A Thousand Falling Crows (22 page)

“It's a sad way to die,” Sonny said.

“I‘d say.”

Silence settled between the two men again, and nature's sounds started to return around them. The leg saw of a cricket. A distant caw of a single crow. The breeze picked up, changing direction from the west to the southwest. It wouldn't be long before it was a full-out wind. There was a sound to that, too. Air sweeping across the flat land, rippling the cotton sleeves on Sonny's shirt, especially the one that was pinned to his side. It was starting to flap against him like a flag bound up on a pole.

Jonesy kicked the ground with the toe of his right boot. “You wouldn't mind running up to the closest house and giving Hugh a call for me, would you? I hate to leave her out here alone. We need to get on with the business of moving her and tryin' to find out what really happened. If that's possible.”

Sonny nodded. “Sure,” he said, then looked around.

“I think the nearest phone is over at the Maxwell place, about a half mile yonder. You know where it's at?”

“I do,” Sonny said, “but I 'spect Betty is still at the hospital. I saw her there a little while ago, before I picked up Aldo.”

“Her boy, Leo, ought to be there. You tell him the call's for me. He'll let you in.”

Sonny had driven past the Maxwell place a thousand times in his life, but he'd never had a reason to stop there. He wasn't sure he wanted to now, but Jonesy really hadn't given him much of a choice. There was no other way of getting Hugh Beaverwood out to him, other than driving into town and tracking him down. That would take too long.

There was talk of the possibility of radio communication between police cars and base, that it was on the cusp of possibility and affordability, but as it was, such technology hadn't found its way to Collingsworth County. That technology would change everything when it came to law enforcement, at least as far as Sonny was concerned. It would give the police an advantage over the criminals of the world. And, after what he'd just seen, the police needed all of the advantages they could get their hands on.

The Maxwell place was simple, a single-story house, well-kept, set back off the road, with a wraparound porch and a single dormer window facing the road. That window was cranked open, but everything else looked buttoned up, like there was no one home. The front door was closed. As was the door on the barn behind the house. There was no livestock about, and Sonny had expected to see a dog or two, but there weren't any. Just a few empty cages to the east of the barn.

He parked the truck next to the house and looked over at Blue. “I hope somebody's home. You stay.” He climbed out of the truck and stopped at the bed. “This should only take a minute, Aldo.”

The Mexican nodded. They hadn't spoken since they'd left the spot where the body had been found. “Perhaps this is not a day to ask questions,
señor
; the
policía
seem to have their hands full.”

Sonny studied Aldo's face for a long second. “You want me to take you home?”

“
Sí
, I think that would be a good idea. Maybe another day, and then we can find a way to speak with
Señor
Hamer.”

“Carmen may not have another day.”

“It is out of my hands,
señor
. I will have to live with whatever happens.”

“You don't know anything about this, do you, Aldo?”

Aldo looked at Sonny curiously. “About the
niña
?”

“The girls? The murders?”

Aldo shook his head emphatically. “Absolutely not. I have seen many terrible things working in the hospital, but none so bad as what has happened to these
niñas
.”

“All right, but if you hear of anything, you'll come to me or Sheriff Jones?”

“
Sí
,
absolutamente
.”

Sonny turned away from Aldo then and found himself looking at a boy who was staring at him. The boy was standing on the porch, on the top step, his arms crossed in front of his chest and his jaw set tight.

“You must be Leo?” Sonny said.

“Who the hell are you?” the boy answered, with a nod. He was more a young man than a boy, approaching sixteen or just past it, tall as a cornstalk, with a thin face void of whiskers. It didn't look as if any had ever grown there or that any would begin to sprout any time soon.

“Sonny Burton. Sheriff Jones sent me up to use your phone.”

“Who says we got a phone?”

“The sheriff. Is your mother home, boy?”

“She's at work.”

“What about your father?”

Leo scowled deeper, then squinted at Sonny. “He's not around.”

“I beg your pardon, then.”

“Ain't no skin off my back. What happened to your arm?”

Sonny glanced at the empty sleeve unconsciously, then looked back at Leo. “Had it amputated so the gangrene wouldn't spread and kill me.”

“You're that Ranger that run up against Bonnie and Clyde, ain't you?”

“I am.”

Leo stared at Sonny for a moment. He was wearing a thin white shirt that looked like it had come just out of a barrel of lye and brown canvas pants that were a little too short, the hem coming to a stop just above the ankles. He'd obviously had a growth spurt since they'd been bought or made. The wind blew his hair, blonde and thick like his mother's, and he had to wipe a long drape of bangs out of the way of his right eye to see clearly. It had been a long time since Sonny had come face-to-face with a teenager. It felt familiar. Jesse had been an angry boy, too.

“I suppose you can use the phone. Who you gonna call?” Leo asked.

“That's police business, son.”

“If you say so.”

“I do.” Sonny stepped forward and climbed up the steps, but he had to stop. Leo was still blocking the way. Arms still crossed, feet planted apart solidly, like he was expecting a toll.

“That Mexican needs to stay in the truck,” Leo said.

Sonny looked over his shoulder, then back at Leo. “He's not going anywhere.”

“His kind ain't welcome here. Anything comes up missin', I‘ll be looking to him first.”

“I‘ll only be a minute,” Sonny said. There was a hard tone in his voice that was meant to urge Leo out of the way. It didn't work.

“That your dog?” Leo asked, with a push of his chin. He stared at the dog, breaking eye contact with Sonny.

Sonny shrugged. “I‘m taking care of him, at the moment. You know him?”

“Kind of looks like one of my granddad's dogs.”

“Pete Jorgenson said as much. Do you know him?”

“Jorgenson? No way. I stay away from that place.”

“Why's that?”

“Hell, man, I‘d rather associate with that Mexican than people like that.”

Words bubbled up on Sonny's tongue, but he clamped his lips together as hard as he could until they passed by, unspoken. But he couldn't help himself. “Why's that?”

Leo glared at Sonny. “Phone's hanging on the wall, just inside the kitchen, mister. I wouldn't want you tellin' my mother I was inhospitable.”

“What do you have against the Jorgensons?” Sonny insisted. He could smell the boy's sweat, and it wasn't pleasant. Even the wind couldn't carry away the smell of anger and discomfort.

“I said the phone's on the wall. Are you deaf?”

“All right, then. You don't know the dog, then?”

“Nope, ain't never seen it before in my life,” Leo said, stepping aside, letting Sonny pass by. “We've been out of the dog business for a long time.”

Sonny pushed by Leo, hesitated at the front door, then pulled it open and headed straight for the phone without looking back.

CHAPTER 21

Carmen crawled over the front seat as cautiously as she could. There were shards of glass everywhere. The shooting had stopped as soon as they had crossed into Oklahoma and the car that was chasing them had spun out in a cloud of dust and disappeared from sight. She had no idea what had happened to the car, or the driver, and at the moment she didn't care. Now was not the time to confront the possibility that she might have killed a man, become more than a thief.

“Are you okay?” she asked Tió. Her voice shook like a bird's wing flapping against the wind. She had no sense of anything around her. It felt like she had fallen into a deep hole.

Tió was crumpled on the floorboard, stuck between the front seat and the back, on his knees, facing down. His right shoulder was red with blood. The stain on his shirt grew like a thunderhead on a clear summer day. Carmen had never seen so much blood.

She repeated herself as she settled onto the seat, avoiding the glass the best she could. “Are you okay?” She restrained herself from touching him. He had never shown her anything but distaste. There had been no mistaking that her presence was not welcome—and she had felt the same way about him. More than once, Carmen had wished that Tió would disappear. But she didn't want him to die.

Tió didn't answer, but Carmen could see the rise and fall of his chest through his shirt. His breathing was slow, almost like a tremble.

“Tió! Don't you fuckin' die on me,” Eddie yelled out from the driver's seat. He looked over his shoulder at Carmen questioningly.

She nodded, and mouthed, “He's breathing.”

The Model A was shimmying, threatening to come apart at the welds, as Eddie pushed it to the upper limit of its speed. Gravel bounced up underneath the car, banging the chassis like popcorn—or the shots from the famed Tommy gun.

“I lost the gun,” Tió said weakly. His forehead was still glued to the floorboard. The words were muffled, overtaken by the sounds of the speeding car. “I lost the gun,” he repeated, louder this time. He began to beat the floor with his fist. The cloud of blood on his shirt grew with each thrust of his arm.

Carmen reached out to touch the back of Tió's neck, cautious to not move any of the glass and cut herself—or him. He flinched at her touch but didn't pull away. If anything, he arched into it, happily surprised, desperate for comfort. “It'll be all right,” Carmen said.

Wind pushed in through the shattered window. Tió looked up at Carmen. He had tears in his eyes, slobber coming out of the corner of his mouth. “How come I can never do nothin' right?”

At that moment, more than any other, she saw the little boy in him, the one who was always in the shadow of the braver, stronger, more handsome brother, trying to keep up, never able to prove himself. Tió was not weak, but tender. Her fear of him evaporated. Even though he'd just tried to kill a cop.

“Are you all right,
me'jo
?” Eddie demanded. He looked over the back of the seat again, and scowled at Carmen.

She recoiled from Tió and swallowed the words of tenderness that were on the tip of her tongue. There would be no time for comfort.

Tió nodded, then pulled himself up carefully from the floor. He looked at the wound on his shoulder. “I think it's a graze. Or went in and out. It really hurts, Eddie.”

“You dropped the gun, you idiot.” Eddie swung a closed fist wildly at Tió as he steered the Model A with his left hand. The car swerved, and the tires tried to grab the gravel.

The swing missed. Tió ducked, like he had anticipated Eddie's reaction and burrowed as far back into the corner of the seat as he could.

Eddie turned his attention back to the road. “It was the only shotgun we had.”

“I‘ll get another one,” Tió said. He pushed glass off the seat and onto the floor.

Carmen watched Eddie and remained silent. He was scanning the road ahead of him, then looking behind them. She followed suit. The road was empty. There was nobody following them. That was a relief.

“We need to get as far away from the state line as we can,” Eddie said.

Tió glanced down at the blood on his sleeve. “I‘m hungry,” he said. His face was pale, and his eyes looked weak.

“We're not stopping in Madge. It's too close. You can forget that,” Eddie replied.

Carmen leaned over to Tió. “Let me see. Can you take off your shirt?”

Tió stared at her, then nodded. He pulled his left arm out of the shirt first. He grimaced and groaned in pain as he did.

“Don't be a sissy-boy, Tió,” Eddie said.

“Don't be mean, Eddie,” Carmen snapped. She glared at him with daggers. She was losing her fear of him, too. “It's all right, Tió. Go ahead.”

Tió had a sleeveless undershirt on underneath the work shirt that he'd been wearing since they'd first joined up. The right side of it was heavy with blood. The wound was worse than he'd let on.

“He needs a doctor, Eddie, or taken to a hospital,” Carmen said, upon seeing the wound with the shirt off. It was gaped open like a filleted loin of meat, just hanging down. She felt queasy at the sight of the blood, of the raw and open muscle, but she held herself together. Tió hadn't taken his eyes off her. Her reaction seemed to matter to him.