Off the Beaten Path (23 page)

“Apparently, word has not got around the woods how dangerous you are really are.”

Kristin elbowed him hard in the ribs and they climbed on the Harley.

Girard was starting to get irritated, how much longer he was going to have to sit out here in this God-forsaken country and wait for the two love-birds. How many more hours did he have to put up with the deafening silence. Hell, he couldn't even pick up a descent radio station out here. The only reception that the radio in the old Ford would get out here was a couple of Mexican radio stations skipping off the atmosphere and one of the local religious channels that wanted to save his soul.

He had been dozing on and off all afternoon and his nerves were starting to get a little raw. At one point he thought, “screw it, I should just go down there and kill Rover, break a back window and wait for them behind the front door. He could knock both of them on the back of the head and by the time the girl woke up from her little forced nap. He could tie her up and gag her. By the time she woke up she would see that her country bumpkin was also taking a nap, a dirt nap. And he would be long gone.

The thought of this little scenario made him smile, but common sense got the best of him. He knew all about these country people. If they drove up in the front yard and old Rover didn't coming running out to greet them they would know that something was wrong. They seemed to have a sixth sense about things like that. The cowboy son of a bitch probably even had a gun on him right now.

Girard perked up when he saw a trail of dust off in the distance. There was a vehicle coming up the road and he was hoping that it was the two love-birds, so he could finally get this over with.

The vehicle slowed as it approached the front gate of the ranch. And when the vehicle turned in the gate and came to a stop in the front yard his heart rate was pounding at over a hundred beats per minute. The damn mutt came running off the porch with his tail wagging and greeted the couple like they were old friends. The couple was also very glad to see Rover.

Damn, he thought to himself and punched the dashboard. He had been watching through the binoculars and what he saw pissed him off. The couple that climbed out of the vintage T-Bird were older than dirt. Hell, they looked like they had been around since the dinosaurs had roamed the earth. The old geezers looked around for a minute or two before the old guy walked up and knocked on the front door. He knocked a second time and when he got no answer he fumbled back down the front steps and back to where the little old lady was still petting Rover. He could tell by their stance that they were discussing what they should do, wait for the love-birds or came back another time. Girard found himself wishing that they would just leave and come back tomorrow. If they waited around for his target he would probably have to just kill them too. He didn't care one way or the other about killing them; he just didn't want to waste the bullets if he didn't have to. He took another look through the binoculars and thought maybe they should stick around; driving that old T-Bird back to where he had stashed his BMW would have been a hell of a lot more relaxing than this old pickup.

After a few minutes of talking it over Ma and Pa Kettle climbed into the old T-Bird and headed back from the direction that they had come. Girard breathed a little easier but he was still impatient to get this done.

The night air was warm on their faces and a full moon hung in the cloudless sky like a huge incandescent sphere. Kristin caught herself starring up at the moon like she had never seen it before, the fact was that she didn't think that she ever had seen the moon so big and bright before tonight. There was a blue and silver ring that encircled the moon like a picture frame holding the glowing ball in place.

They were the only people on the road tonight and Jack was hugged the yellow and white center line of the highway like it was their own personal path back home. As the Harley maneuvered the gentle curves that ran alongside Swan Lake Jack turned his head slightly and leaned his body back against Kristin, she could tell that he wanted to tell her something. She leaned forward so that her ear was almost touching his face, “Watch this.” was all he said. When he turned his attention back to the road in front of them she saw the headlights of the bike disappear from in front of them. Her body tensed a little, then as her eyes quickly adjusted she gasp and her breath caught in her throat. Between the blazing white moon and its reflection bouncing off the smooth as glass lake beside them it seemed almost like daytime. They didn't need the headlights to see anything, everything around them was illuminated. Kristin even caught sight of a deer drinking out of the lake. The absence of the artificial light from the bikes headlight opened up the world around them like they had just come out of a tunnel and into the daylight. Jack gunned the big bike and they cruised almost the
full length of the lake without ever thinking that they were in any danger.

When they reached the south end of the lake Jack turned on the headlights back on and slowed down enough so that he could see if any animals were about to jump out in front of them. Kristin thought that it was kind of ironic that they could see better with the headlights off than with them on. She leaned her head against the back of Jack's coat and closed her eyes. Kristin smiled as she thought escaped her lips,

“I guess that sometimes you have to close your eyes to see.”

The rest of the way back to the ranch was punctuated by the low roar of the engine and Jack easing in and out of every turn like he was gently rocking Kristin to sleep and that is exactly what he had done. Jack felt her body relax and he knew that she had drifted off into a light sleep. He tucked his elbows in close to pin her arms against his side so that she wouldn't fall off the bike. When Jack eased off the throttle to turn from Hwy 83 back onto Hwy 200 Kristin slowly came out of her slumber and squeezed him hard around the waist. It was not a startled grasp like she had been wakened suddenly and found herself on the back of a two wheeled engine, it was a strong steady embrace, as if to say, “Thank you for today.”

They didn't even slow down when they drove by Rosie's Cafe, the thought of seeing another person right now was as foreign to them crashing into the biggest tree they could find. They had gone all day without seeing another soul, like they were the only two people on the face of the earth and that's the way they wanted to end the day.

Girard watched the quivering headlight of a motorcycle cutting a lazy path along the country road in his direction. He could tell that the single light coming toward him was not some old broken down car with only one headlight. He had been around enough motorcycles in his life to recognize the subtle flutter of a headlight on a motorcycle. A motorcycle headlight had a very specific look to it, like it was vibrating at the same RPM's s the bike itself.

He had heard a story years ago about an incident that had happened on a two lane road just outside of San Francisco. Apparently there was a member of a biker gang that was returning to the house on the outskirts of town that the gang owned. The biker saw what he thought were two of his fellow biker buddies coming down the windy road in his direction away from the house.

The lone biker had a devious little thought pop into his head. He would cut off his own headlight and drive in between his two buddies and scare the hell out of them. Unfortunately, it turned out the two headlight's coming down the road in his direction were not two other bikes. They belonged to a beat up old Chevy Caprice with broken headlight brackets. The lone biker hit the Chevy dead center. The sudden impact threw the biker over the top of the car and fifty feet down the highway, killing him instantly when his face made contact with the pavement. There were no skid marks anywhere on the highway, except for the ones from the Bikers face.

The car had not seen the motorcycle, and the biker had done just exactly what he had intended to do. If you looked at the wreck from the side it appeared that the bike was almost driving right through the center of the car. The old guy diving the car was not hurt too badly despite the engine being shoved almost through the firewall of the Chevy. He had a broken right leg that would heal and a couple of cuts, none of which needed stitches.

When the tow truck had arrived to haul away the mess the tow truck driver and two highway patrolman could not separate the bike from the front of the Chevy. The two vehicles had merged together as the front of the car had wrapped itself around the front wheel and forks of the bike on impact. After thirty minutes of jerking and grunting they finally gave up and loaded both vehicles onto the wrecker with the motorcycle looking like a backwards, oversized hood ornament on the Chevy.

Several months after the accident the contorted gruesome and somewhat comical wreck made its way, via a crane to its final resting place. Welded in place on top of a forty foot pole out front of the wrecking yard where the tow truck had dropped the tangled mess. The laughable sight was damn near a tourist attraction, people would detour off the main road just to get a look and take pictures of the odd looking sight atop the pole.

Girard didn't know why, but the thought of that accident and the resulting junk yard sign had always brought a little smile to his face. Sitting there in the dark he thought, “Maybe I could duplicate that accident?” fire up the old truck and go racing down the dirt road with his headlights off. He laughed out loud to himself at what he knew would be certain death for whoever was riding that motorcycle. There was no doubt about it, Girard was one sick son of a bitch.

Common sense gripped him again and he remembered why he was here and what he had come out here too Hicksville to do. He had a job to do and a nice chunk of change waiting for him when it was done.

He watched the bike now duck in and out of the ravines only with a passing morbid interest, the thought of ramming the motorcycle head on was the only thought keeping him awake at the moment. He could hear the throaty purr of the engine now, the bike was getting closer. It was probably just some kid out for a moonlight ride on his dad's motorcycle. A little reward for a hard day’s work on the farm.

Girard sat bolt upright and grabbed his binoculars when the motor cycle slowed and turned into the cowboy's front gate. Could this be them he thought. He had trouble finding his prey in the night air, especially since there were no lights on at the house. The moonlight helped a little and he got a glimpse of a man and a woman just as they slipped inside the house.

Girard cursed himself for being lazy and stupid. He should have been ready for this. He should have trained his binoculars on the motorcycle coming up the road and been watching whoever was riding the bike when it turned into the gate. He was almost positive that it was them, but almost positive was not good enough. Now he would have to go down there and make sure it was them, the cowboy and the model. He didn't want to get close to the ranch until it was time to move in for the kill.

What really annoyed the hell out of him was that he couldn't drive down there and make sure. Driving the old truck down there might draw the attention of someone in the house. He would have to walk the mile or so down the dirt road to make sure that it was them, then hike back and wait for the right moment. The mountain air must have made him soft in the head, that's probably what happened to everyone that lived out here.

Jack hung his coat on the peg by the door and pointed at the couch. Kristin wasn't quite sure what he was pointing at, she looked at the couch and back to Jack with a questioning look.

“Sit,” was all he said.

At first Kristin thought that he was talking to Sam who was still bouncing around their legs wagging her tail like it was on fire. Then she realized that he was taking to her, she began to protest but then she saw the stubbornly handsome face and thought that the couch looked very inviting after all.

Jack followed her to the couch and when she fell back into the overstuffed cushions he sat down on the coffee table, took off her shoes and started massaging her feet. Kristin leaned back against one end of the couch and let her eyes slide shut. She wasn't that tired, she just wanted to completely enjoy the moment. Sam came over and laid her head on Kristin's stomach. Kristin slowly ran her hand back and forth over Sam's fur. She could feel every muscle in her body relax.

Jack could tell that Kristin was totally relaxed when he saw a faint smile appear at the corners of her mouth, she wasn't even aware that she was smiling. He placed her legs on the couch and got up to go make them something to eat. Kristin didn't even open her eyes, she could still feel the warmth of his muscular hands on her skin. Besides, she knew that he would be back soon enough.

Jack went to the kitchen and brought her a glass of wine. She could feel him coming across the floor and she opened her eyes just as he got
to her. He held the wine glass patiently until Kristin pulled herself up on the couch into a sitting position.

“A couple of scrambled eggs?” He asked, like he already knew the answer. He did,

“That would be perfect,” She said, and then added with a tinge of glee,

“I don't suppose that you would consider cooking naked.”

“That's one way to kill your appetite.” He joked.

She laughed and said,

“Kill one appetite, increase another. Sounds like a good deal to me.”

Kristin took another drink of her wine and watched Jack prepare their dinner. She picked up the stereo remote and punched play. James Taylor came to life on the stereo and she burst out laughing. Jack turned around and looked at her, not knowing what she was laughing at. It was the song that had been playing in her head when she had walked back to her car after shooting some pictures of that old barn, “Walking down a Country Road.”