Don't Skip Out on Me

by Willy Vlautin

  He drove along the main gravel road with Little Lana’s head resting on his lap, and headed north for thirty miles. He drank coffee and listened to a struggling country station out of Tonopah as a small herd of antelope walked through the sagebrush to the left of him, and farther up in the foothills of the Monitors two wild horses bathed in the morning sun. The radio station disappeared and he turned the radio off. He came to a rough spur road and that brought him, after three miles, to the Morton ranch.

  As he parked in front of a red barn, he saw Lonnie Dixon, a twenty-six-year-old ranch hand, taking boxes from the main house and loading them into a beat-up and dented stock trailer. Mr Reese and the dog stepped down from the cab and made their way slowly toward him.

  ‘Good morning,’ Mr Reese called out as he approached.

  ‘Morning,’ Lonnie smiled. He was thin with brown hair and dark-blue eyes. He had crow’s feet and weathered skin that made him look older than he was. He wore a thin grey T-shirt, jeans and work boots.

  ‘How’s it been going?’ the old man asked as they shook hands.

  ‘I gotta say, it seems like I’ve been loading boxes out of this place half my life.’

  Mr Reese grinned and leaned on his cane. ‘As far as I know, the Mortons never got rid of anything.’

  ‘They’re serious pack rats, alright.’

  ‘And I bet when Eddie’s folks died he didn’t get rid of any of their stuff either.’

  ‘You’re right,’ said Lonnie. ‘He just put it in boxes in the basement. Even their clothes. That shit’s been sitting down there for twenty years. He’s even got some of his ex-wife’s stuff.’

  ‘Is he around?’

  Lonnie shook his head. ‘Eddie ain’t been here hardly at all since he signed the papers selling this place.’

  ‘It’s gotta be hard on him.’

  ‘He’s sure been falling apart over it. Says it’s difficult just seeing the place anymore. Says he feels too guilty, but he also doesn’t see the point of dying out here alone.’

  ‘His folks, if they were alive, would understand,’ Mr Reese said. ‘He’s been out here for a lot of years trying to make a go of it. There’s not a lot of point to it if you don’t have a family to help, to be a part of it. There’s sure no money in it.’

  ‘Everyone says that since he got divorced he’s been having a hard time. But he’s been drunk every night since I’ve worked here and I been here three years. He was divorced ten years before that.’

  Mr Reese laughed. ‘Did he sell the cattle?’

  ‘Most. The rest are in a holding pen in town. I know they want them out, but Eddie won’t deal with it. I think for a while he thought he might try it somewhere else. So he didn’t sell fifty cows, but now who knows what he’s gonna do.’

  Mr Reese looked down as Little Lana leaned into his cane. ‘And how about our plan to get Horace to Arizona?’

  Lonnie shook his head and kicked the gravelled road with his boot. He sat down on the wheel well of the stock trailer. ‘I sure tried, Mr Reese, but Horace said he wanted to take a bus to Tucson. I told him I’d pay for gas and get him there for free but he said he wanted to leave Tonopah by himself. That there were certain times when you had to do things alone. But I’m still taking Eddie’s horses down to his uncle’s place in Globe. I’m leaving in a couple nights, if he changes his mind. I’ve always liked Horace. We did all those jobs for Mr Harrington and we had a lot of laughs. And he helped me get my horse, Elroy. So I don’t think it’s me. At least I hope not.’

  ‘It’s not you,’ Mr Reese said. ‘He just wants to prove himself, that’s all. He was dead set on getting his grandmother’s old car running and going that way. But the engine’s shot so he said he’d just take the bus. I offered to buy him a car, but he said no. I offered to drive him a half-dozen times too, but he didn’t want that either. So when I heard you were heading down to that area, I thought maybe he’d go with you. You’re his friend, not an old man. I was hoping you could make sure he got settled. He was just a little kid when he came out to Tonopah. So he’s never really lived in a city before. At least as an adult. I just worry about him.’

  ‘He told me he’s going there to be a professional boxer. Is that true?’

  ‘That’s what he wants.’

  ‘Seems like a rough way to go.’

  Mr Reese nodded.

  ‘I’ll call him one more time and ask.’

  ‘I’d sure appreciate it,’ said Mr Reese.

  ‘I hope he does alright down there.’

  ‘Me too.’

  Lonnie stood back up. ‘Well, the tractor and all the stuff Eddie set aside for you is in the barn, if you want to head down there.’

  Mr Reese nodded and the two began walking. Little Lana moved ahead of them and crawled under the Ford to escape the sun.

  On a workshop bench sat three cardboard boxes, a plastic milk crate with an old KitchenAid mixer and a wooden box with a waffle maker, a blender and a griddle.

  ‘As far as I know, it was this kitchen stuff, the broken generator, the tractor and a few boxes of parts.’

  ‘I think that’s it,’ Mr Reese said and opened one of the cardboard boxes to find sets of coloured ceramic bowls. ‘My wife always admired Eddie’s mom’s bowls, and the mixer. It’s nice of Eddie to remember that. It’ll mean a lot to my wife.’

  ‘I heard Eddie’s mom was a great baker.’

  Mr Reese nodded. ‘When she was alive she made every wedding cake within sixty miles of here.’

  ‘Man, I’ve never baked anything that wasn’t out of a box.’

  ‘I haven’t even done that,’ Mr Reese smiled.

  ‘What are you going to do with the old tractor anyway?’

  ‘Well, about thirty years ago Eddie’s dad and I bought the same model tractor. We went in on the implements to save money. Eddie’s dad and I were good friends since we were kids. Over the years we did a lot of stuff like that … But then he passed away and not much after that their Ferguson’s transmission gave out so Eddie bought the Kubota and different implements. I thought I was going to get a new tractor myself, but my main well started giving me fits a couple months back so we have to drill a new one. Now I’m just hoping to part this one out to get mine back in shape. Eddie was nice enough to give it to me.’

  ‘Sounds like a lot of work.’

  ‘It probably will be.’

  ‘Well, good luck,’ Lonnie said and picked up a box, and Mr Reese set his cane against the barn wall and picked up another. They made four trips carrying boxes and crates and various tractor parts. Together they lifted the generator into the bed of the truck, and afterward Lonnie hooked a chain from the Kubota to the Ferguson and they towed it from the barn. Mr Reese used the trailer’s winch and pulled the broken-down tractor up onto the flatbed.

  It was midday and nearly a hundred degrees when they finished. Lonnie brought two glasses of ice water from the house and they sat on the porch.

  ‘So what are you going to do now?’ asked Mr Reese.

  ‘I ain’t sure,’ said Lonnie. ‘If Eddie pays me my wages, I think I’ll take a bit of vacation. Maybe drive around for a while.’

  ‘Will he pay you?’

  ‘Sometimes I don’t think he will, but usually he pulls through.’

  ‘And what’s he gonna do?’

  ‘Once the sale goes through, he says he’s gonna buy a trailer down in Baja, but who knows.’

  ‘And who bought this place?’

  ‘That’s what’s strange. It had been for sale for years and then suddenly, out of the blue, a rich lawyer from Las Vegas and his wife saw it and made an offer all in one afternoon. I guess she likes horses.’

  ‘Maybe they’ll hire you.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  Mr Reese finished the water and nodded. He set the glass on a wooden table and as he did so he could feel his back begin to seize. ‘I guess I better get moving,’ he said. ‘After your vacation, if you come back to this area and are looking for work, please let me know. With
Horace gone, I sure could use the help once in a while.’

  ‘I appreciate you saying that,’ said Lonnie and they shook hands.

  Mr Reese walked down the porch and moved slow and pained across the gravel. Little Lana appeared from the shade of the truck as he opened the driver’s-side door, and jumped in.

  They were nearly to the main road when the spasms began in full and he stopped the truck. He cried out in pain and fell along the bench seat. Little Lana whined and licked his hand as the sun beat down in the afternoon heat. The old man reached into his shirt pocket for his vial of pills. He swallowed a Valium, closed his eyes as sweat dripped into them, and waited.

  3

  An hour past dawn, Horace came to the grove of aspens, tied Boss to a tree, and found Víctor snoring in a red sleeping bag next to a small stone fire pit. The pit was swarming with flies. Half-raw and charred meat lay on the rocks. A backpack was next to Víctor’s head and Little Roy, a black-and-white Border collie, lay curled in a ball by his feet. Ten yards behind camp was a crudely butchered lamb hanging from an aspen branch, its entrails in a bloody pile below it. The lamb wasn’t skinned or covered in a field bag. The white of its wool was thick with blood.

  Horace whistled for the dog, who got up quickly and came to him. He checked him for cuts and ticks, removed five hair mats and put a new flea collar around his neck. He told Little Roy to sit and then walked over to Víctor. The man’s arms were outside the sleeping bag and his hands were covered in dried blood and dirt. Two knives sat on a rock beside him. Horace picked them up and walked to the edge of camp, then dropped them on the ground and kicked dirt over them. He went back to Víctor and shook him with his boot.

  The moment Víctor opened his eyes, he screamed in fear.

  ‘It’s okay. It’s me, Horace,’ he said gently and smiled. ‘Do you remember who I am?’

  Víctor looked at him from the sleeping bag but kept still and silent. He was a small, dark-skinned man in his mid-twenties, with a swollen right eye and blood crusted around the nostrils of his swollen nose. He had been beaten up. There were bloodstains on the parts of his shirt that were visible. His hair was black and had dirt, grass and sagebrush in it.

  Horace went to his backpack and took a Spanish dictionary from it. ‘Mr Reese thought you might understand some Spanish.’ He looked through the book and said, ‘No gustar aquí? No gustar en la montaña?’

  Víctor shrugged.

  ‘Malo aquí? Pedro malo hombre?’

  Víctor nodded slowly.

  ‘Pedro es muy malo?’

  ‘Sí,’ Víctor said and sat up. ‘Sí.’

  Horace went through the dictionary again. ‘No trabaja en la montaña?’

  He nodded. ‘Víctor no aquí.’ He pointed to himself. ‘Víctor – Los Angeles.’

  ‘Los Angeles?’

  ‘Los Angeles. Sí!’ In a rush of excitement, Víctor unzipped the sleeping bag and stood up fully clothed. His boots and pants were also stained with dried blood. He gathered his sleeping bag and backpack and held them in a loose bundle in his arms.

  Horace stared at him for a moment and, not knowing what else to do, nodded. He cut down the lamb and dragged it behind some brush and then checked for embers left hidden in the fire pit. When he found none, they left. Little Roy walked ahead of them and Horace rode Boss while Víctor trailed behind on foot.

  The sun was getting high by the time they came to Pedro, who sat by a small fire. On a grill he cooked lamb chops. On the stove was a pan of potatoes and onions, and next to it a pan of pinto beans. Víctor set down his things and stayed at the edge of camp, away from Pedro, and Horace unsaddled Boss and high-lined him next to Honey and the donkey. When he’d finished, he sat down across from Pedro.

  ‘I figured you’d cook something good,’ said Horace.

  Pedro smiled.

  ‘But I’m still going to have to tell Mr Reese about the lamb.’

  ‘Víctor. Víctor killed el cordero.’

  ‘I know, that’s what you said. He killed another one up at his camp too.’

  Pedro shook his head.

  ‘What should we do with him?’

  Pedro shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘Do you want me to take Víctor with me when I go?’

  Pedro nodded. He kept his eyes on the food, turning the lamb chops over and putting salt and pepper on them. ‘Víctor not sheep-man,’ he said. ‘Víctor es muy débil. He my cousin, but I don’t know him.’

  Horace looked to the edge of camp, where Víctor leaned against an aspen tree, staring at them. His face was covered in dirt. He looked worried. ‘You’ll have to tell him what’s happening. He doesn’t understand me.’

  Pedro called for Víctor, who, while walking into camp, stumbled over a rock and nearly fell. Pedro shook his head and spoke to him sternly in Quechua. Víctor paced back and forth as he listened and then he rattled off a long reply, his arms waving dramatically and spit coming from his lips.

  ‘No más!’ Pedro yelled finally and again shook his head. He took three paper plates from a canvas bag and dished out the food. Horace took a knife and fork from his pack and began eating next to the fire. Pedro handed a plate to Víctor, who moved back to the edge of camp, away from them, and ate with his hands.

  *

  It was past noon when Horace went to the sheep and found the two Anatolians, Jip and Whitey. He checked their paws and put new flea collars on them both. When he got back to camp, he and Pedro sat across from each other while Víctor slept on his sleeping bag near the creek thirty yards from them.

  ‘When you write your note to Mr Reese, tell him about the two Víctor killed. Also tell him what happened with Víctor, why he wants to leave and all that. And tell him where we should send Víctor once we get him into town. Remember we don’t understand anything he says and he doesn’t understand us.’

  Pedro got up and took a notebook and pen from his pack.

  ‘Are you gonna be alright up here on your own?’

  Pedro nodded as he sat back down across from Horace.

  ‘And your phone works?’

  Pedro pointed to the top of the closest ridge. ‘Up there.’

  ‘And you’re sure you’re okay?’ Pedro again nodded and then began working on the letter.

  *

  There were no clouds in the sky and the day was at its hottest as they headed down the mountain. At times Víctor lagged behind or stopped, but eventually he always caught up to Horace and the horses. And after they reached the halfway mark, Horace got down and walked as well. Hours passed in silence and they stopped only twice to let Boss and Honey drink from the meagre creek. It was starting to get dark when they came to the truck and the stock trailer. Horace loaded the horses while Víctor, exhausted, got into the cab of the pickup and closed his eyes.

  At the ranch, Víctor took a shower and Horace set out a pair of his own jeans, a T-shirt, underwear and a pair of socks for him. After that he walked to the main house with Víctor’s dirty clothes. He put them in the washer and then went to the kitchen to see Mrs Reese cooking dinner. The old woman was short and plump, dressed in grey varicose-vein compression socks, slippers and a faded flower-print dress. She had long grey hair she kept in a bun and blue eyes hidden behind thick glasses. At the kitchen table, Horace took the chair across from Mr Reese and watched as the old man went over Pedro’s letter with a Spanish dictionary.

  ‘If I’m translating correctly, Pedro says it started out fine but that Víctor got strange after a couple weeks. I guess he doesn’t know Víctor as much as he said he did. He gave us the impression he was very close to him. But it turns out he’s just a distant cousin who’s always had problems. Pedro says that, around the third week, Víctor began talking to himself. And then, soon after, he quit working and quit getting out of his sleeping bag. And then one night he pulled a gun on Pedro, they got into a fight, and the next morning he was gone. I guess after that is when you found him. Pedro says most of their family live outside the city of Cuzco in Peru. B
ut Víctor doesn’t want to go back there. He wants to go to Los Angeles. He says he has a friend there who will help him get a job and a place to live. Pedro says to give Víctor three hundred dollars of his own pay and to use his money as well to buy him a bus ticket to Los Angeles. He also wants me to take one of the lambs out of his paycheck. But he swears, he promises, the two killed were done by Víctor.’ Mr Reese took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. ‘That’s about all of it. It’s a mess, alright. How did Pedro seem?’

  ‘Okay, I think,’ said Horace. ‘His camp was clean and he seemed to be taking care of himself. Myrtle and the dogs looked good. But it’s always hard to tell with him.’

  Mr Reese nodded.

  ‘What do you think’s going to happen to Víctor?’

  ‘I really don’t know,’ Mr Reese said, and sighed. ‘I’d guess most likely, after some hard times, he’ll end up back in Peru if he’s lucky. I can’t see him making it in Los Angeles without speaking Spanish, but then I don’t know that much about Los Angeles. Maybe his friend will take care of him. Maybe they have a good Peruvian community there. I just don’t know. We’ll have to hope for the best.’ The old man got up from his chair, slow and stiff, and went to the refrigerator. ‘After all that, I think I need a beer.’

  ‘Is your back real bad today?’ asked Horace.

  ‘Not so bad,’ the old man said, and poured the beer into a glass and sat back down.

  ‘Horace, are you too tired to eat?’ Mrs Reese asked as she chopped carrots.

  ‘I’m starving,’ Horace said.

  The old man took a drink of beer and looked at the boy. ‘Would it be alright to talk about something unrelated to Pedro and Víctor?’

  ‘Sure, Mr Reese.’