed from the momentum as Rocky led the way.

  Ned fired six times in the direction of the Harleys and pulled his arm back inside the open window. Holding the empty smoking revolver, he collapsed.

  Crow stomped the accelerator, throwing a cloud of sand and dirt into the air. The bikes separated, splitting around the cloud, and when they could see, the Bel Air was already speeding away. Crow followed their tracks back to the dirt road and leaving a billowing cloud of dust, they flew toward the highway, winding around the natural obstacles that left twin ruts resembling a sidewinder’s tail.

  The Rattlers realized where they were heading and tried an intersecting angle to cut them off, but two people on a Harley riding like hell across the desert was a disaster. The lead bike struck a large rock. It flipped in an explosion of sand and rocks, throwing two bodies onto the hard ground. Neither moved after they stopped rolling.

  The other bike angled toward the Bel Air in an attempt to cut them off. The man riding on the back raised a pistol. The bullet whizzed overhead. He tried again as the bike bounced, this time shooting behind the fleeing car.

  Reaching the highway, Rocky dropped one foot and slid onto the pavement. Making sure the Chevrolet was out of danger, he twisted the throttle and shot away.

  Crow took the turn in a long, dusty slide, fishtailing for a moment on the hardtop before regaining control.

  The Harley’s driver stopped. The Demon Rattler on the back stepped off and emptied his revolver in their direction, but none of the shots came close.

  In the rearview mirror, Crow saw Griz straddling the black Harley. He held up his middle finger as Crow punched the big V-8 and the engine roared.

  Chapter Eighty-nine

  The Lamar County Courthouse didn’t have interrogation rooms, so Marty Smallwood slouched on one side of a long rectangular table in an empty office opposite Sheriff Cody Parker. Arms crossed, John Washington waited.

  Cody tapped a finger on the file folder in front of him. “You’re lucky, in a way.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Anna’s gonna make it.”

  “I didn’t shoot her.”

  “We have proof that you did.”

  “No, you don’t. I wasn’t there.”

  “Where?”

  “Wherever you say I shot her.”

  “Didn’t say she was shot.”

  The room was silent for a moment.

  “It was you and John T.”

  “I wasn’t with him.”

  “You guys set up an ambush.”

  “Go arrest John T. It wasn’t me.”

  “We have him and you won’t like what we found out.”

  “He said I did it?”

  Cody raised an eyebrow.

  “He’s lying.”

  “I think the whole thing is gonna rest on your shoulders. I wonder how they’re gonna do it. Deputy Washington, do you think they’ll charge him with everything at once?”

  “You never know how a judge will think. I heard they’re not going to pin anything on John T. right now. It’s all gonna fall on Marty here.”

  “Bullshit!”

  “Nope, it’s true.” Cody answered Marty’s outburst with a soft voice. “They won’t prosecute Freddy, because he turned state’s evidence. Deputy Washington says John T.’s out of the running.” He spoke over his shoulder. “You think it’s for
rattin’ this idiot out?”

  Big John shrugged.

  “So that leaves you holding the bag.”

  “I’m not taking the fall for none of it.”

  “Then you better give me something that’ll make the judge happy. The more you cooperate, the more lenient he’ll be when it comes to sentencing.”

  Marty frowned at the table and tried to change the subject. “How’s my mama? She okay?”

  “She’s fine.” Cody had an idea for the mama’s boy. “She’s in a cell upstairs.”

  “You ought not have her in jail. She didn’t do nothing.”

  “I think aiding and abetting a fugitive is something. She let you stay in the house and lied when I asked her. She’ll do time for that, too.”

  “You leave my mama alone!” Marty’s eyes welled.

  “She’s talking pretty good herself, ain’t she, John?”

  Deputy Washington nodded and fished a toothpick from his shirt pocket. “I was surprised.”

  “Yep, your goose is cooked. I realized what happened with the truck. That was a pretty good trick, but there was one small mistake. It wasn’t parked back in the exact same spot.”

  Surprise showed on Marty’s face. “She told you?”

  Cody was on the question in a heartbeat. “She sure did. Women think different than men, and you know how she is.”

  Marty nodded. “Yeah, I know how she is, but I never thought she’d do me this way.”

  “It’s what I told you, Marty. She’s cooperating so the judge will go easy on her.” He took a chance. “She don’t care about anybody but herself. She said it was you.”

  Marty’s head snapped up. “Me?”

  “That’s what she said. They’re all turning on you, Marty.”

  Cody opened his mouth, but then realized he might say the wrong thing. Instead, he waited.

  It was a staring game that didn’t last long.

  “All right. You’ll tell the judge I cooperated?”

  “Sure will.”

  “I’m not carryin’ the water for all of ’em.”

  The room was silent. Outside the frosted glass door, a woman laughed. It was an odd sound in a room full of unanswered questions and sounded a little like Melva’s nervous giggle. Marty tilted his head, listening.

  A change came over his face, thinking his mother was nearby. “Tell her to come in here.”

  “No.”

  Silence.

  Marty’s eyes flashed at another faint giggle. “She had it with Leland.”

  “Who did?”

  “Mama. She gets these headaches, you know? She keeps one most of the time and Leland kept getting on her nerves. She told me this for the truth. They had an argument and he left a-walking because she hid his truck keys and wouldn’t tell him where they were.”

  “The keys to the truck by the fence?”

  “Naw, his pickup in the barn. The one he uses all the time. The othern’n is my old one. I drove it until I got that job working on the lake. Made enough money to get the Dodge.”

  John uncrossed his arms and moved to the end of the table to better see Cody’s face while Marty talked.

  “So you did her a favor and ran your step-daddy down, knowing we wouldn’t pay attention to one with grass all growed up around it?”

  Furrowing his brow, Marty worked on what Cody was saying. “Why, no. That ain’t it at all. I didn’t do no such of a thing. I thought you said Mama told you what happened.”

  Cody’s face remained impassive.

  “Wait, she told you that I run over Leland?”

  Once again, Cody went with it. “Didn’t you?”

  “Hell no. I had to clean it up, just like I cleaned up after John T.”

  Totally confused, Cody caught John’s eye. Not knowing what Marty was leading to, Cody followed blindly. “It’s all on John T.?”

  Marty laced his fingers, as if praying. “I didn’t do it all. I might have been there, but John T.’s lying too if he said it was me down there. The first one was an accident with that damned hair trigger on that cheap-assed .38. He shot the second one, too, when him and John T. got to fighting.”

  Cody followed the him down the second rabbit hole. “You’re talking about the two men in the lake. Was Freddy in on that one, too?”

  Marty licked his lips but didn’t make eye contact. “He helped.”

  The two lawmen studied Marty. “Did he?”

  “He was there.”

  “He gave us a full confession about that night in the bottom.”

  “Figures.”

  “Did one of ’em run Leland down, too?”

  Marty shrugged “Ask her.”

  Cody was ready to pull out his hair.

  Disgusted, he stood. “All right. I’ve had enough of this.” He opened the file and plucked out several sheets of lined paper and slid them across to Marty. He handed him a short pencil. “Write down what you told us. When you’re finished, I’ll get this typed up and you’ll sign it. I imagine it’ll make things easier on you, but I’m not sure I really care one way or another, now. We’ll talk about Leland later. You don’t have to use big words, either.”

  He and John left while Marty Smallwood began to write his confession about the murder of two Dallas businessmen, very slowly, with his tongue sticking out.

  Chapter Ninety

  Crow half expected to get pulled over in Barstow, and that might have happened if he’d been driving, but James insisted on that duty and the only police officer they passed was writing a ticket. Interested in the busty blonde behind the wheel of the new Ford convertible, he didn’t see road grimy Bel Air cruise past. With James driving, Tammy on the opposite side and Cale in the middle, his bruised face covered by a cap pulled low, they were the epitome of every other family of tourists traveling Route 66.

  Except for one difference. They were in shock, riding in silence for over three hours, all the while expecting to be pulled over at any minute, or to see a herd of motorcycles appear in their rearview mirror.

  As the state line receded into the distance and they entered Arizona, the tension broke and Crow slapped James’ shoulder. “We made it! Good job!”

  Instead of answering, James ground his teeth watching Rocky and his motorcycle disappear over a rise. Ned dozed in the backseat, racked by chills, his face gray as a cold winter sky.

  Crow kissed Tammy. “You’re safe now.”

  She smiled out the window. “Where are we going?”

  “Back to Oklahoma.”

  Before she could answer, James put his hand on her shoulder. “Did you see my daughter, Pepper?”

  She shrugged, disinterested. “I don’t know.”

  “Fourteen years old. Dark hair. She has a mouth on her.”

  “Lots of girls came through. Some rode for a while, some stayed and partied. Some came to get high and hang out with the guys, until they realized how rough they are.”

  “But Cale says they took her in Flagstaff.”

  Tammy’s eyes flicked to the teenager between them. He was silent, staring straight ahead. “They didn’t take anyone in Flagstaff.”

  That statement alone was enough for James to pull off on the side of the highway. Dust blew past as he threw his elbow over the seat back. “Were you with them?”

  “Yes.”

  “Cale says he got in a fight on the street and they took her.”

  “They aren’t that stupid. I know they’ve sold people before, but they’re usually Mexicans and they don’t steal them in broad daylight. Griz got in a fight, sure. Was that you that broke his nose?”

  Cale stared at the highway. “I was scared when they stopped me and Pepper.”

  She laughed. “I didn’t recognize you, but they didn’t pick anyone up. A street fight is a good way to call the law down on you, so we haul-asse
d out of town. You busted him a good one, though.”

  “I didn’t break his nose.”

  “Who did?”

  “Pepper kicked him.” The admission seemed to take some of the weight off Cale’s shoulders and he was visibly relieved.

  Tammy and Crow laughed, an explosion of relief. Tammy picked a strand of black hair out of her mouth. “She about kicked his head off his shoulders.”

  For the umpteenth time, James asked the question. “Where is she?”

  “There never was a Pepper with us.”

  “That all was for naught, then.”

  Crow slapped his shoulder. “I couldn’t have found Tammy without y’all. It wasn’t for nothing.”

  James choked, swallowed, and shook his head. The lines on the highway were a blur. He blinked his eyes clear. “My daughter is still missing.”

  Ned finally moved and raised his head. “I believe I need a doctor pretty quick, Mama.”

  Tammy twisted around and felt his forehead. “He’s burning up.”

  Cale dipped a washrag into the last of the water and mopped Ned’s face, worried sick about the old man, and deep down inside afraid he was responsible for his condition.

  James wanted to stay there until he got an answer, but he pulled back onto the highway instead and aimed the Chevy’s nose toward Kingman, Arizona. The Scenic Hi-Way U.S. 66 placemat they’d picked up from a café long ago in Tucumcari showed that the only things on the crooked road between Barstow and Kingman were tee-tiny towns full of BBQ joints, coffee shops, and motels.

  Ned didn’t need a sandwich, or coffee, or a bed. He needed a doctor.

  Chapter Ninety-one

  Cody and John waited in the hallway for Marty to finish writing his confession. Hat tilted back on his head, Cody lipped a Camel from the wrinkled pack and lit it with his Zippo. “What in hell was that all about in there?”

  “I don’t know. He knows a lot more about there goings on than he’s letting on.”

  “Yeah, and I want to know what it is.”