A Thousand Falling Crows (18 page)

It was like walking across an old battlefield. No matter how high the grasses had grown, and how long it had been, there were memories to deal with, ghosts to face down, weaknesses to run away from, memories to dodge. He was certain his arm had been burned up in the hospital's furnace, a part of him cremated, ashes carried on the wind and deposited on the ground—perhaps right in front of him. Sonny wondered how he would feel if he walked on a part of his former self. The attachment had been severed. Nerves were dead and gone. Just like soldiers killed on the battlefield.

Blue had taken to the passenger's seat like his name was on it. The dog seemed comfortable in the moving vehicle and liked to stick his head out the window, allowing his ears to flap in the wind like streamers on a parade float. Now that they were stopped, Blue stared at Sonny, waiting to see what was next.

Sonny didn't pay attention to the dog. He was fixed on the hospital.

It was nothing more than a big old house, Victorian style, with a broad porch wrapped across the front and the north side. A few ceiling fans whirled overhead on the porch, and there was a line of chairs, for the recuperating and visitors alike, mostly empty, facing out to the street. Two old men sat in rocking chairs, staring out at Sonny. Patients passing time, escaping the antiseptic smells and gloom inside.

Rumor had it that the house was slated to be torn down and a new, more modern hospital erected in its place in the next year or two. But that's all it was, a rumor. The Depression had stopped progress in its tracks. At the rate folks were fleeing from North Texas and Oklahoma, there wouldn't be anyone left to build a big hospital, more less populate it with their illnesses.

Finally, the heat got to be too much. “You best stay here, Blue. I don't think Doc Meyers would take too kindly to a dog being in his midst. I hope you know what stay means, but I guess if you don't, you won't limp off too far, will you?”

Blue cocked his head as Sonny got out of the truck. He then leaned back in and said, “Stay. I kind of like having you around.” Then he walked up to the porch, shifting the .45 back in place, hoping it wasn't too visible, but not caring too much if it was.

He nodded to the two old men on the porch, then stepped inside the hospital.

A nurse in a pure white uniform, wearing a matching white cap, sat at a desk just inside the foyer. What was once the parlor was a waiting room. It was full of empty chairs. The nurse looked up as a bell attached to the closure jingled.

It was Betty Maxwell. Nurse Betty. Sonny stopped just short of the desk, not surprised to see her. Glad of it, actually.

“Well, look here. It's Sonny Burton,” she said, with a smile.

“Miss Maxwell,” Sonny said, taking off his hat, a gray felt Stetson. Old habits died hard, though his days of wearing a white Stetson were over.

“Nurse Betty'll do. Told you that once already.”

She looked a little different than the last time he had seen her, slimmer, her face thinner. And he noticed a stray gray hair sticking out of the side of her otherwise blonde hair.

“It's good to see you, ma'am,” Sonny said, looking away from her gaze.

She looked down at the open book that sat in front of her. “You don't have an appointment today, Mr. Burton. What can I help you with?”

“I was hoping that Aldo Hernandez was here. I need to speak with him.”

Nurse Betty shook her head. “No, he's not here. Word came in he had some family problems to tend to.”

Sonny tried to stay focused on Nurse Betty. The door to the left of her led into the room where the doc operated, where they'd taken him to amputate his arm. “Well, I‘m sorry to hear that. You wouldn't happen to know where he lives do you? I think I might be able to help him some.”

Betty Maxwell looked Sonny up and down, from head to toe. “I see you're not wearing the prosthetic. Is there a problem with it?”

The question nearly knocked the wind out of Sonny's chest. “I was just hoping to speak with Aldo, ma'am, if it's all the same to you.”

“If it doesn't fit, we can send it back and get another one.”

Sonny shifted his weight and said nothing. Murmurs came from behind the operating room door. A ceiling fan whirled overhead, pushing around the bleach smell that permanently resided inside the hospital. Traffic went up and down the street outside, and Sonny's palms began to sweat.

“I‘m sure it's difficult to adjust to,” Nurse Betty continued. “Hard to get on and off. But you'll get used to it. Everybody does.”

The last comment touched an angry nerve, and Sonny balled his first, almost unconsciously. “I haven't had it out of the box,” he snapped. “I‘m sorry to have wasted your time.” He turned then and started for the door.

Betty Maxwell stood up quickly, like she'd sat on a tack and was propelled upward by a sudden explosion of discomfort and pain. “Wait, I‘m sorry,” she said. “That was thoughtless of me.”

Sonny exhaled, released his grip on the doorknob, and stopped. He looked over his shoulder at her. “I can help Aldo.”

“And I can help you.” It was almost a whisper.

“Thank you, but I‘m getting along just fine.”

“Sure you are.” She made her way around the desk and stopped in front of Sonny.

He didn't take his eyes off her. She was shapely, had legs cut of marble. A fair assessment, if a man was to do such things, was that Betty Maxwell was a fine looking woman. She was in her mid-to-late thirties, and, to his surprise, Sonny glanced down to see if she was wearing a wedding ring. She wasn't.

Without asking permission, Nurse Betty reached up and unbuttoned the top button of Sonny's shirt. It wasn't until that moment that he realized that he'd missed a button midway down. His shirt was buttoned lopsided. He flushed with embarrassment and frustration but said nothing as Betty unbuttoned his shirt down his chest, then gently and purposefully buttoned each one, without saying anything either.

Betty Maxwell smelled like all the good things of spring—wildflowers, a gentle breeze, and a partly cloudy sky offering the hope of rain for miles around. Sonny couldn't remember the last time he'd been this close to a woman. Past the embarrassment and frustration, he suddenly felt lonely and was surprised by it.

“There,” Nurse Betty said, buttoning the last button, tapping it slightly.

Sonny stepped back. “Thank you.”

“There's three houses right off 1847, the farm-to-market that goes north and south.”

“I know it.”

“Aldo lives in the last one before the curve. Most likely a couple of goats grazing out front.”

“I appreciate it,” Sonny said. He grabbed the doorknob again.

“I meant it,” Betty Maxwell said. “I can help you with that prosthetic.”

“I‘ll think about it.”

“Well, I guess that's progress.”

Sonny nodded and looked Nurse Betty in the eye. She'd meant what she said. He was sure of it. “You're Vern Maxwell's girl, aren't you?”

Betty returned the nod, as a curious look fell across her face. “I am.”

“You haven't lost a dog lately have you?”

She shook her head. “Only dog we've got these days is Old Max, and he's too blind to wander off and be lost.”

“I hit a dog the other day and Pete Jorgenson said he might be one from Vern's line.”

“Well, I suppose there are still some of them around, at least with that blood in them. Is it all right? The dog you hit?”

“He's out in the truck, waiting on me.” Sonny glanced out the side glass of the door, to see if Blue was still there. He was. Hadn't moved an inch. “I named him Blue. Pete said he wasn't as mottled as most of Vern's. He's almost blue in the light of day. That's what I named him, Blue. Seems smart. Always underfoot. Likes to be with me wherever I go.”

“Well, that sure sounds like one of daddy's dogs. They were loyal as the Royal Guard. At least that's what daddy always said. I hope he'll be all right. I assume it's a he?”

“It is. A he, I mean. Pete seems to think he'll be all right. Might end up with a limp, but he should be able to do most things like he always did.”

“Well, it sounds like you like him.”

“I do.”

“I‘m glad of it. A man like you could use a dog like Blue.”

CHAPTER 18

They were parked behind an abandoned barn. The front of the stolen car faced north, hidden behind a pile of rusted barrels, farm tools, and old mule harnesses. The car was a big Buick, long as a keel boat, as fast as a top-dollar race horse, and as pretty as a movie star. It was maroon, the color of blood on a dark night.

Eddie couldn't resist stealing the Buick as they fled Shamrock after the robbery. It had been sitting in front of a house that was bigger than a movie theater and just as fancy. Probably belonged to one of the owners of the gas wells outside of town. Eddie liked the hood ornament, a chrome likeness of Mercury with wings and a fine hat, leaning forward, into the wind, into the future; a fast runner going somewhere, getting there before anyone else—getting away.

Tió had told him it was Mercury as they sped away in the darkness. “It's a Roman god, Eddie.”

“How do you know this stuff?” Eddie asked.

Tió shrugged and looked away. The mechanics of his mind were a mystery to everyone. Even him.

They'd driven out into the flat, treeless, nondescript wonder that was the Panhandle of Texas with the headlights off, navigating a country lane by the sliver of a moon that hung overhead. Carmen had sat in the passenger seat, quiet, too, as far away from Eddie as she could get. The smell of her own sweat disgusted her.

“Mercury is the patron god of luck, Eddie. And of travelers, trickery, and thieves. He will look out for us. You'll see,” Tió said.

“I‘ll keep it, then,” Eddie had answered, meaning Mercury and not the car. Once they'd found the barn, a place to hunker down for the night, Eddie had sent Tió out looking for another car to steal. One that wasn't so noticeable.

Eddie had climbed into the back once he was sure they were safe. He nearly had to beg Carmen to join him, but she relented, gave in without much of a fight.

Where else was she going to go?

The backseat was like a big soft couch that had been bolted into a red velvet cavern. The fabric looked like it had never been touched by human hands, and it had a fragrance of newness that was foreign to Carmen's nose. She had never seen anything so plush and expensive. It made her nervous to touch it, like she'd get in trouble if she scarred it in any way, left a mark on something, even by accident. She didn't like being a thief.

“Relax,” Eddie said. There was no hint of gentleness in his voice. The word was a hard command, and there was no way Carmen was going to relax. Something in Eddie had changed since the shooting at Lancer's Market. He leaned in and tried to kiss her, pushed his hand up under her soiled dress like he had a right to. “I need you,” he whispered. “I need you to be with me.”

Carmen withdrew, pushed away his hand, and tried to melt into the velvet. “No.”

Eddie recoiled like he'd been slapped. “No? What do you mean, no?”

“Not here. Tió will be back any second.”

“He just left.”

“I don't want to, Eddie. I want a bath and a place I feel safe. I don't want to sleep in this car, and I don't want to—make sex with you in this car.”

“You can't go home. Not now. If that's what you're thinking.”

“I know.”

The windows were down. and the night air drifted in and out, the breeze steadier and cooler than it had been in the day but still tinged with warmth and the oppression of summer. There were sleeping cows close by, but they were mostly quiet. A gentle moo here and there drifted upward in the distance. Cows didn't smell as bad as pigs would have—at least there was luck in that. Only the insects buzzed about outside the Buick. They were a distant chorus of low-pitched notes, rising and falling like a high-pitched snore, hundreds of bows wafting over tight violin strings. The urgency of spring was over. They didn't want to make sex, either. It was too late in the season.

Eddie pushed up next to Carmen and pulled her in as close as he could. “I won't make you do anything else you don't want to.” His voice had changed. It was the sweet Eddie, the one that she had followed out of her house and into the life she now had. He had charmed her before by flashing his little-boy eyes at her, allowing her to see that he wasn't always tough, always
machismo
. Sometimes when he touched her it was as if he were the softest, sweetest boy in the world. Those times bewitched her. His spell was solid, making her wonder if he were a male
bruja
.

A train cried out in the distance, its whistle echoing across the flat land like a sad moan. The cargo was mostly broken men, hobos, going to nowhere in particular, leaving behind the lives they knew, because they no longer existed. Newsreels showed cops crabbing into the railcars with clubs, cracking kneecaps, banging heads. Some men just stood there and took it.

“Promise?” Carmen looked into Eddie's face. His eyes were half open, dreamy brown orbs offering an invitation to believe every word he said was the pure truth, believe that every breath he took was just for her. She could've crawled right inside of him, then, fallen deep in love with him all over again, but she looked away just as he edged closer for a kiss.

Eddie pulled back. “You're still mad.”

“I just want to go to sleep, Eddie.”

“Fine. Have it your way,” he said, pushing away from her. He opened the door, jumped out, and slammed it behind him. The red velvet vibrated under her thighs for a brief second, a tremor, a warning of things to come if she continued to push him away.

Carmen listened to him stalk away into the weeds, strike a match on something, and light a cigarette. She listened until she couldn't hear him anymore.