I push the compartment door open and stick my head outside. Most people would likely get out as fast as they could if they’re in a similar situation, but the chances of being heard would skyrocket. I take my time to carefully extract myself.
After I’m all the way out and the door has been lowered into place, I lock it again.
When I reach the wall at the back of the Baccas’ property, Jar says “Welcome back.”
“Thanks. Are the bugs working?”
“They are.”
“Did you hear—”
“I heard. We are doing the right thing.”
You are, Liz concurs.
I nearly jump. I hate it when she sneaks up on me like that.
Thanks, I say in my silent voice, then I hop the fence and make my way back to Jar.
Chapter Six
I wake just after seven a.m., feeling well rested.
I slept great. I mean, really great. It’s not that I sleep bad most nights—I don’t. But I think finally getting back to work has eased something inside me that I didn’t know was so tense. Granted, it’s work for my hobby and not the day job, but it stretches the same muscles, both real and metaphorical.
Yikes. Suddenly I’m a philosopher. I’ll try to temper that a little, but no promises.
Per usual, Jar is already up and working at her computer. I sometimes wonder what would happen if she gets eight hours of sleep. Could she keep going for days then? I’m not going to ask her out of fear she would actually try it out.
“The Prices up yet?” I ask as I make myself a cup of coffee.
“I hear some movement but no voices yet,” Jar says.
Which probably means Chuckie is still asleep, and whoever is up—maybe Kate, maybe one of the boys, maybe all three—is making as little noise as possible to not wake the lion.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
She turns her computer just long enough for me to see the screen. On it is today’s New York Times crossword puzzle. She’s taken to doing them every day, though she has yet to finish one without considerable help. Not only is English not her first language, she doesn’t have the cultural knowledge to decipher many of the clues. Still, it’s surprising how much she does figure out on her own. I give her four months, six tops, before she’s knocking them out in record time.
I retrieve my own laptop and sit across from her. I check the news first and read an encouraging report on a possible vaccine for the virus. It’s still in the trial phase, but scientists are upbeat about its potential to fight off the pandemic. It’s funny—this thing has been with us only since the start of the year, so just under five months, but it feels like it’s been here forever, and any reports about potential vaccines seem like fantasies that will never happen.
I guess it’s a case of I’m-not-going-to-believe-any-of-it-until-someone-is-shooting-the-cure-into-my-arm type of thing.
And now I’m Doubting Thomas. What the hell is going on with me this morning?
I skim through the rest of the news and then click over to YouTube, wanting to find something funny to put me in a lighter mood. I’m watching a video montage of people trying to ice skate for the first time when Jar sits up and says, “He’s awake.”
I click pause as she turns up the volume on her computer.
“…because that’s what we’re going to do, that’s why,” Chuckie’s saying.
“All right, then that’s what we’ll do,” Kate replies in a calming voice. “But….they’re going to wonder why we left without saying goodbye. I know you don’t want that. Why don’t we have breakfast first? They should be awake by the time we finish.”
Though I don’t hear it, I imagine that Chuckie takes an exasperated breath right before he says, “Fine.”
When the conversation seems to end with that, I ask Jar, “They’re leaving?”
She nods. “The father said he wanted to leave right away so they could be home by lunchtime. The mother would like to say goodbye to her sister first.”
“Why the sudden desire to get out of there? Did he get a phone call or something?”
“I did not hear him taking a call.”
“Maybe he got a text or an email.”
Jar says nothing to this, as she has no way of knowing the answer.
It’s possible Chuckie had a falling out with Tyler and Kristen the night before. He did seem agitated last night when he and Kate returned to the RV. Or maybe he just isn’t a big fan of his sister-in-law and her husband. Whatever the case, if they’re getting back on the road, we need to do the same.
I take a quick shower, get dressed, and go outside, where I unplug us from the RV park’s electrical system and make sure my motorcycle is securely in place on the trailer.
Since we know where the Prices are going, we don’t need to wait around to follow them. We leave Santa Fe while they’re still eating breakfast.
From the New Mexican capital, there are two basic routes to Mercy, Colorado. According to Google Maps, the longer trip is actually faster by nearly a half hour, thanks to the majority of the route being on the interstate. I’m guessing this is the way Chuckie will go. The second choice is a bit more scenic and travels through the tail end of the Rocky Mountains, on a two-lane highway for the most part.
Since we’re still technically on vacation, I see no reason not to take this second option. I mean, we might as well enjoy the view as we stalk the Prices, right?
I still believe we’re doing the correct thing, but what’s not clear to me yet is what our endgame will be. Yes, our goal is to make sure Evan and his brother and their mother are safe, but it’s not like we can keep watch over them for the rest of their lives. So, we’ll have to either come up with a permanent solution to improve their lives, or at some point we’ll have to let them fend for themselves.
I hear a whispered not that in my ear. Is it surprising Liz isn’t a fan of leaving the Prices on their own?
No, it is not.
Once again, we are embraced by another gorgeous day. The bright blue sky is streaked with just enough clouds to emphasize how wide it stretches. And on the ground, the greens of spring tinge the brush all around us.
Jar stares out the window toward the mountains off to our right, taking everything in. Though I can’t see it, I know she has an earbud in her right ear. While she’s enjoying the beauty of northern New Mexico, she continues to monitor Evan and his family.
If there is any question as to how she can listen in on the bugs with them being so many miles away from us, the answer is simple. Our bugs have cellular technology built into them. It’s basically like calling up a phone, which allows us to listen in from pretty much anywhere in the world. I don’t want to beat a dead horse but it’s more day-job tech.
We are almost to Taos when Jar says, “They’re finally leaving.”
“Did they get to say their goodbyes?”
“They did.”
By my calculations, we have a seventy-five-minute head start on them, which means, even if they take the faster route, we will reach Mercy before they do.
If you’ve never been to the western half of the country, you might not fully grasp just how open the land is out here. After we pass Taos, it’s pretty much all empty plains and mountains clear into Colorado. I’m talking miles and miles and miles of nothing but nature. You could fit dozens of Chicagos out here and still have room for more.
The border between states is marked by an old wooden sign that reads WELCOME TO COLORFUL COLORADO. A little while later, we cross the mountains. It’s not as dramatic a view as the ones seen from the road that passes between Denver and Grand Junction, but it’s still beautiful. When we come out the other side, the land before us lies flatter than any I’ve ever seen.
Welcome to the western edge of the Great Plains.
By the time we near Mercy, the open prairie transitions into tilled farm fields. We’ve also come far enough east that the Rockies have slipped below the western horizon, leaving nothing but flatland in all dir
ections.
I grew up near both the ocean and the mountains in southern California, and I know from experience that if I go too long without being close to one or the other, I get a little antsy. It feels odd not to see land jutting skyward or to know the edge of the continent isn’t a short car ride away. What I’m saying—and I mean no disrespect—is I think I’d go crazy if I had to live someplace like this permanently. Of course, others might drive themselves mad growing up where I did, knowing the earth could start shaking at any moment.
We are all the products of where we grew up, I guess.
The small city of Mercy comes at you in drips and drabs at first. A farmhouse here and there. Then a few more, getting closer and closer to one another. Just past a combo gas station/convenience store, we pass a sign that reads:
MERCY
CITY LIMITS
ELEV 3598 FT
The town sits along a spur of the Arkansas River, the entirety of Mercy on the west side. On the other side of the river we see only farms. Along the main drag, we pass a row of fast-food joints, a dental office, and a place called Barkley’s Hardware Supply, where you can also rent a U-Haul truck.
The deeper into town we go, the older the buildings become. Most of them are well maintained, though a scattered few look empty and in need of work.
Downtown is centered around a quaint, two-story city hall building, complete with four Greek columns flanking the entrance. Next to this is Dornan Park, a lovely grass-covered area with a large gazebo where, I imagine, the high school band plays concerts on all the appropriate holidays. It sits beside the river and slopes down to the water.
If Mercy was any closer to Los Angeles, it would be crawling with film crews using it for commercials and TV shows and movies. It has that Middle America quality to it that Hollywood loves.
Most of the businesses appear to be open, and a lot of the people who are out and about aren’t wearing masks. I’m guessing the pandemic has either barely touched the town or everyone is in a state of denial. Coming from California where things are—shall we say—direr, I am appalled by and slightly jealous of these people’s innocence. Whether they want to admit it or not, though, no amount of disregard will keep the virus from coming.
Jar does a search for campgrounds and RV parks in the area. Turns out Mercy is not a big stop for vacationers, and the only official place for trailers and such is the Dornan Mobile Home Park, whose website says it has a few spots for overnight stays.
This does not appeal to me. Mobile home parks have permanent residences on site. Likely, a lot of them. And I’d be willing to bet the temporary spots for people like us are located at the rear of the property, and every time we leave or come back, we would have to drive by all the trailers. I’m not sure how long we’ll remain in town, but I would like to keep a low profile while we’re here. Dornan Mobile Home Park is not the way to do that.
Lucky for us, there’s a Walmart.
The superstore is located on the western edge of town. I park in an empty area near the northwest corner of the lot. After it gets dark, I’ll move to a less conspicuous spot behind the building, where we will be unseen from the road.
I hop out of the Travato and roll my Yamaha off the trailer. As I bring it around the side, Jar exits the camper, carrying our two helmets and a jacket for me. As much as I would like to take a break after the long drive, Chuckie Price apparently has a lead foot, and the hour-plus lead we once had on them has shrunk to twenty minutes, leaving us no time to relax.
I take care not to rev the engine too loudly as I drive us back through town. Even then, we get the occasional curious look from pedestrians and people in other cars. With a population of over twenty-six thousand, the town is more than large enough that its residents can’t know everyone who lives here, but every town has those folks who can sense whether or not someone belongs.
I’ve yet to see anyone of Asian descent around, and I have little doubt we’d be getting even more curious looks if Jar wasn’t wearing her helmet. So far, the people have been mostly Caucasians and a few Hispanics. My sampling size is small, of course, but I don’t see that mix changing very much.
We’re waiting on a side street, near the south end of town where the highway enters Mercy, when the Prices’ Winnebago drives by. I pull out at a leisurely pace and follow it. I figure they’re heading home. That would be the first place I’d want to go after a long trip. But I’m wrong.
Instead of turning onto the road that would take them to their house, the Prices continue up Central Avenue—which is what the highway is called on the stretch running through town—all the way to the north end of town, where they pull into Price Motors.
We already know it’s a Ford dealership, but when the lot comes into sight, I get the impression from the choices available that Price Motors does at least an equal amount of business in used vehicles of different makes and models.
I pull to the curb on the opposite side of the road at about the same time the Winnebago stops near the showroom. I’m not worried about being noticed. It’s a four-lane road and we’re parked in the shade between two cars.
Jar pulls out her phone and turns on the speaker just in time for us to hear Chuckie say, “Stay here.”
This is followed by Kate saying, “How long are you going to—”
“I said stay here.”
When the side door of the RV opens, Chuckie is the only one who gets out. He marches over to the glass door of the showroom, yanks it open, and strides inside. I see him for only a few more seconds before he disappears into the building.
Over Jar’s speaker we hear Sawyer say, “I’m hungry.”
“I’ll make some lunch as soon as we get home,” his mom says.
“There’s food in the refrigerator.”
“Honey, we’ll be home soon. Let’s just wait.”
“But I’m hungry now.” He’s not whining. If anything, he sounds confused by her responses.
“We’re not eating here,” she says, exasperation creeping into her voice. I’m not sure why she doesn’t want to give him some food now, but I have a feeling it has to do with Chuckie. Maybe he’d be angry if they eat without him. Or maybe she’s just too tired.
Sawyer is not on the same wavelength. “Why not?”
Voice rising, she says, “Because—"
Evan jumps in. “Here. Eat this. That should hold you over.”
There’s a moment of quiet before Sawyer says, “Thank you, Evan.”
“You’re welcome.”
After that, no one says a word.
I wonder what Evan gave his brother. Part of a saved candy bar? A cookie he’d stashed away? Maybe it was a piece of fruit from the counter.
Whatever it was, good on Evan for deescalating the situation.
It’s ten minutes before Chuckie comes striding out of the building. After he reenters the Winnebago, we hear the creaks of the RV’s floor as he moves to what I assume is the driver’s seat. He utters not a word, nor does anyone else, their silent response likely a habit honed over who knows how many years of living under Chuckie’s abusive reign.
The next sound is that of the engine starting, and then we’re all on the move again.
This time, they do go to their house.
It’s a white, two-story, clapboard home sitting on a corner lot in a quaint neighborhood. Separating the yard from the sidewalk is a waist-high, white picket fence. A nice home, where you might expect a dad to be playing catch with a kid in the yard, or the whole family giving a dog a bath.
The place has two driveways, one off each of the roads that go by it. On the side where the main entrance to the house is located, the driveway is short and leads to a detached, two-car garage. The driveway off the side road is longer and doesn’t end at the building. It extends into the backyard about fifteen meters. Unlike the front driveway, this one is closed off by a gate that looks like it rolls to the side behind the picket fence.
The Winnebago stops in the middle of the side street, j
ust shy of this second driveway. Evan gets out and hustles over to the gate. He’s still in the process of removing the padlock and chain holding it closed when Chuckie taps the RV’s horn. Evan flinches but he doesn’t look back, as if he expected to hear the honk at some point. After he moves the gate out of the way, Chuckie pulls the RV onto the driveway. Evan then closes the gate from the inside and reconnects the chain.
Jar and I have been watching from half a block away. As much as I’d like to stay a bit longer, we’ve been here probably longer than we should be, so I turn the bike around and drive us off in the opposite direction.
We pick up lunch on the way back to the Travato and take it inside the camper to eat. I pick up my burger to take a bite, but I set it back down before I do and look out the window.
“What?” Jar asks.
Without looking over, I say, “What what?”
“You’re thinking about something. What is it?”
“You know, sometimes people like to think and not talk.”
“Hmmm,” she says, the left side of her mouth ticking up in a grimace.
She continues to stare at me, which I’m sure she knows is unnerving.
Her stare causes me to squirm a little. Hoping it might get her to leave me alone, I reach for my burger again and take a bite this time.
Her gaze does not falter.
I sigh and say, “I’m worried that there might not be anything we can do to help them.”
Jar keeps her gaze on me, as if she’s expecting me to say more.
So I try to explain what’s in my head. “We both know Chuckie’s a class-A pri—”
“I do not like the name Chuckie,” she says.
“Which means it’s perfect for him, right?”
She glances away, thinking, then says, “Continue.”
“People like Chuckie are never going to stop abusing their families. But unless he does something big that we witness and can do something about, what we’re left with is a bunch of little things that can be brushed away.”
“The incident at the campground was not a little thing.”
“And look how easily he got out of that.”
Mercy (The Night Man Chronicles Book 3) Page 8