by Kim Fielding
“Fuck!” Buddy slammed his hand onto the table, almost knocking over Tag’s bottle. He pointed a finger at Tag. “I ain’t the most moral guy, but I got no patience for anyone who hurts a kid.”
“I’m with you on that.”
Buddy smoothed his beard pensively. “You said her name was Angela Jones? Rick’s brother’s a PI. I’ll see if he can track her people down. If her father’s still around, I’m gonna make sure the sonofabitch gets what’s coming to him.”
Tag wasn’t usually much for vengeance, but he nodded in agreement. If a peaceful ever-after awaited good men like Jack, he hoped fire and brimstone would be the fate of whoever killed Angela.
They both drank slowly for a while. Tag had never had a lot of friends, although he had fun hanging around Jason’s pals. It wasn’t often, though, he’d had the chance to just sit quietly with someone and think. “You won’t forget Jack, will you?” he asked after a bit.
“Hell no! Look, I’ve met a lot of ghosts, but he was special. You know that better than me.”
“Good. It’s nice to know he had a little… impact.”
“You two shoulda had more time. Ain’t fair.”
“Life isn’t fair, Buddy.”
Buddy smiled slightly. “Sure it is. I been living in Vegas a while now, and one thing I’ve learned is you can win at anything if you learn to play the odds right. You just gotta know when and where to set your chips.”
“I’m done with gambling.”
“Where you heading next?” Buddy set the empty water bottle on the table and leaned forward.
“I haven’t decided. I was thinking… maybe I’ll stop by the place where I found Jack. Where he died. Leave some kind of memorial. I know that’s stupid, but—”
“I think it’s real nice. Maybe it’s someplace you can go back and visit now and then.”
“Maybe.” Tag pulled some of the label from his bottle. “It’s in the middle of nowhere.”
“How’d you find a ghost in the middle of nowhere?”
“Accident. I was driving and way too tired. A cop pulled me over for weaving and told me I’d better take a nap at the next exit. Turned out Jack had been haunting that exit for almost sixty years and— What’s the matter?”
Buddy had suddenly sat up very straight, his eyes wide. “Whereabouts was this?”
“Arizona. Jack’s place was along the old Route 66.”
Buddy crossed himself. “Holy living fuck!”
“What?”
“This cop—you get a good look at him?”
“I don’t know. Not really. It was dark and I was wiped. He was kind of good-looking. Why?”
“And his car?”
“I only saw the lights. I told you. It was dark.” Tag made an exasperated sound. “Why does it matter?”
Buddy gave him a long look, then pointed at his empty bottle. “You got anything stronger?”
Tag wanted to strangle him. “No. And what’s the deal, Buddy?”
“Buncha years ago, before I met Rick, I was riding my bike through Arizona. I was pretty wild back then, and I musta been goin’ close to a hundred. It was real early—sun was just rising. Nobody on the road but me. Until I saw them flashing red and blue lights behind me.” He chuckled. “I tried to outrun him, but that bastard caught up with no problem at all. Wasn’t till I stopped that I saw the cruiser. She was a beauty—’48 Buick Special, gleaming like she was brand-new. And when the trooper got out, well, I saw right away he wasn’t no ordinary cop.”
Honestly, Tag ought to be used to the supernatural by now. But a funny tingling started in his hands nonetheless. “Was he a ghost?”
“Dunno. He was bright, man! I had to squint just to look at him. And he was…. Most ghosts, they’re fuzzy or ripply ’round the edges and the details ain’t real clear. But this guy, he was so sharp. It was like the rest of the world was flat and he was the only thing in 3-D. Ain’t never seen anythin’ like him, before or since.”
“And?”
“And he put his hand on my shoulder. I was wearing a vest and that wasn’t enough, ’cause the morning was cold. But his hand was real warm—like an electric blanket. Felt good. Felt…. If he’d asked, I’d’ve dropped trou and bent over for him right then and there. All he did, though, was tell me to slow down and be safe. Told me I had a good journey ahead of me if I’d only give myself some time. Told me maybe I oughtta check out Chicago—said he’d heard good things about the place. Then he hopped in that old car and drove away. I met Rick less than a week after that. In Chicago.”
After taking a moment to digest this, Tag asked, “So this cop is some kind of… celestial matchmaker?”
“Dunno. I’ve driven that route a few times since and kept my eyes peeled for him. Wanted to thank him. Ain’t seen him again, though.”
“And you think this is the same guy who sent me to Jack? That’s a pretty big coincidence, isn’t it?”
“No bigger than you and him checking into the one motel in Vegas where the desk clerk sees ghosts. Or Jack and me ending up at a place haunted by a sad little kid.” He picked up the plastic bottle and crunched it in his fist, then set it down again. “I don’t believe in coincidence. But I believe in… fate, I guess. I know for damn sure there’s all sorts of things ordinary humans have no clue about. If we got ghosts, why not angels?”
“Or demons.”
Buddy pointed at him. “Exactly. And why not goddesses with spinning wheels and scissors?”
This was probably the strangest conversation Tag had ever had—and he’d had some odd ones lately. “So if it’s all up to fate, we don’t have free will?” he asked.
“Naw, man. Wanna know my thoughts? Whoever’s in charge, they mostly leave us be, let us make our own choices. Let us fuck things up if we wanna. But maybe now and then, they give us a nudge. Dunno why. Maybe they think it’s funny. I guess entertainment’s hard to come by if you’re a celestial being.” He grinned. “Maybe they just think some of us are really cute and so they play favorites.”
Tag snorted.
Buddy stood, twisted the chair around, and pushed it under the table. “I gotta get to work. You wanna stay here, I can cut you a deal on the rent. My bosses are gonna be happy knowing they can let people stay in that room now that it ain’t haunted no more. I might even be able to hook you up with a job. But if you decide to go….” He picked Tag’s phone up off the dresser and poked at it. “I’m in your contacts. Gimme a call if you need anything.”
“Thanks.” Tag stood too. He walked over to Buddy and held out his hand for a shake, then was surprised when Buddy enveloped him in a beer-and-leather-scented bear hug.
By the time he said good-bye to Buddy and shut the door, he’d reached a decision about what to do.
Twenty-Three
IT WAS a strange thing. Tag had spent countless years traveling on his own, and he hadn’t really driven that far with Jack. But now the Camry felt empty without him. Tag played with the radio but couldn’t find anything except eighties hair bands, country, and terrible pop. No Elvis. He couldn’t even find the Eagles playing “Hotel California.” He didn’t stop at Hoover Dam, although he thought of the resident ghosts as he drove by. He hoped they were able to find their peace someday. Maybe he’d ask Buddy to drop in and pay them a visit sometime to see if there was something Buddy or Tag could do to help.
Tag smiled, knowing Buddy was a good friend to have.
Although he did want to get to Jasper soon, he decided on a Grand Canyon detour. His seven-day pass had expired the previous day, so he had to shell out another twenty bucks. But he decided it was worth it when he stood at the rim. He looked out over the painted vista and thought about the things water could do. Tourists around him chattered in a half-dozen languages, and he and the tourists smiled at one another, wordlessly awed at the spectacle before them.
He spent that night sleeping in his car, the blanket he’d last used in the ghost town of Zzyzx draped over him for warmth. He woke before dawn and watche
d the sunrise—the sky coming alive in delicate oranges and then pale blues, the morning rays illuminating the canyon walls—and his heart beat fast at the beauty of it. He might have given away his extraordinary luck, but he was still very fortunate to have the opportunity to view this place.
For the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon, he took some short hikes and rode the shuttle bus to new and equally breathtaking vantage points.
He would have liked to spend another night in the park, but he couldn’t afford a hotel room there and couldn’t face another night in the Camry. So he left the park, drove south, and turned east when he reached I-40.
The shadows deepened along the desert mountains as dusk fell. He’d like to go camping someday. Backpacking over mesas and through ravines. He hadn’t spent much time in the Pacific Northwest, but hiking part of the Pacific Crest Trail would be amazing. He wasn’t up for the entire Canada-to-Mexico distance, but he could choose a nice stretch somewhere in Washington or Oregon, where the trees grew tall and everything was covered in moss. And now that he thought about it, he’d never been out of the United States, not even to Canada. If he put some money away, he could get a passport and see what the Alps looked like, or Machu Picchu, or the Great Wall of China.
Or he could get a little house somewhere, something that needed work. He’d learn to DIY. If he had a yard, he could get a dog. When he was a boy, he’d longed for a pet but never had one, not even after he grew up.
Jesus. When he stopped worrying about what he was going to screw up next, he realized there was a whole world waiting for him, ripe for discovery. It was as though one of Buddy’s celestial beings had pulled the curtain aside to reveal the Fabulous Prizes behind it.
Tag didn’t know exactly where Jasper was. He drove into the darkness, looking carefully for any clue. When he came to a sign that said simply EXIT, he turned off the highway onto bumpy old asphalt.
And there they were—the remains of the service station, café, and a few small houses, all looking forlorn. And the big sign reading MOTEL. POOL. next to an empty gravel and dirt lot.
He parked the Camry on the old highway, got out, and put on his jacket. His footsteps crunched softly as he crossed the grounds of the old motel. There was no way to know exactly where the swimming pool had been; unlike at the Baja, not even its outline remained. Tag picked a likely spot near the center of the space and stood for several minutes, listening to the insect chorus of the desert night.
Earlier that day he’d wandered into a gift shop at the canyon and found a packet of desert wildflower seeds for sale. Now he opened the little paper pouch and sprinkled the seeds across the ground. He followed by lightly dampening them with water from a bottle. He had no idea whether anything would grow from his efforts. He’d never planted anything before. But it was worth a try. If even one little seedling took root, that would be something. A tiny spark of life. He was optimistic that something would grow.
He hadn’t sensed Jack’s presence when Jack was actually haunting the place, and he certainly didn’t sense him now. But it was still nice to be in the location where Jack had spent so many years, knowing Jack must have long ago memorized the scenery here.
“I miss you,” Tag whispered.
The walk back to his car seemed long and lonely.
Although he’d been longing for a hot shower and a real bed—not to mention a decent meal—and although the hour was still early, exhaustion fell on his shoulders like a lead cape. He crawled back into the driver’s seat, covered himself with the blanket, and curled up as well as he could. He fell asleep almost immediately. A dream of waterfalls in lush jungles woke him up before dawn with an urgently full bladder. He climbed out of the car and stretched and peed, but didn’t feel in any particular hurry to hit the road.
He was leaning against the driver’s side door and watching the stars dim when headlights appeared down the road. Soon he could hear the rumble of a big engine. He wasn’t at all surprised when a police car straight out of an old movie pulled up behind him. The cruiser’s motor stopped and the trooper got out. He slammed the door before stepping over to Tag.
“Mr. Manning! You look much better rested this time.”
“I just woke up. Could use some coffee, though.” Tag stuck his hand out. “Sorry, Officer. I didn’t catch your name last time.”
They shook, and the cop tipped his hat slightly for good measure. “Officer Mike Broderick at your service.”
“It’s a pleasure.”
Broderick had wonderfully deep laugh lines at the outer corners of his eyes. “Pleasure’s all mine, Mr. Manning.” He gestured widely with his arm. “Beautiful morning, isn’t it?”
“It is.”
Nodding happily, Broderick pulled cigarettes and a lighter from his coat pocket. When he lit one, Tag saw it was unfiltered. “Those things’ll kill ya,” Tag said.
Broderick winked.
It was nice to stand quietly with someone for a while, snug from the morning chill in a favorite jacket, listening to the desert wake up. There was more life out here than Tag had realized, both in quantity and variety. Even a jumbo-sized box of crayons wouldn’t be enough for the colors of the sky and the earth and the plants.
“This is a nice spot,” Tag said as Broderick lit his second cigarette. “It’s too bad hardly anyone comes here anymore.”
“Some places are kinda special, you know? I used to stop here almost every day for french toast at the Bluebird Café and a tankful of gas at Bob’s. An oasis. It was the kind of place that, if a fella was feeling a little turned around, he maybe could stay for a while till he got his bearings.” He scuffed a boot toe on the cracked pavement and looked unhappy. “I’m afraid that didn’t always work out so well, though.”
Tag blinked at him. “Did you—”
Broderick looked up at him and didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. Tag rubbed at his mouth with the palm of his hand. He didn’t know why he still insisted on feeling surprised over the weirdness in his life. He should have been over that long ago.
“He was still just a kid,” Tag said. “And he was screwed up and lonely and… and lost. I think he needed more than a temporary oasis. Anyway, he said he was glad how things turned out. Because this way we had a few days together.” He smiled. “They were a good few days.”
Looking relieved, Broderick smiled back. He stubbed the cigarette under his heel and walked in front of Tag’s car to look at the lot where the motel once stood. Tag moved beside him.
“I planted some flower seeds here last night. Do you think they’ll grow?”
“I figure they will. Place isn’t dead yet. Still has a little magic.”
Tag could believe that. Under the long rays of the morning sun, this place in the desert looked almost ethereal. Something from a painting of another world. He wouldn’t have been shocked if a flock of fairies had fluttered by or if a sleepy dragon had peeked over the hilltop.
“We have a mutual acquaintance,” Tag said. “Big biker dude named Buddy. I know he’d want me to tell you thanks on his behalf.”
Broderick looked delighted. “How did things work out for our friend?”
“Well. He found true love in Chicago. I think he’s really happy.”
Broderick’s boot traced small arcs in the dirt at the edge of the road. “You know, I’ve been on the job for a real long time. I love my job. Wanted to be a police officer about since I could walk. I had a tin star when I was a boy. I used to pin it on my shirt and spend all day as Sheriff Mike, rounding up cattle rustlers and desperadoes. I signed up for the Army straight out of high school and spent the war as an MP. And when I got back home, well, I joined the Highway Patrol.” He looked sideways at Tag. “I was always at my happiest cruising down the highway. Helping people stay safe. Making sure their journeys went well.”
He was silent for several minutes after that, but Tag didn’t say anything. He had the impression that Broderick wasn’t usually a voluble man. Tag wanted to give him space to have
his say.
“What do you do for a living, Mr. Manning?”
“I’m between jobs right now.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“I don’t know. Haven’t decided what I want to be when I grow up.”
Broderick nodded and adjusted his hat. “I’ve been thinking about… retiring. Still love the job, but I reckon it’s time to move on. Worries me some, though, thinking of travelers who might need a hand now and then.”
“Isn’t there, um, somebody else?”
“Sure.” Broderick flashed him a smile. “There’s quite a few of us on the force. But the world’s a big place and we’re spread mighty thin.”
Two large birds flew over their heads and landed atop the motel sign. They ignored the men, focusing instead on the brush nearby.
Broderick pointed. “Those are Harris hawks.”
The extent of Tag’s ornithological knowledge was robins, cardinals, and crows. “Handsome birds.”
“They’re used in falconry. They’re just about the only raptors that hunt in pairs or groups. Like wolves. I had a friend once who told me he saw one with a missing foot. It couldn’t hunt, but it took care of the youngsters while the others were out, and so it still got fed.”
“Oh. Well, that’s nice.” Tag hadn’t been aware there were bird babysitters.
“Mm-hmm.” The birds flew away. After several moments of squinting up at the sky, Broderick turned to Tag. “Mr. Manning, what would you think about the idea of taking over for me?”
Tag gaped. “Me?”
“Sure. I bet you’d be good at it.”
“But I’m not—”
“Oh, I know. That doesn’t necessarily disqualify you. You could manage… as long as you had the right partner.”
Tag’s heart began to race.
Broderick walked a few steps forward onto the gravel lot, then turned around to face Tag. “What do you think, Mr. Manning? Are you up for the job?”
“I… I don’t know how….”
“Neither did I, at first. You’re a good man. If you go with your gut, you’ll do just fine.” He smiled broadly and spread his hands. “What do you think?”