Dark Places (20 page)
Authors: Reavis Z Wortham
It was nearly dark as they drove between the one-story buildings lining the busy Flagstaff street. Neon lights flickered in a blizzard of color, shapes, and sizes.
“This is kidnapping.”
James heard Ned tell Cale to get to talking, but he thought the statement was directed toward Crow. At the sound of Cale's voice, James twisted over the backseat. “How the hell???”
Crow checked the rearview mirror. “Where have y'all been?”
“We had a little trouble in the courthouse.”
“For two
hours?”
“We're lucky that was all.”
James re-learned how to get his jaws moving again. “How'd this happen?”
Crow checked the speedometer, slowing until he was satisfied with their speed. “Y'all went in, and about a minute later this little shit came boiling out the door, running like the devil himself was on his tail.”
Ned studied the boy at his feet. “What'd you do, run him down with the car?”
“Naw. I opened the door and hollered at him to get in. I guess he thought I was one of them hippie friends of his, so he came charging over, but then when he jumped in and saw your handcuffs in the backseat, he must have put two and two together. He tried to jump out, but I convinced him to stay.”
“With what?”
Crow held up his fist, flexing his fingers. “He has a hard head.”
Ned nudged Cale again. “It ain't kidnapping, you little fool, because I'm putting you under arrest. Start talking. Where's Pepper?”
“He hit me. That's against the law.”
“I didn't see it, and I'd have probably done the same thing when you resisted arrest, and I'm sure I would have thought you were trying to get away.”
The air went out of Cale. Still curled up in the floorboard, he rested his head on the seat. “I don't know.”
He yelped when James reached over the seat and grabbed a handful of hair, yanking Cale's head up. “Don't dick with us, boy! Where's my daughter?”
Tears filled his eyes, either with pain or recollection. “I really don't
know
.” He yelped again when James gave his head a shake. “Mr. Parker, we hitched with some kids and they let us out about a mile away from here. We were going to walk, but then some guys on bikes stopped while we were talking to some other kids in a Love Machine⦔
“What's that?”
Cale realized he was treading on dangerous ground. “It's a Volkswagen van, all painted up with âlove' and âpeace' written on it.”
“Go on, then.”
“We got into a mess with the bikers and they beat me up. When I came to, Pepper was gone and there was a crowd of people around me.”
Ned tried to understand what Cale was saying. “Kids on bicycles beat you up?”
“No, motorcycles. It was a motorcycle gang. I tried to fight, but they all joined in. They're grown men and I didn't have a chance. While they had me down, she kicked one guy in the nose. Then someone hit me in the head and lights flashed. My money was gone when I woke up and I went to the courthouse to make a report and that's when y'all came in.”
The cords in James' arm stood out over the seatback as he gripped Cale's hair even tighter. “You let them take my
daughter?”
Cale's mouth opened at the pain and he pushed up with his legs. Hands cuffed behind his back, he could do nothing to relieve the pressure. “Mr. Parker, I really tried to stop them. Really. Those guys are
tough
.” He started crying. Broken, with all the false bravado and arrogance beaten out of him, Cale realized most of the world was a lot tougher than he ever imagined. “I did what I could.”
Crow made a left, driving aimlessly. “What colors were they flying?”
“I didn't see no flags.”
“No, stupid.” Crow sighed. “What did they have on the backs of their jackets?”
“I didn't get a good look. Seems like the one I saw had a rattlesnake on it.”
“Did the snake have horns?”
Cale sniffled. “Yeah.”
“Who're
they
?” James released his oily hair in disgust.
Crow frowned. “Demon Rattlers. They're out of California.”
“How do you know that?”
He paused for a beat, thinking. “I saw 'em clear out a little dive in Scottsdale one night, the first time I came out this way.”
Numb, James scanned the buildings around them, as if the answers were posted on the brick walls. “She was right here. Right
here
!”
“Son.” Ned understood his fear and frustration. “Why don't you go on to the station and get them to put an APB on Pepper. Tell 'em she was kidnapped by some motorcycle gangsters and that Demon name.”
“You'll have to go without me.” Crow slowed for a light, thinking. “It'll be you guys and them, then.”
“Nope. Me and tough boy here are going with you. Splittin' up will double our chances of finding her.”
“Give me a minute.” Crow pulled to the curb in front of a nondescript entrance with a blue neon sign with the simple word “Bar” over the door. Half a dozen Harleys were parked on the sidewalk. “Wait right here and talk it over while I go inside and you better thank your lucky spirits their jackets didn't say Hell's Angels.”
Ned and James waited at the curb, like they did outside the house in Amarillo. James stared through the windshield. “What's hell's angels?”
Ned shrugged and rubbed his belly. He needed to lay down.
Half an hour later, Crow returned to the car to talk through the window.
Frustrated because he'd been gone so long, James snapped a question. “What'd you find out?”
“The Demon Rattlers hang out in Barstow. That'll be where they're headed.”
Ned laid his head back on the seat and held his stomach. “Shit.”
It was twilight when the Love Machine pulled into the gravel parking lot of a Mexican restaurant with a pulsating red and yellow neon sombrero. The door slid back and Pepper boiled out, fighting and cussing.
She landed on her feet and aimed a forefinger back toward the shocked hippie kids. “If any of you sons a bitches want to get out and try again, then have at it!”
She didn't know where she was, or how long she'd been in the van. While she regained her senses, they'd driven around for an eternity in a fog of paranoia, thinking the bikers were after them. Kevin drove down so many side streets that he was lost for nearly half an hour before finding his way back to Route 66. All the while, Pepper raged at the others, demanding that they go back and find Cale.
None of the flower children in the van had any interest in getting near the bikers again and unanimously decided to head straight for San Francisco.
Here was her ride, but she couldn't leave Cale.
Over Pepper's demands and tears, they argued all the way to the next town before pulling into the restaurant's parking lot. They were as glad to get shed of her as she was of
them
.
One of the girls slid the door closed. “Sister, you are uncool!” She flashed a peace sign. “Go home and peace out.”
“I didn't ask for any of you to save me!” She kicked at the rocks. “Cowards!”
The van pulled away in a wash of dust, leaving Pepper in the parking lot. She didn't need their saving. Their “make love, not war” interference caused her to lose the only friend she had on the road. Regaining control, she studied the restaurant's sign against the purple sky, wondering how to find Cale. She figured the police had already picked him up.
A quick check of her pockets revealed nothing but lint. Her purse contained only a few items, her eagle feather, and a handkerchief. She didn't have a dime to make a call. Hupping deep in her chest in an effort not to cry, she crossed the highway, stood on the eastbound side leading back to Flagstaff, and stuck out her thumb.
The motel room smelled like stale cigarettes, Pine-Sol, and old hamburgers. The same smell of every room on Route 66 from Chicago to Los Angeles. Outside, the sun rose on the dusty desert town of Barstow, California.
James had driven all night, arriving at the Stardust Inn while the stars twinkled overhead. It was almost a carbon copy of the Western Skies in Winslow. The annoyed manager hadn't yet taken his first cup of coffee, and after some negotiations regarding the time they were checking in, took an extra three dollars for the following night.
Despite their location, the Mojave Desert had cooled from the summertime temperatures of over a hundred, to a pleasant fifty-five dry degrees when the sand and rocks glowed orange with sunrise. The dry wash of the Mojave River defined the town's north and eastern borders. Low scrub bushes and creosote seemed to be the only plants that flourished in the harsh environment.
Ned lay on a threadbare bedspread covering one of the two full-size beds. The now-constant pain in his stomach rendered him virtually helpless. Cale lay on the other with a washrag full of ice over his black eyes.
Crow and James were arguing about who would go to the bar where the Demon Rattlers hung out. Standing beside the window, James fumed. “It's my
daughter
in that saloon!”
Expressionless, Crow nodded. “I completely understand. But for one thing, we don't know for
sure
she's in there, and I kinda doubt it. What do you do for a living?”
“What? I run a hardware store.”
“Ever been in a fight, other than the one in the courthouse?”
James squared his shoulders. “Yeah. More than one, too.”
“Um hum. I meant after you got out of school.”
“No.”
“Any experience in law work, like your daddy there?”
“No.”
Crow tapped the dresser with a fingertip. “Come here.”
“What?”
Softly. “Come
here
.”
James stood and joined him. Crow pointed at the mirror opposite the beds. “Tell me what you see.”
“Us.”
“Right. Tell me what you really see. Truthfully. Describeâ¦us. Start with you.”
“This is ridiculous.”
“It'll explain what I'm trying to tell you, James. What do you see? Describe your head.”
James Parker considered the mirror. “A head.”
Crow nudged him with his shoulder.
“All right. Short, graying black hair of a man in his late thirties. Cowlick. Two eyebrows, also black. Brown eyes. A nose. Two ears that need trimming, I guess. Lips, and a chin with a dimple.”
“That's about right. Now, describe me.”
“A guy with long hair.”
“More detail. Lots of detail, more than you used on yourself, but don't stop at my chin.”
James growled in frustration, low in his throat. He drew a deep breath. “Long black hair, like an Indian.”
“I
am
Indian, but you're right. Keep going.”
“Hippie hair, then. A scar across your forehead from the middle to your temple. Black eyebrows. Dark eyes. Indian cheekbones. No mustache or beard, though, like those hippies, but that's because you're Indian again. A nose that's been broke before⦔
“Twice.”
“Huh. Square chin with a horizontal scar in the cleft under your bottom lip and one on your ear. Wide shoulders. Some kind of necklace under your western shirt that needs washing better than the last time, but it was expensive when it was new. Shirt's hanging outside your jeans.” He glanced down. “Levis and work boots.”
Crow flexed his hands. “These?”
“Big hands. Big knucks. Lots of scars.”
Crow flipped them over.
“Rough. Calluses.”
“So between me and you, who do you think has more luck walking into a rough bar full of bikers?”
“That don't make no never mind.” James spread his hands, talking to the two images in the mirror, as if Crow wasn't standing right beside him. “I'm Pepper's
daddy
.”
“And I'm not. That makes me the best man for the job. I'm not mad. I'm not scared. I'm not worried. The minute you walk in the door and into a nest of Rattlers, they'll know for sure that you don't belong. If they
just
kick your ass, you'll be lucky. They can do much, much worse.”
“Ned has guns in the turtle hull.”
“I'm sure he does. But a trunk full of guns won't get it all done. One man can't walk in a bar and start threatening people, or shooting. Hell, if they don't kill you, the law will when they show up. And there's no bet Pepper's
in
there. Those guys hang out in bars, but they don't
live
in them. What I need to do is find out where she is and I don't need
you
in there with me to worry with.”
“I don't get it. Why are you doing all this for us?”
Crow's eyes went flat. “Trying to right a wrong. Ned, am I right, about him staying?”
The old constable opened one eye. “He's right, James. We don't know this world, or them people. Let Crow go and come back and tell us what he's found. Right now,
I
cain't do nothin', that's for sure.”
Crow spread his hands to punctuate the statement.
“All right.” James plodded back to the table like an old man, worn out and aching. “Go. Tell us what you find.”
“Oh, you're going with me. I need you to drop me off and wait. We might have to move fast.”
“We're turning off here.” The man Pepper knew as Jeff pulled his Oldsmobile station wagon into the parking lot of the Jackrabbit Curio Shop. A canvas water bag hung over the car's front grill, a common sight on Route 66. Advertised by dozens of stores and trading posts along the route as emergency gear, the bags full of water stayed cool by condensation as they drove.
His wife, Brenda, twisted around in the front seat. “We're going to make some miles while the kids are asleep.” Behind Pepper, two pre-teens slept on a thick pallet of quilts covering their suitcases. “You be careful who you take rides from, honey.”
Pepper threw the strap of her sack purse over her shoulder and slid out. “I will. Thanks for the ride.”
The car pulled away and vanished. Pepper's mouth was dry as cotton and she hoped they'd have a water fountain. Across the road, still another rough roadside stand sold hand-painted pots. The Indian family under the brush arbor watched with impassive expressions as she waited for a long moment, indecisive. It reminded her of the mom and pop vegetable stands back home, where the owners supplemented their income.
The trading post museum was busy with travelers. The Navajo woman behind the counter barely glanced at one more kid fed up with The Establishment and passing through on her way to⦠somewhere. She went back to ringing up a cheap rock sample collection, three postcards, and an empty water bag similar to the one on the Oldsmobile.
Pepper realized that it was mistake to come inside. The aroma of fresh popcorn and signs for ice cream bars and candy made her stomach grumble. She turned away from the corn popper and drifted aimlessly down the aisles without seeing any of the items. There was no water fountain. She was on her way out when a voice stopped her.
“What can I do for you?” A chunky guy with a beer belly blocked the aisle, and the path to the door.
“Nothing, thank you.” She tried to step around him.
He didn't move. “I think we need to talk.”
Still not understanding, she shrugged. “Not really. I'm leaving.”
“What do you have in the purse?”
“Nothing.”
“It's heavier than nothing.”
“I mean, there's stuff in there, girl stuff.”
“Anything else?”
“What do you mean?”
He'd somehow moved closer. “I mean is there anything else in there besides brushes and lipsticks?”
“I don't have any lipstick. I don't wear makeup.”
“Then show me.”
“No.” Pepper's famous anger rose. “Get out of my way.”
Beer Belly didn't move. “I think you took something that you didn't intend to pay for. I want to see it.”
“Why don't you wish in one hand and spit in the other and see which one fills up the fastest? Who are you, anyway?”
“The owner.” Beer Belly grabbed her arm. “I've seen you in here before, and I'm tired of you hippie shoplifters.”
Pepper jerked her arm away. “I've never been here, and I haven't stolen anything, either.”
Moving faster than she could have imagined, Beer Belly snatched the thin strap off her shoulder and stripped it from her arm.
“Hey!”
As the shop full of customers watched, he blocked her reach and shook the contents onto a display of rubber tomahawks and plastic snakes. Pepper tried to shove around him to grab her purse, but he held her arm in a rough grip.
He picked up the eagle feather Jonathan had given her. “There, you stole this feather off one of those displays.” He pointed to a line of cheap feathered headdresses and brightly colored felt pennants hanging on the wall. “Ethyl, call the police! I'm tired of these damned hippies stealing us blind.”
“That's no painted chicken feather. It's real.” She pulled and he increased his grip. Pepper knew it was useless to argue that the feather was a gift.
Her Uncle Cody once showed her how to break a hold and it came to her in a flash. She dropped and at the same time twisted her arm, pushed her elbows outward. Breaking free, she snatched the feather from his hand, hit the floor and shot under the display table to come up on the other side. Beer Belly grabbed for her over the table as she broke for the door.
A tourist playing good Samaritan held his hands wide, thinking she'd stop. Pepper leaped like a deer, dodging the man's grasp and landed on top of a display of Kachina dolls barely out of Beer Belly's reach. The decorated dolls crunched underfoot as she took two running steps toward the door and jumped. At that moment a customer came in and Pepper darted under the jangling bell.
She hit the sidewalk in a sprint. A shout followed as she cut around a corner and disappeared.
