Mojave Desert Sanctuary

by Gary J George

  When I walked back, Joe turned to me.

  “No need to be part of this.”

  “Yes, there is.”

  He looked at me for a long time, his eyes searching my face. I think he was looking to see if I was going to fall apart.

  “Okay.”

  “What do we do now?”

  “Get rid of them.”

  We went to the barn. We carried two tarps, a rope, a sack of quicklime, a big hammer and a can of gasoline out to the jeep. We drove over to the bodies.

  The ants had already found them.

  We spread one of the tarps in the back of the jeep. We got the two dead men into the jeep and onto the tarp. It was awkward and difficult. They were very big men. We folded the tarp over them.

  We spread the other tarp on the ground. We got shovels and scraped up all the blood-soaked, ant-filled dirt and piled it on the tarp. When we had it all, we bundled it up and tied it shut. We put the tarp on top of the one already in the jeep and weighted them both down with the sack of quicklime.

  “Talk to missy.”

  We walked into the house. Kiko was sitting cross-legged on the subfloor of her room.

  “I’m going to miss you, Joe. You and Aeden and John. And I’m going to miss this room and this house and this mountain.

  God, I hate to go!”

  “I know.

  Leaving. Be back. Say goodbyes. Be ready to go.”

  We walked out and got into the jeep, Joe at the wheel.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Know where Winkler is?”

  “Sure.”

  “Back behind there. Old mine shaft. Hard to find.

  No spirit road, these two.”

  We drove down Cedar Canyon to Black Canyon. We turned off onto the road to Wild Horse Canyon, then off that road over not much of a road to Winkler. From Winkler on there was no road at all.

  Joe stopped the jeep on the side of the hill.

  I thought I knew every mine shaft in the Providence, but I’d never seen this one.

  We unloaded the jeep.

  We stripped the two bodies of their shoes, clothes, wristwatches and rings. Joe left the guns in the shoulder rigs and put them back in the jeep. We dragged the nude bodies one at a time to the edge of a shaft that angled away into the hillside. We tumbled the first one in.

  Joe said, “Stand back.”

  In a moment, some disoriented bats flew out into the light. The same thing happened when we dropped the next body down the shaft.

  I carried the sack of quicklime to the opening. Joe cut it open.

  “Stand back,” he said again.

  “Stuff blind you.”

  He untied his bandana and re-tied it over his face. He upended the sack.

  A lot more bats came out.

  We spent an hour throwing big rocks down the shaft on top of the bodies. When Joe was satisfied, we walked to the jeep.

  We dragged the tarp with the bloody soil to the bottom of the hill and untied it. We brought down the men’s shoes, clothing, wristwatches and rings. Joe emptied the pockets of the pants and jackets and dumped wallets, badges, and rolls of cash onto the pile. He kept the picture of Kiko.

  He stripped the contents from the wallets and added them to the pile, along with the emptied wallets themselves. He gathered up the wristwatches, rings and detective shields and carried them to a flat rock.

  He went up to the jeep and got the big hammer. He pounded everything into very small pieces. He threw the pieces onto the pile.

  I got the jerry can from the jeep, and we poured a quarter of the gasoline over everything. Joe picked up some dead grass and tossed it into the air.

  “Good. Down slope wind. Blow the smoke out flat.”

  He popped a Lucifer match with his thumbnail and tossed it on the heap. It erupted into flames. The black smoke hugged the ground and fled down the narrow wash and out toward the open desert below.

  We stood for a long time watching everything burn. When it was smoldering, Joe brought the Army entrenching tool from the jeep and scattered the chunks that were left. When they stopped smoking, we made a smaller pile and poured half the remaining gas on it. Joe tossed another match.

  When that burned down, he used the tool to search for the scorched and blackened pieces of metal. He took off his bandana and twisted the pieces inside and carried them to the jeep.

  We poured the remaining gasoline on what was left. The fire burned very quickly. When it was out, I scattered the ashes with the entrenching tool and watched as some of them blew away. I covered what was left with sand and rocks.

  We got in the jeep and drove a mile from where we had put the bodies. We stopped and buried the remaining pieces of the watches, belt buckles and badges and rings in five separate holes. We smoothed over the dirt and put a rock on top of each place.

  We drove back to Black Canyon Road and on to the Box S.

  In the entire time, we had not seen another vehicle.

  When we pulled into the driveway, John’s truck was in front of the house.

  Joe picked up the guns and shoulder rigs and looped them over his shoulders. We went to the soapstone sink in front of the bunk house, removed the guns from the holsters and washed the rigs clean of blood. Then Joe went to the car and locked the guns and holsters in the trunk.

  When we went in the house, John and Kiko were in the kitchen. It was obvious Kiko had been crying. I think John had too.

  There was a metal case on the table.

  The mood in the room was somber. I don’t think anyone knew what to say about everything that had happened.

  Finally, John spoke.

  “Joe, can you open this?”

  Joe examined the latches and the combination locks.

  “Can.”

  He picked up the case and walked out.

  John and Kiko and I sat without saying much until he came back. He put the case on the table. There were holes where the combination locks had been. The latches were gone.

  He opened the lid.

  It was full of one hundred dollar bills, some banded, some loose.

  “That’s a lot of money,” said Kiko.

  Her voice sounded dull and lifeless.

  John said, “I just hope it’s enough. It’s going to have to last for a long time.”

  Joe spoke

  “Throw them off some.”

  “How?”

  “Car, guns in the trunk, Albuquerque airport. Bad people think those two ran off. All that money.”

  “Maybe, but I can’t count on that, can I?”

  “No.”

  “Why Albuquerque? asked John. “Why not Los Angeles?”

  “Too big. Maybe people watching. Can’t watch everywhere.”

  Kiko looked at us.

  “This is more money than I need. I didn’t ask for this to happen. I didn’t want it. Let me give some of this to each of you.”

  “Don’t need it,” said John.

  “Me either.”

  “What about you, Aeden?”

  “I’m with them.”

  “Best get moving. Long way to Albuquerque. Long way around. Can’t go through Smoke Tree. Can’t go through Vegas. Go Amboy, Twentynine Palms, Parker, Phoenix, then north.

  Ready?”

  Kiko nodded.

  “Let me get you a bag for that money,” said John. “Can’t carry that ruined case.”

  Joe and I went outside. I brought the Chrysler out from behind the barn while Joe stood looking at the desert.

  Kiko came out of the house with two bags. She walked over and dumped them on the ground beside me.

  “I’d like a hug, Aeden Snow”

  I hugged her.

  “Thank you.”

  She hugged John, too.

  “Thank you both. Thank you for making me safe. Thank you for saving my life.”

  “Thank Joe.”

  “I will, but I can never thank him enough.”

  “I’m never going to see you again, am I?” asked Joh
n.

  “I’m afraid not. But I’ll never forget you.”

  “Nor I you, Kiko Yoshida.”

  She picked up her bags. I opened the door for her, and she climbed inside.

  Before he got in the car, Joe said, “Be back on the Greyhound. Maybe bring me up, Ade?”

  “Sure.”

  “What for?” asked John.

  “Finish the room.”

  “But Kiko’s leaving.”

  “Remember her by. Make it perfect.”

  He got in the car and put it in gear.

  Kiko turned and watched us through the rear window as they went down the driveway. She gave a final wave before they disappeared.

  By the time John I walked to the end of the driveway, Joe was turning west on Cedar Canyon Road. He turned on his headlights in the deepening twilight. His taillights winked on.

  We watched until the car drove out of sight.

  Venus was up in the western sky. Coyotes were yipping over by Table Top Mountain.

  Chapter 21

  Smoke Tree, California

  And the Mountains

  Of the Eastern Mojave Desert

  December 16, 1961

  Aeden Snow

  On the afternoon of December 16, 1961, the Grand Canyon shuddered to a halt at the Santa Fe depot. Billy Braithwaite and I were back in Smoke Tree for the first time since August. I got Billy’s suitcase and then Billy off the train. His mother was waiting on the platform. She hugged Billy so hard I thought she was going to lift him out of the chair.

  It turned out my dad was on a westbound freight. We had probably passed him somewhere between Barstow and Smoke Tree. Mom was waiting for me. She hugged me and held me at arm’s length. Football season had added both muscle and weight to my frame.

  “Aeden Snow, I think you’re still growing.”

  She laughed and we hugged again.

  “Let’s go help Mrs. Braithwaite.”

  We walked to the parking lot. Mrs. Braithwaite already had the front door of her old Chevy open. Billy was still in his chair with his suitcase on his lap.

  She turned and smiled.

  I was pleased. A smiling Mrs. Braithwaite was almost as rare as a smiling Joe Medrano.

  “Just like the old days in front of the school, Aeden.”

  “Just like.”

  I put Billy’s suitcase on the ground and helped him into the front seat. I was about to put his suitcase and wheelchair in the back when I suddenly realized Mom and Mrs. Braithwaite had only talked on the phone.

  Such was life in Smoke Tree.

  “Mom, this is Mrs. Braithwaite.”

  “Mrs. Braithwaite, I’ve never thanked you in person for getting Aeden his scholarship. Perhaps when the boys are back in school, we can get together from time to time?”

  “That would be fine. We could compare stories and make sure they’re behaving themselves.”

  Mother laughed.

  “I’ll look forward to it.”

  Two days later, very early in the morning, I was on my way to the Box S. I stopped at Arrowhead Junction to visit Mr. Stanton. He was getting a little stooped. He had always been ramrod straight. As I talked with him, I realized he had forgotten all about Kiko and the two bad men from Las Vegas.

  Not a good sign.

  I said goodbye and headed on up the road.

  I enjoyed my drive that day as much as any drive I have ever made. I often pulled off the road and walked into the desert to let the stillness settle around me. It was so good to be home.

  When I cleared the last switchback and pulled onto the long driveway at the Box S, John Stonebridge’s pickup was in front of the house.

  He was out the door before I had come to a complete stop.

  “Aeden. Great to see you.”

  The instant I stepped out of the car, I smelled smoke from a pinyon wood fire.

  We shook hands.

  “Good to see you, too.”

  “Just made a fresh pot of coffee. Come in, come in!”

  We walked into the kitchen, and John poured us each a cup.

  “Still take it black?”

  “Yes.”

  I turned to look at the room Joe and I had built. Well, Joe mostly.

  The tile floor Joe had returned and finished looked great. There were easy chairs on both sides of the fireplace. Logs burned on the andirons. The flames were reflected in the obsidian and the geode crystals embedded in the hearth.

  “Come and sit with me.”

  We each took a chair.

  “I often sit in here. It’s become my favorite room.”

  “Joe did a great job.”

  “Joe and you both, you mean.”

  I laughed.

  “I mostly carried stuff.

  How’s that fireplace work?”

  “Just like Joe said it would. Burns hot, draws good, no drafts.”

  “Have you seen Joe since he finished the room?”

  “Now and then. Sometimes he just appears when we’re out working fence or water or feed somewhere. Don’t know how he knows where we are. All of a sudden, he’s just there.”

  “That’s Joe.”

  We sat quietly for a while, sipping our coffee. These mountains encouraged long silences.

  “John, have you ever heard from Kiko?”

  “Not a word.

  You?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Hope she’s all right.”

  “I hope so too. I like to believe she is.”

  We sat quietly a while longer, looking at the fire.

  “You know, Aeden, we had her here for a while anyway. I wouldn’t have missed that for anything.”

  “Me either.

  But something bothers me, and I can’t get it out of my head. I talked her into writing that letter to her mother. I think that’s how they knew she was out this way and not in a big city or another country.”

  “The guys who could tell us whether that’s true aren’t talking. You know, Joe never told me where you put them.”

  “It’s best you don’t know.”

  “Maybe so.”

  “As much as I miss her, I’m glad she’s not here. If she were, they would find her and kill her some day. They were going to kill her the day they showed up here. If it hadn’t been for Joe, they would have.”

  “What a fierce man lives behind those quiet eyes.”

  We sat and talked a while longer. The fire burned lower. When John got up to get more logs, I got up with him.

  “Thanks for the coffee. I should get back down the hill.”

  “Come by any time. And give my best to your folks.”

  “I will.”

  I was sadder driving back than I had been driving up.

  Chapter 22

  Cambria, California

  April, 1962

  Aeden Snow

  I was in my room studying after dinner when someone knocked on my door. I yelled, “come in,” and a kid from down the hall stuck his head into the room.

  “There’s someone downstairs asking for you.”

  When I walked into the lobby, Kiko rose from the couch.

  I couldn’t believe it was her. I felt like I had been holding my breath since July, wondering whether she was all right.

  “Hello, Aeden Snow.”

  “Hello, Kiko Yoshida.”

  She came over and hugged me.

  “Got a minute?”

  “Of course I do! I have hours and hours if you want them.”

  I had to force myself to stop gushing.

  We went out and got in her car and drove downtown to a coffee shop.

  I got us each a coffee and carried it to the table. I still couldn’t believe Kiko was in Cambria.

  “How are you?”

  “I’m fine, Aeden. And you?”

  “Better, now that I know you’re okay.

  Where have you been?”

  “Don’t ask.

  How’s college?”

  “All right, I guess. But it’s too wet fo
r me here. I thought it was bad in the winter, but the spring is even worse.”

  Kiko smiled.

  “I know. It’s just like Monterey.”

  Lord, I was being inane. There were a hundred things I wanted to ask her, and here I sat, talking about the climate!

  “Why are...”

  “What are...?”

  We laughed about both starting to talk at once.

  “Have you seen Joe?”

  “You don’t see Joe. Joe sees you. But no, I haven’t.”

  “And John?”

  “Yes. Over Christmas vacation. We sat in your room and drank coffee in front of a fire and talked about you. John misses you.”

  “And I miss him. And you. And Joe.”

  “Kiko, you can’t imagine how glad I am you’re here. I wasn’t sure I’d ever see you again.”

  She looked down at the table. When she looked up she said, “I came to say goodbye.”

  “I was afraid you already had. That evening on Pinto Mountain.”

  “That was goodbye for a while. I knew I would see you again. Now I know I won’t.

  I’m afraid, Aeden. I’m afraid all the time. I can’t keep living like this. Always moving, never feeling safe anywhere.”

  I lowered my voice.

  “But Joe left their guns in the trunk of that car. It must have been found at the airport. They probably think those guys killed you and ran off with the money.”

  “No, they don’t. They’re looking harder. Because now, the score is ‘little Japanese woman three, Mafia nothing.’

  They won’t ever stop looking. I had a close call last month. I might not survive next time.”

  “Where are you going?”

  She leaned closer.

  “Where would be the hardest place in the world to find a Japanese woman?”

  I thought about it for a minute.

  “Tokyo.”

  “That’s right. Can you imagine them finding me there?”

  “No, not really.”

  “I leave tomorrow from Santa Barbara. From there to El Paso, then on to Mexico City and Tokyo.

  I didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye.”

  “Since you’re leaving, I’ll tell you something that I’d be too embarrassed to tell you otherwise. I had this dream that someday, when I was older and had finished college and knew more about the world, you would still be at the Box S, and I would come back, and you would take me seriously.”