Back To The World - James Shaffer Read online

  They stepped out on the porch.

  “Car’s gone!” The obvious had a way of surprising Bryan.

  Ed looked at Bryan. “Really? Wake up, Sherlock! They’re buying time!” Ed saw the pick–up standing by the side of the house. “See if you can hot–wire the truck.”

  While Bryan worked on the truck, Ed walked down the drive to the county road. He looked both ways for approaching traffic. The road was empty. It was supper time. Happy families were home stuffing their faces. He heard the truck engine turn over, but it didn’t catch. He looked up the drive. Bryan, frustrated, raised his arms and shrugged.

  “Come on,” he yelled. He motioned to Bryan who headed down the driveway. “We got some walking to do,” he muttered to himself. He started walking west on the county road. Bryan had to trot to catch up. His head throbbed at the thud of each foot. Damn, he thought, I forgot the aspirin.

  It was dark when Eddie and Bryan finally arrived at the house with the phone. A powdering of dust covered their boots and pants. Ed hated unpaved county roads. He pounded his hat on the side of his leg. A cloud of dust went right up Ed’s nose. He sneezed. Bryan wore no hat.

  Standing outside the front door of the house, Ed wiped the sweat and dust from his face with a hankie then blew his nose in it, clearing out the grit and grime from the long, dusty walk. He was ready.

  Bryan stood off to one side as Ed pounded on the door. After a few seconds, the door opened halfway. A short, middle–aged man stood in the space. Through the opening, Ed could see a woman standing at the back of the hallway leading from the door, arms folded across her aproned bodice. Peeking around from behind the woman was the face of a little girl, if long blond hair was any indication. Ed spotted a phone over the man’s shoulder. It sat on a small hall table.

  “Evening. Need to use your phone. Car broke down. We walked a long way on this godforsaken road.” Ed pushed the door all the way open with his shoulder and marched right in past the man before he could protest. It was Ed’s nature. He wasn’t used to asking permission.

  The man, taken back, followed Ed with his eyes. As Ed took one step past him, the man spoke. “Wait just a minute, who do?”

  Bryan stepped into the doorway from around the corner and tapped the man on the shoulder. Startled, the man jerked around to face Bryan. He stared up at Bryan. Bryan stared back. “Sure. Ph–ph–one’s right there.” He pointed at the hall phone but kept his eyes on Bryan.

  Ed picked up the phone and started dialing. He put the phone next to his ear and turned to the woman. “Got anything cold to drink? We’re mighty thirsty. A beer’d be good. Just make sure it’s cold.”

  The woman looked toward the man. He turned to her and nodded toward the kitchen. She gave Ed a sour look and pushed the little girl ahead of her into the kitchen. Ed’s party answered.

  “Harry? Ed. Hold on.” Ed looked at Bryan and gestured toward the kitchen.

  Bryan grabbed the man’s arm as he kicked the door closed behind him. He shoved the man toward the door where the woman had disappeared with the little girl.

  “Harry. We got jumped at Tom Piper’s place.” He waited for Harry’s reply. “Well, Tom would’ve taken the beatin’ he deserved, but his smartass son, Johnnie, is back from the war. Put his soldier–boy moves on us. Knocked us out, tied us up and stole my car. Worse, he’s got our money. It was in the trunk.

  “First thing tomorrow morning, I want you to get two guys to go west on the main highways. Check every wide spot in the road. Tell ’em to go all the way into New Mexico, if they have to. Then take two others and tell ’em to head east. I’m sure he headed west ‘cause there’s nothing east till Elk City. That’s 125 miles of nothin’, but we gotta check.

  “Tell ’em to keep their eyes peeled for my black Caddie. I’m sure they’ve ditched it by now. I think they split up. That’d be the smart move. Somehow I think the boy took the Caddie. If the boy took the car, then Tom took other transport. Send a guy to the Amarillo bus station too. Tell’m to ask around. Tom Piper’s face is messed up where Bryan hit him with the blackjack. He shouldn’t be hard to spot.”

  At a sound, Ed turned toward the kitchen. The man hurried out followed by the woman carrying a tray of cold beers. The little girl wedged herself between them. They headed for the living room.

  Bryan came out behind them carrying a shotgun. Bryan nodded at Ed. Ed smiled. “Harry. Send a car to pick us up. We’re about four or five miles west of the Piper place on the county road, first house south of the road. OK. Let’s get these bastards before the trail turns cold.” With that Ed hung up.

  He joined the party in the living room. Ed grabbed a beer. It was cold. He sat in a comfortable armchair and took a long, welcome draft from the can, almost draining it.

  Bryan sat in the other armchair opposite holding a beer. He’d lined up the three occupants on the sofa. The beer tray sat on a coffee table between the sofa and armchairs. The shotgun was across Bryan’s lap. He spoke to Ed. “I went into the kitchen and she was just takin’ this shotgun down off the top of the cupboard. It ain’t loaded.”

  Ed looked at the man and woman. “Ain’t safe to have a loaded gun in the house when you have young’uns running about, is it?” He smiled at the little girl. “Appreciate the use of your phone. And the beer.” He lifted the can; then he spoke to Bryan. “Give ’em a twenty for their generosity.”

  Bryan peeled off a twenty from his money clip and tossed it on the coffee table. “See? We ain’t bad people once you get to know us.” Ed gave them a toothy grin. “Now, let’s play happy families till our ride gets here.”

  Chapter Seven

  At the Amarillo bus station, Tom Piper bought three bus tickets, but he didn’t follow his son’s instructions exactly. He did buy three tickets like Johnnie had said, but the bus he was thinking of taking went to Russell, Kansas, by way of Wichita.

  He’d have to change buses in Wichita. He thought for a moment and bought a ticket to Wichita. In Wichita he’d get another ticket for Russell. That’d throw them off the scent. I can be smart too, he thought. He didn’t need a Chicago ticket. His sister’s farm was about twenty miles north of Russell on the Saline River. He’d hitch a ride out to the farm when he got to Russell. By the time Ed Wills woke up from his beating, Tom was halfway to Wichita.

  Tom’s life had been a mess since Johnnie’s mama died. Nothing he did seemed worth it after that. Everything he’d valued was gone, painfully gone. The war had taken some. He’d taken the rest. He was a drunk and a gambler, and he wasted what he had left on bad habits.

  The thought of taking care of Johnnie had been secondary, but then Johnnie could always take care of himself, it seemed. He loved Johnnie. There was no doubt about that. The thing was, what he’d lost made him wary. You love someone; then they’re gone, gone forever, never coming back. It left an emptiness he filled with bad habits. Bad or good, habits stayed with you. Habits were a sure thing, reliable. You could count on ’em.

  The Wichita bus station was busy. It was rush hour. He found the ticket window, stood in line and got a place for the next bus to Russell.

  “You’re lucky. The next bus for Russell leaves in fifteen minutes. You’ll have to buy a ticket to Hays, but you can get off in Russell,” the ticket agent said as he took Tom’s cash payment.

  “Thanks,” Tom answered. “’Bout time I had some luck. If you only knew the kind of day I’ve had.”

  The agent laughed. “I’d hate to see what the other guy looks like.” He referred to Tom’s bruised face as he made change from the fifty–dollar bill Tom handed him.

  “If I’m not mistaken, the other guy’s probably still out cold.” Tom shared the joke.

  “Have a good trip.”

  “I’ll try,” answered Tom.

  He took his change. Clutching his briefcase full of cash and a suitcase full of clothes, he went off in search of the bus to Hays.

  ***

  It was close to 10:00 pm when Tom arrived in Russell. The bus had stopped
for half an hour in Salina and lengthened the normal two–hour trip. As Johnnie advised, he kept the briefcase by his side the whole journey. The cash comforted him. He could start over, maybe. Help his sister out on the farm. It was a good plan, a fresh start. He felt good. It’d been a long time since he felt something good.

  He walked away from the Russell bus stop and saw a taxi rank in front of him. He’d planned to hitch, but this late at night he knew he’d have no luck hitching and, with his suitcase, it would be a long walk. Though he had the cash, he reasoned a taxi would cost more than he wanted to pay for the twenty–mile trip.

  Across the street he saw a bar. A neon sign flashed its name, The Lucky Lady. He strode across the street and stopped under the neon sign. His face reflected in the heavily curtained bar window and flashed back at him in neon colors. He couldn’t see in, but he could hear the music, old school country. A sign hung out over the sidewalk from the building next to the bar. It said, Rooms for Rent. Why not, he thought, I have the cash. But first a nightcap.

  He stepped into the bar. The familiar smell of stale beer and cigarette smoke relaxed him. He set his bags down next to a stool at the far end of the bar; then he sat and rested his foot assuredly on the briefcase. One beer, maybe two, was the limit he set for himself. He ordered his first. Out on the floor, two drunk floozies danced together, light entertainment for the cowboys that lined the bar, but few of them paid much attention.

  A TV hung over the back of the bar. He saw a basketball game was soon to start. The warm–ups were in progress. That cozy, warm feeling crept up the back of his neck. He called the bartender over.

  “What are the odds on that game?” He nodded at the TV.

  “Five to one,” said the bartender, “A&M favored.” He walked away to serve a customer.

  Tom followed college ball, knew the teams who were playing, had even bet on them in the past. The odds sounded good. He finished his first beer and held up his glass in the direction of the bartender. The bartender brought him his second beer.

  “Tell me, where can a man lay down a bet around here?” The bartender placed his elbows on the bar and leaned across. “What you lookin’ to bet on?” he asked.

  “The odds on that game sound good.” He nodded toward the TV. “How about a thousand on Texas A&M? Can you cover that?”

  “Hold on.” The bartender left him and entered a door in the back behind the bar. Tom had swallowed half his beer when he saw a man appear from the doorway and give him the eye. The bartender joined him. The man said a few words in the bartender’s ear; then the bartender strode toward him.

  “No problem. You’re covered.” He handed Tom a slip of paper. Tom signed it. “Where you stayin’?”

  “Right next door in the rooming house,” Tom answered. He was pretty sure he could get a room. Anyway, he liked a gamble.

  “You’re not gonna skip, are you?” They were covering the bases.

  “No future in that.” Tom held the bartender’s steady gaze.

  “Definitely not,” the bartender answered firmly.

  Then Tom ordered his third beer and watched the game. He’d passed his limit.

  Chapter Eight

  I headed out along the highway the next morning. I knew Ed’s search party would be out looking for my daddy and me. I hoped my daddy was far away and safe by now. It would take a while for Ed’s men to search all the small towns and truck stops on the way to the New Mexico border; I felt I had some time before things got serious.

  I didn’t have much luck until late afternoon. I was hitching west, about five miles from the New Mexico border, when three girls picked me up. They pulled off the road in front of me in a red 1960 T–Bird convertible. My feet were aching, and my backpack was heavy. The thick ledger, a bundle of money and the loaded gun gave me pause; the added weight weakened my resolve.

  The girls’ car skidded to a stop on the gravel shoulder about fifty yards ahead of me. The driver punched the accelerator, revving the engine. The glasspack muffler’s deep rumble split the still desert air. She hit quick bursts on the accelerator a couple more times. Either she was impatient or just racy. I wasn’t sure. It was a long fifty yards at the end of a trying day, but she waited for me. To show my enthusiasm, I trotted the last few yards till I was right up beside the car.

  A dark–haired girl was lounging the back seat, filing her nails without looking up. She stretched out her long fingers and surveyed her handiwork. The other two stared down the highway into the setting sun. The Stones’ “Broken Flowers” played on the radio. All three girls wore sunglasses. I dropped my backpack at my feet, stood up straight, and pushed my Stetson back off my wet brow.

  “Thanks for stopping. Where you headin’?” I asked.

  The driver spoke. “For a hot shower and a cold drink. You coming?” She turned to me and pushed her sunglasses down her nose with the tip of her index finger, peering at me over the top of the frames. The girl in the passenger seat twisted and leaned back against the door. She propped her feet against the edge of the driver’s seat. I watched as she casually opened and closed her legs, fanning a musky scent in my direction. Lucky me, I thought. Pink is my favorite color. She tilted her head to one side, peering up at me through mirrored lenses.

  The driver pushed her glasses back up her nose. “So what’ll it be?”

  “A hot shower and cold drink sound real good,” I answered without hesitation.

  “Then hop in, cowboy.”

  I jumped into the back seat and pushed the backpack to the floor between my feet. The warm leather seat caressed and soothed my aching muscles. The driver hit the gas, and we fishtailed out on to the highway, heading into the setting sun.

  I glanced back down the road, checking for other vehicles. It was empty. Behind us, a cloud of red dust hung in the still air. The muffler’s rumble was the only thing that trailed us down the highway. The girl in front smiled over the top of the passenger seat and winked. I gave her my best smile back.

  I was on the run. The bottom of my knapsack held twenty thousand dollars, a fully loaded Colt .45 magazine–fed, semi–automatic pistol and an accountant’s ledger. She didn’t know that. They say what you don’t know won’t hurt you. They’re probably right, but it can get you killed. I learned that hard lesson in another life. Back in the world now, the same lesson applied. I added a wink to my smile.

  I learned the driver’s name was Darlene. Her looks wouldn’t stop a bus, but they’d slow it down some. What she didn’t have in looks, from the way she talked, she made up for in determination. The girl in the passenger seat, Miss Pretty–in–Pink, was Jamie Sue. Given her revealing nature, I figured her to be the generous type. She was also the talker.

  Kelly Jo sat next to me in the back. She’d exchanged a nail file for a compact mirror and stared hard at her own reflection as she stroked her eyebrows with a wet fingertip. She hadn’t said anything. Being the silent type, she was hard to figure.

  Jamie Sue told the story of three Dallas girls heading west looking for adventure. Three easy riders, I thought.

  “We’re changing our perspective,” said Jamie Sue seriously, as if she’d rehearsed it. “Exchanging sunshine and oil for sunshine and beach. All we’re looking for is a good view of the Pacific Ocean.”

  “Not much beachfront in Dallas,” I said.

  She leaned over the back of the seat. “Ha! You’re funny.” She giggled.

  “I can be, if I’m forced to,” I answered.

  At that she laughed again, spun around in her seat and clapped her hands like a cheerleader at a college ballgame. I didn’t know what it meant. I guessed she was happy.

  Kelly Jo added nothing to Jamie Sue’s running commentary. I started to wonder about her when she turned to me and asked, “What’s your name, cowboy?”

  ***

  The death of my mama while I was overseas had left a big hole in my life. She’d taught me everything I knew, made me read books on every subject; and when I was too young to stay home alone,
she’d take me with her on birth patrol. I’d sit in a chair in some stranger’s hallway, read my books and listen to the screams, the ones that started life. In the jungle, heard the ones that ended it. I’d come full circle.

  It was during my R&R in Hawaii, between my first twelve months in Vietnam and the start of my next six–month stint, when I decided to disappear. I made some enquiries and connections in Honolulu and had a new set of ID’s made. I mailed them home, hoping my daddy would save my post for me on the hall table. He had. I retrieved the package the day I’d arrived back in the world.

  Maybe I could find a safe place where no one could find me. I saw it as a chance to take a new number. By destiny or fate, by the mating of two people in the heat of a midsummer passion, my birth on April 24 and the number two had sent me to Vietnam. Numbers run to infinity. I figured if I chose a new one, the odds were good.

  ***

  I turned to Kelly Jo and told her the name on my new ID. “My name’s Jake. Jake Hawkins.”

  Chapter Nine

  It was mid–afternoon on day two. Ed and Bryan were having a beer in Ed’s living room when the phone rang. Ed grabbed it mid–ring. He wasn’t good at waiting for news.

  “Ed.”

  “Ed, it’s Harry.”

  “What you got for me, Harry?”

  “Our man at the bus station hit paydirt. A guy fitting Tom’s description bought three bus tickets. The ticket agent said his face looked like he’d hit a brick wall.”

  Ed chuckled. “Bryan’s blackjack could do that.” Then he thought for a second. “Three tickets? Where to?”

  “Miami, Las Vegas, Wichita. Don’t make sense. Wichita’s too close. The others are far away,” Harry answered.