After the End: Survival (21 page)

There was a letter from his mother in Big Spring.

"Dear Bobby," it began, "I was so happy when I found out about your getting an early release. Everyone deserves a second chance in life and this is yours. I know things were never easy for you. We never had much and there were so many things I couldn't give you. But I tried, honey. It just isn't easy raising an active boy all by myself. But we always had each other, didn't we?

"I hope this job your uncle's giving you works out. He's a good man and he always did have a soft spot for his little sister (that's me!!!). The economy down here is terrible as usual, so really, any kind of job is better than none and a change of scene might be just what you need. I sure miss you though. Maybe you can come down some weekend and visit with me. Your old mom would sure like that! I'm still waitressing at that little place across from the V.A. When you come and visit I bet I can sneak you a chicken fried steak!

"Call me when you get your phone.

"I love you and I miss you, Mom."

Even assholes have mothers that love them.

There was nothing here to indicate Robert Decker was still alive. The odd skeleton in an unoccupied house was no big deal.

So why had David Rodriguez singled out Robert Decker?

Pete thought about it as he drove home.

He thought about it as he weeded his garden.

He thought about it as he did laundry.

Then he quit thinking about it, ate supper, sat outside with a warm beer and watched the sunset. When the mosquitoes got too bad, he went to bed.

Sunday morning. What a week. Pete woke up early, had breakfast, and decided to take a bike ride to enjoy some of the lingering coolness. David Rodriguez's funeral wasn't until ten. Plenty of time.

He pedaled north on Souncy, past the mall, and then west along the I-40 access road. He pointedly ignored the ‘Cadillac Ranch,’ a line of seven rusting auto bodies buried nose first in the ground as an object of art.

There's no accounting for taste.

He exerted himself in a sort of masochistic frenzy formerly reserved for businessmen in a crowded spa. He turned south on Helium Road.

I don't do this often enough, Pete reflected. Endorphins. Give me endorphins. Relaxes the body. Clears the mind.

His lungs burned. His eyes stayed focused ten feet in front of the speeding bicycle. Images of Susan Shupe and Laura Benchly flashed in his head, but he pushed them out. David Rodriguez smiling at Yolanda as she served him stew. The image of his own wife, Thanksgiving, the whole family sitting down to dinner. Jay Flood, arguing with his nurse, Latesha. Those two sure work well together. Mayor Blakely, talking to Brenda Farley. Something between them. Something he hadn't noticed before.

Then the image of a smirking skeleton as he opened that closet door. Jeez, that was freaky. Robert Decker could probably spin a tale or two.

Robert Decker. Thirty two years old. Ex-con. Worked at a body shop that was likely owned by his uncle. Would I hire a nephew that preferred kids as sexual targets?

Family. The tie that binds.

As in strangulation. A vision of Susan Shupe's swollen tongue intruded. Pete pushed the image aside.

It's not polite to interrupt.

So, back to Robert Decker. Who was his uncle? Getting saddled with a dip-shit for a nephew must have been quite a cross to bear. AA Body and Paint Shop.

Pete turned into the driveway of an abandoned home. White clapboard, surrounded by trees. The front door was partly open and he walked in.

Piles of dead leaves were collecting in corners. A layer of red dust covered everything. Pete found the phone book on a kitchen counter.

AA Body and Paint Shop was the first listing in the Yellow Pages under Automobile Body Repairing and Painting. "For More Information, See Advertisement This Page."

The display ad showed a little map of where the business was located. "Insurance Claims Welcome." "Unibody Frame Repairs." "DuPont Paints." In the corner was a picture of a sports car on an alignment rack. Just below that, in small letters, "Robert Westlake - Owner."

Pete stood motionless, stunned. Then he carefully closed the book and walked outside. Stiffly, he got on the bike and began pedaling mechanically.

Sheriff Rob Westlake, the former owner of a body shop, had hired a convicted pedophile. Robert Decker was his nephew. Was Decker still alive? He'd know in a couple of hours. Westlake would be at the Rodriguez funeral.

Pete pedaled home, took a quick shower, dressed, got in his car and headed south.

The Dreamland Cemetery is off Farm to Market Road 2590, just south of Canyon. Privately, Pete thought it was an odd name for a cemetery, but had to admit it was a pretty place.

There was a good crowd, mostly Canyon residents. David was a popular man, well-known and respected. Pete arrived a few minutes early and the lay preacher conducting the funeral was a stickler for time, getting off his opening remarks precisely at ten.

Yolanda looked drained. Her black dress fluttered a little in the breeze. Her young daughter was next to her, held by a buxom older woman with the resolute look of someone who's been though a lot of funerals and was going to get through this one, too.

Pete surveyed the crowd. The lawmen attending, about a dozen all told, were in a group near the preacher. They were staring sternly at David's coffin. The mayor was there. Pete was surprised to see James Snyder and his family, standing off by themselves at the edge of the crowd. Judy Gilliam was near them. Pete moved next to her.

"Hi," he said. She gave him a little smile, taking his hand and squeezing it once. James Snyder looked over and nodded solemnly.

"What are you doing here?" he whispered.

"Sshhh," she explained.

The preacher cleared his throat and began.

"David Armando Rodriguez was everything you'd want in a man. He was honest, intelligent, and a hard worker. He believed in service. He'd help anybody. It didn't matter if it was part of his job or after hours. He treated everyone he met with respect, no matter who they were or what the circumstances. I'll tell you a story about David, and this one's real personal. First time I met him was two and a half years ago. I was drunk and on a tear. I was ready to fight anything and everybody. David walks up to me and says, ‘Did you hear the one about the Aggies riding a bus through the country? One of them says, “Look at that cow with one eye!” and everyone on the bus looks out the window with a hand over one eye.’

"Stupidest joke I'd ever heard. And it cracked me up," he said, smiling.

"You know, David could have just knocked me up side the head and been done with it, but he didn't, and we became friends. I'm not saying all my problems were over, but I'm a better man for knowing David.

"Now he's dead. I can't tell you why. And I can't tell you what happens next. I know there's some will tell you he's off to a better place, free of all the cares and troubles of life. Maybe they're right. I don't know. I've been acquainted with a lot of people who are dead now. Not a single one has left word with me about what happens after that great transition.

"I've given it some thought. And I still don't have an answer.

"I had no choice about coming into this world. But when I was born, it was to a mother that loved me, with an unconditional, all-encompassing kind of love. We call that mother-love, and there's nothing else like it in the world.

"I can't help but think that the same God which brought us so lovingly into the world will to do any less for us when we leave it.

"Our hearts go out to David's wife Yolanda, and his little daughter Desiree.

"Goodbye, David. We'll see you later."

It was quiet for a minute, and then the preacher went over to Yolanda and led her to the hole in the ground where the coffin lay. After a little hesitation, she picked up a handful of dirt and sprinkled it on the wooden box. Turning around, she took Desiree from the woman and held the child in a tight hug.

One by one, everyone took a turn and threw some soil onto the coffin. Yolanda was murmuring softly to her daughter. Pete saw Sheriff Westlake standing over by a tree. He was in a quiet but heated conversation with a younger man Pete had never seen before. Rob was punctuating his remarks with a pointed index finger thumped against the man's chest. The other fellow was grinning, and shaking his head to indicate Westlake just didn't understand.

Pete walked over toward the men.

"Dammit," the sheriff said, "I've told you before to keep out of town. You're nothing but trouble, always have been. I've helped you for the last time. Clear out. I don't ever want to see your face again."

"Now, Rob, just calm down. It's cool. I just wanted to pay my respects to an honest officer of the peace. There are so few of them."

"You little piece of shit..."

"Hey, Rob, got a minute?" Pete asked. He tried to sound offhand, even though it looked like the big man was ready to kill.

The sheriff turned towards Pete and glared.

"Pete, this is not a good time."

"Pete? Is this Pete Wilson?" said the man. "I've heard so many great things about you. I'm Bobby Decker."

The man extended his hand, and Pete shook it automatically, his mind spinning. In Decker's eyes and nose there was a strong resemblance to the Sheriff. Judy Gilliam approached the three men.

"Pete, this is the man who brought in that half-drowned little boy to the clinic a couple days ago. Sir, you'll be glad to know he's doing fine. Still in the hospital in Amarillo, but he's recovering. I didn't have a chance to thank you for bringing him in."

"Ma'am, that's very kind of you. I have to say I've always tried to be helpful, and that little fella really needed help. Glad to be of service." He touched the brim of his hat.

Pete was dumbfounded. The guy seemed so normal.

"You must be Bobby Decker!” Pete said, his voice cracking. “Formerly of Big Spring, Texas. I'll be darned. And I've heard so many things about you! Rob, you never told me you had a nephew."

Both men turned towards Pete, staring at him like he'd grown a third eye.

"Yessir. Bobby Decker. I've wanted to meet you for a long time. And I have to say, you're the first man I've ever met who's successfully buried a skeleton in his closet."

"What the hell are you talking about," said Decker.

"So tell me, Sheriff," said Pete. "Just how far will a man go to protect his family? Will he lie? Will he murder? Will he stand by and allow children to be tortured and killed?"

Westlake continued to stare at Pete, and when he spoke, it was almost a whisper.

"I wasn't sure it was him. I honestly didn't know until a couple days ago."

"When you saw David Rodriguez in the Probation building matching fingerprints. And you shot him to hide the truth."

"He drew on me first. I swear to God. This boy," he gestured over to Decker, "is my sister's son. He's all I've got left in the world. He's my namesake. You've got to understand, he's all that's left!"

"Pretty poor pickin's," Pete said.

"You can't say that about me," said Decker, shoving Pete's chest. "I don't have to take this shit from you."

"It's over, Bobby," Westlake said resignedly. "We can fight it out in court. I've got a few friends there and there's very little evidence." He reached automatically behind his back and withdrew a pair of handcuffs.

"You're going to arrest me?"

"I've got to, Bobby."

"Fuck that noise." Bobby simultaneously drew a squat revolver from under his shirt and grabbed Judy around the neck. He pointed the gun at her head.

"This is a good time for all us to look at things reasonably. I haven't done a thing to anybody. And I sure as hell ain't going to jail. Not yours or anyone else's."

"Bobby, put it down," said Westlake, reaching for his own gun.

In one swift movement, Decker turned his revolver on Westlake, shooting him in the chest. The sheriff grunted once and went down like a sack of potatoes. He convulsed twice like he was going to throw up and then lay still, blood dribbling from a corner of his mouth.

Decker returned the business end of his pistol to Judy’s head. He had taken the weapon away from her head for less than a second.

"Boys, anyone else wanting to be a hero today's going to end up just like Uncle Robby. I want y'all to slowly drop your weapons and then ease on over to that open place on the other side of the grave. Nothing funny, now. You try and shoot me, you'll hit this pretty nurse instead and I'll still shoot you. Get your ass over there, too, Pete. Although I ought to shoot you on general principle."

"Bobby, why don't you trade me for her,” Pete said. “I'll be able to keep up with you better. Most women have to pee about every ten minutes. She's going to slow you down."

Men were slowly lowering their guns to the ground. The whole crowd moved to the clearing, never taking their eyes from the gunman and his hostage, afraid they might miss something. Judy stood stock still, almost numb with fear. She did feel some irritation with Pete's implication that a woman couldn't keep pace with a man, but at the same time realized Pete's gesture was a noble one.

And she really did have a terribly strong urge to urinate.

"I don't think so, Pete. Move it."

Pete moved over with the rest of the group, feeling pretty useless. I blew it, he decided. I've screwed up this whole thing.

"I'll bet that red SUV over there is yours, right?"

Judy nodded.

"Got lots of fuel in it?"

The tank was three quarters full. She thought about lying, but figured it wouldn't make any difference. She nodded again.

"Good. Let's go over to it. I'll let you drive."

Walking to the car, Decker picked up a pistol from the ground. He used it to shoot a hole through the grills of the other half dozen vehicles parked along the road. Green puddles formed under the vehicles as coolant flowed from their radiators. He popped the magazine from the handle of the gun and slipped it in his pocket. Tossing the gun in some weeds he yelled out to the crowd.

"You folks have a nice day. It's been a real pleasure making your acquaintance."