Brother Against Brother (8 page)

***

When Frank came around it took him a moment to realize where he was. He lay on his back, his body aching. Above him, the sky was radiant with the full moon shining. He tried to sit up but slipped back, feeling ill. The memory of his recent fight rose before him, and he felt sicker.

What happened to Joe? Frank wondered. He tried to kill me! Has he been brainwashed? He didn't even know who I was. I was fighting a robot!

Gingerly, Frank forced himself to sit up, waiting for the cobwebs to clear from his head. "What a mess!" he muttered. "The good news is that Joe is alive. But the bad news is that Joe must think that I'm the hit man!"

Swaying to his feet, Frank took a few wobbly steps, testing his ankles and knees. They still worked. He climbed up to the road again and set off.

To take his mind off his pains, Frank concentrated on inventing a new plan for finding and saving Joe. But he had no edge, nothing to work with. Alone in the Rocky Mountains at night, he had only his wits to help him. This was a time when he really could use Joe's help — but Joe, apparently, was on the other side.

The road began to slope up, and Frank walked for what seemed like hours. He was making some progress, but could never catch Joe on foot. No cars passed for Frank to flag down. No, he was on his own—on foot—whether he liked it or not.

The road forked, and Frank stopped to decide which way to go. He couldn't remember his map this far along. The left-hand route remained paved and appeared to snake up into the mountains, the right-hand route was dirt-covered, heading down into a large valley.

From his vantage point, Frank saw a small pool of light on the valley floor — not large enough to indicate a town, but light nonetheless.

It could be a place where he could find help. Besides, he had to take the easier route. So Frank took the road down into the valley.

As Frank approached the lights, they became brighter and more distinct. They were from some kind of building off the road in the near distance.

Frank quickened his pace, breaking into a hobbling run.

Just before he finally arrived, he stopped and leaned against an old fence to catch his breath.

He was at an old truck stop, left over from the days when this road had been the only one.

"I can't go in there looking like this," Frank said to himself. So he took a moment to comb through his hair with his fingers, then dusted and smoothed out his clothing. He wiped the blood off his face. Even with this effort, he still felt like the Wild Man of the Mountains.

Walking past a couple of antique gas pumps, he headed into a beat-up diner with flickering neon lights. There were no trailer trucks in the gravel parking lot, just an old pickup and a Highway Patrol car.

Frank entered the diner and smiled in surprise. The place was spotlessly clean. The linoleum floor shone with wax. The counter and stools were polished. Tubes of neon lights raced across the ceiling. Along the window wall were several booths. An old jukebox stood in one corner. Near it was a pool table and a rack of cue sticks.

The counterman, tall and skinny, with thin hair slicked back, wiped his hands on an apron, eyeing Frank, "Howdy, stranger," he said with a western twang.

He reached behind the counter for a coffee pot, and freshened the cup for a heavyset highway cop sitting on a far stool. As he leaned forward, he muttered something to the cop, who turned around and looked at Frank.

Obviously, the patrolman was not impressed by Frank's bedraggled condition. The lips went thin on his heavy face, and he crossed his arms across his chest. A metal bar pinned below his badge indicated that the cop's name was Higgins.

Patrolman Higgins didn't say a word. He merely glared at Frank as if he suspected Frank were an escaped convict or something.

Frank was so distracted that he nearly jumped when the counterman appeared before him.

"Sit anywhere you want," the man said, handing Frank a menu.

Frank took a seat in a vinyl-covered booth.

"You just take your time," the counterman said with a grin. "As you can see, the kitchen isn't exactly swamped with orders." With that, he returned to Higgins.

"You wouldn't believe my night so far," Higgins said. "Just before I pulled in here, I got an all-points bulletin over the radio. Dispatch said keep an eye out for a young guy with blond hair traveling with a girl. And get this—they said there was a hit man, some professional trigger-puller, loose in the area."

Higgins twisted his stool and gave Frank another hard look. "Didn't hear you come driving in, son," he said.

"No. My car broke down up the road," Frank said. "I think the clutch went out — the old wreck just died on a hill. So I left it and walked here."

"Is that right?" Higgins said.

"Is there a bus coming by?" Frank asked. "I need to get to the county seat." "Bus service was stopped on this route months ago," the counterman broke in. "No profit left. Too bad about your car."

"What about that pickup out front?" Frank asked. "Could I rent it for a day or two?"

"Sorry," the counterman said. "That's mine, and I need it to get home.

"I really have to get somewhere—fast. It's a matter of life and death." Frank looked hopefully at the highway patrolman. "Do you think — "

"Sorry, son." Higgins didn't sound very sorry at all. "My patrol takes me in the opposite direction. You'll just have to sit tight till morning when a wrecker can help you.

From the look on Higgins's face, Frank wondered if he might be seeing a posse of local lawmen, first. He didn't dare tell the cop about Joe for fear Joe had really flipped out. Joe could attack this guy, as he had Frank, and be killed. No, Frank decided. I'll just cool it and find Joe on my own.

Then he looked up again. "I guess you're right," Frank told Higgins and the counterman. "My old wreck isn't going anywhere." He grinned. "So I might as well eat. How about a steak, baked potato, the works?"

The counterman went into the kitchen, and Higgins returned to his coffee. Frank stared out the window anxiously.

A big plate of food soon appeared on the table. Frank tore into the steak. He hadn't realized how hungry he was. "Delicious," he told the counterman. "Mind if I take this outside? I'd like to eat under the stars."

"Suit yourself," the counterman said with a chuckle.

Frank picked up the plate and went outside. Glancing back inside, he noticed that the counterman and Higgins were paying no attention to him. There was no place for him to go, anyway.

Frank strolled past Higgins's car, number twenty-eight, and dropped to one knee, glancing nervously to see if either man was looking out. They weren't. He shoved the baked potato into the cruiser's exhaust pipe. Then, putting the plate on the ground, he walked over to the pickup and climbed inside.

Ducking low, he yanked at the ignition wires. It was a nerve-racking job, hot-wiring a truck in full view of the owner. If either of the two inside glanced his way — The motor caught, backfired, and finally turned over. Frank leapt behind the wheel. He pushed in the clutch and punched the stick on the floor into reverse.

The noise caught the attention of the two men inside the diner.

Just as Frank was backing away, Patrolman Higgins burst from the door, hauling his service revolver from its holster.

"Hold it!" Higgins yelled, dropping into the classic marksman's firing-line position.

The gun in his hand looked about the size of a cannon and it was aimed straight at Frank.

"Stop!" Higgins yelled again. "Or I shoot!"

***

Cruising well ahead on the road, Joe glanced over at Rita. She was curled asleep, her body turned toward the seat. Joe's jacket covered her. Joe tried to hold his eyes open. A few times he had found himself nodding out over the wheel But he had forced himself to sit back and stare ahead. Joe wasn't sure how much longer that would work. He was exhausted.

Nudging Rita with his elbow, he asked, "Any idea how much farther to Corralville?"

She yawned and stretched. "How long have I been sleeping?" "An hour and a half," Joe told her. "We should be pretty close," she said. "Want me to drive?"

"Maybe so," Joe said. "I can't stay awake. But you know, maybe it's a good idea to enter Corralville in the morning, when the sheriff will be at his office."

"So what do you want to do?" Rita asked. "Let's pull over and knock off a few Zs," Joe suggested. "We can hide the car off the road." "All right," Rita said.

Joe slowed the car, then pulled off the highway onto a narrow dirt road. He followed the road as it passed some rangeland protected by barbed wire fences.

Figuring that they were safely out of sight, Joe pulled off the road into a patch of buffalo grass. "Well, good night then," Joe said, turning off the engine.

Rita mumbled, already half-asleep. Joe leaned against the driver's door and closed his eyes. His body was exhausted—but his mind wouldn't give up. The pictures in it weren't making a whole lot of sense, but they kept flashing.

If these are my memories, Joe thought, I must lead a pretty violent life. Faces kept appearing— . a big, beefy blond guy, smiling. A heavyset guy who grinned a lot. An older man and woman — his parents? And, of course, the dark-haired guy, laughing at him.

Joe forced himself to relax, closing his eyes. His breathing became more regular, his head tilted to one side. ... And then the dark-haired guy was leaping across the hood of the car. He pinned Joe with a cold stare as he coolly drew his pistol. He was every inch the pro. The gun was aimed right at Joe's head, the bullet tearing through the windshield.

Joe grabbed at the handle and rammed into the door. He had actually fallen out onto the grassy margin at the roadside before his eyes opened! Still shaken, he stared around the empty field, almost positive the hit man was still there.

"A dream," he whispered to himself. He glanced up into the car at Rita, who was still fast asleep.

"Boy," he muttered, "this girl could sleep through a hurricane."

He stood up and checked the dashboard clock. Apparently he had dropped off for an hour's rest, though it didn't feel like it.

Time to find the sheriff, Joe thought, and finally put an end to this nightmare.

Without waking Rita, he turned the key, started the engine, and began to follow the road back toward the highway.