by Jim Nelson
Benford said carefully, "You should know, I'm bound to report what I've seen here, since it may be considered impactful to the child's development and well-being."
"Meaning what?"
"Kyle, you're a bed-ridden widower," he said. "What is your source of income?"
"I'm self-employed," Kyle said with a hollow pride.
"Do you have any income at the moment?"
It was a puncturing question. "Only those Abney checks," Kyle said.
"I don't think I'm being unfair to the Abneys when I say they don't want the boy back," Benford said. "But if you refuse an examination, they might use your current state as an excuse to separate you from the boy."
Kyle turned grim. "I don't take threats. Not here in my home, not anywhere."
"I'm not threatening. Emeril knows you were shot in a hunting accident. I heard it from his own mouth in Pismo Beach."
Ruby added, "I heard it too." What she was seeing and hearing disgusted and alarmed her in several dimensions at once.
"Even if I did nothing, Emeril could report your physical and income situation to the state and press for Henry to be removed," Benford said. "Their payments mean they're financially involved in his well-being. That gives them leverage. You understand?"
Kyle breathed through his mouth. His jaw shifted left and right.
"I know Emeril," Benford said. "He would do this out of spite. Emeril comes across as an easy-going guy—"
"He's a spiteful sumbitch all right," Kyle said. "You don't have to convince me of that."
"All right, all right." Alice burst through the kitchen door. "Visiting time is up."
There was a burst of confused arguing between Alice, Kyle, and Benford. Alice waved her hands in the air as though none of the men's reasons held any weight with her.
"I'm sorry, Doctor, but Mr. Weymouth is in my care," she said. "Kyle needs his bed rest."
"Woman—quit it." Kyle's two quick words issued like thunder reports. "Now get."
Alice complained all the way to the kitchen door, but no one was listening. Benford seemed a touch amused by the stern glare he received before she returned to the kitchen.
"That's the kind of nurse you want taking care of you," he said to Kyle. "A good nurse is worth her weight in gold."
"She puts me first," Kyle said. "I wish I could pay her more." He murmured, "I do."
Kyle slouched deeper under the covers. He brooded for a long, quiet time. Ruby thought he’d looked tired when they'd entered. Now he appeared exhausted, as though he'd not slept in two weeks.
From under the blankets came a wet gurgle and a growl. The ripe bouquet of intestinal gas blossomed. Kyle, with an embarrassed grimace, put his hand over the lump in the blankets.
"Damn thing has its own mind," he said, meaning the colostomy. Nodding his head, growing resolute, he said to Benford, "Come back tomorrow morning."
"You're giving me permission to examine Henry?"
"No," Kyle said. "I'm going to sleep on it. I'll give you my answer then."
Benford said he respected that. He gathered his bag and motioned for Ruby to walk out with him.
Ruby asked Kyle, "Could we see Henry? Before we leave?"
"Cynthia—" Benford had to catch himself from saying Ruby. "We'll return tomorrow at nine," he said to Kyle.
Alice was in a hall bathroom emptying plastic urine bottles into the toilet. Sheets and towels were soaking in the tub. She glared as they passed. She did not say goodbye or show them the door. Thin walls, Ruby told herself.
Twenty-one
Benford had hoped to drive into Jefferson in the morning, examine the boy, and leave Jefferson before nightfall. Kyle's decision forced him to stay in the state one night. Dusk was settling before they reached Angels Camp. A mist spread like apparitions floating between the tree branches. He drove at a cautious pace ten miles per hour below the posted speed limit.
Pale headlamps and pale green fog lights appeared ahead. There were eight lights in total, and they jounced in unison. Through the fog, Ruby realized it was a black pickup truck with all its lights on bright, save for two police-style maneuverable spotlights mounted beside the driver's- and passenger's-side doors. Three men stood in the rear bed holding rails mounted on the cab. All had rifles strapped across their backs. Two more men were in the cab, the driver and a passenger, both oddly wearing wrap-around sunglasses even though it was dark out. The men standing in the bed yelled incoherence as they flew past.
"What was that?" Ruby exclaimed. She twisted in her seat to watch the truck disappear into the misty night.
"A wolf pack," Benford said.
"That's what they're called?"
"That's what they call themselves."
"Isn't that against the law somehow?"
"They are the law," Benford said. "Jefferson's own volunteer militia. They patrol the highways and back roads."
"Patrolling for what?"
"Illegals," Benford said. "Migrant workers. Undocumenteds. Hagars. Hitchhikers."
"Hitchhikers?"
"No vagrants," Benford said.
Ruby sank into her seat, the hollow in her stomach growing palpable.
"You can't stay here," Benford said. "If those guys found out what you were—" He allowed it to hang in the air between them.
Twenty-two
The sign at the city limits announced Angels Camp was the largest town in Calaveras County, pop. 4,212, elev. 1,378 ft. Benford sprang for two rooms at the motel in the center of town. He told Ruby they'd earned the privacy. After checking in, they agreed to unpack and freshen up and meet at the walkway between their rooms in one hour.
The room was appreciably better than the motel they'd stayed in outside of Stockton. All the surfaces were clean and the toiletries tidily arranged on the vanity. The room smelled sterile and lightly sweet. There were no water stains on the ceiling, no graffiti etched into the door, and no headache-inducing smell of cigarettes in the blankets. The furniture matched.
Ruby showered and washed her hair. The tub was so inviting, she promised to draw herself a bath for a hot soak after dinner. At the vanity, she applied a little of the makeup she'd purchased for the Abney domestic job. Some of it was the original cosmetics she'd bought in Southern California at the behest of the White Glove woman, Peggy something-or-another. From her backpack, she dug out a thin wash-and-wear dress she kept balled up. She made sure to wear leggings and a sweater as well, since it was a cool evening.
Dr. Benford met her outside her room. He looked much as he'd appeared when they'd separated, save for his hair, which he'd apparently combed. He stood slouched with his hands deep in his khaki pockets.
"Ready? An ad on TV says there's a saloon up the way with a surf and turf special."
They walked along the main drag, six blocks of downtown with two lanes of Highway 4 cutting through Angels Camp. Ruby was immediately taken in by the small-town charm. It felt like a stroll through the set of a movie Western. The sidewalks on both sides of the strip were made of wood planks. Each of their steps banged hollow below. The streetlamps were old-fashioned Art Nouveau cast-iron trees with a pair of milk-glass globes at each end of the arching branches. It all felt so quaint and sincere. Only an hour had passed since the wolf pack had sped past them with their guns and their hollering. This serene night walk stood in deep contrast. She did not see how both could coexist.
"This is an old Gold Rush camp," Benford explained as they walked. "Used to be hundreds of these camps up and down the Sierra Nevada until the diggings dried up."
"I can tell why this one survived," Ruby said with a smile. "What does Kyle do?"
"You mean, what do I think he's going to choose for Henry?"
"No," she said. "He said he was self-employed."
"No idea," Benford said. "Maybe he's a photographer. Sure had a lot of photos on his walls. Did you see them?"
She nodded, thinking of Kyle with a reflex camera to his face calling out Cheese! It did not seem in character.
&n
bsp; The Placer Saloon was indeed a saloon with exposed wood floorboards and wagon-wheel chandeliers. A long hardwood bar backed by a long polished mirror was well-attended by patrons. Although quiet outside, there was a healthy and vibrant clientele here. Benford and Ruby took a table near the coin-op billiards tables. Complimentary peanuts in the shell waited for them in a wood salad bowl, and peanut shells littered the floor. Benford immediately began cracking them open with both hands and letting the shells fall to his feet.
"Thank you," Ruby said to him.
"For what?" he asked, mouth full.
"For everything you've done," she said. "I didn't expect a tenth of this when I met you in Pismo Beach."
"Don't worry about it."
"And you've been buying all these meals for me, and paying for the rooms—"
"All of this is on the Abney tab," he said absently. He peered off toward the bar. They'd ordered some drinks and he was eager to get started. "Don't sweat it."
She didn't know much about these matters, but she knew enough. "I don't understand something, though. Won't Dr. Abney want to see the receipts when you get back?"
"Of course." He'd saved every one since leaving Pismo Beach.
"Won't they see that you're paying for two people?" she asked. "I mean, I know the Abneys can afford it, but like you said, they do watch every penny—"
"I'll take care of it," he said. "I know how to report expenses."
It was a nice surprise from Dr. Mark Benford. He struck her as very square and a do-gooder to a T. He seemed overly concerned with the ethics of every situation they were in, from doctor-patient privacy down to paying an extra day for the hotel room even though they only overstayed a few hours. Every ethical violation he'd made for seemed perfectly justified in her mind, but she could tell they chewed at his conscience.
The drinks arrived. Ruby's light beer was served in a frosty mug, the handle so cold, the glass felt like ice itself. Benford's Scotch and 7-Up came in a large doubles glass with a mouth big enough for a Mandarin orange. He drank and watched the goings-on around them and ate peanuts as fast as he could shell them. This was Dr. Benford's element, she realized.
"Would you really snitch on Kyle?" she asked him.
"Snitch?" He took a dime's worth of offense. "I'm not snitching."
"All that about reporting him to the government—"
"Ruby," he said. "I have to do that. Whether or not he gives me permission to examine Henry, I have to report the boy's home situation. Now, whether or not the authorities move on it, that's out of my hands."
"But you don't think Henry should be taken away, right?"
"I don't know." He took a noisy slurp of his cocktail. The doubles glass was filled to the rim. The sides of the glass were wet with spillover. "You saw how they're living. They're on the edge. I wish I could say it's unusual, but in this country, lots of people live that close to the cusp. Doesn't make it okay, though." He slurped again. "My concern is that this hunting accident is going to push them over economically. The mother is gone, the father incapacitated—it doesn't look good."
"But you don't want them separated, do you?"
"Of course not." He sighed and shook his head. "Maybe I'm being hard on Emeril. The Abneys don't want any undue publicity. Maybe they'll give in and just pay Kyle for the next five years and walk away. That's what I would advise if they asked me."
"I'd tell them to pay for Henry's college and whatever else he needed as well," she said. "What's a few thousand dollars to them?"
Their dinners arrived. The saloon's hamburger was tall on Ruby's plate and accompanied by hand-cut fries and a robust garden salad. Benford had ordered a prime rib with mashed potatoes and grilled asparagus. The waitress brought him a squat ceramic pot of horseradish and four brands of steak sauce.
"You have to be prepared for a reality," he said over the sizzling steak. "If Kyle Weymouth refuses to let me examine Henry, we might not see the boy at all. He's within his rights to keep him away from us."
"No." Ruby put down her hamburger. "You can't let that happen."
"There's nothing I can do," he said. "And we have an agreement."
"I'll stay here in Angels Camp," she said. "I'll stay here and find a way to see him."
"Look around—" He motioned about the saloon. "You Hagars can spot each other in a crowd. That's what I've always heard. Do you see any Hagars here? Have you seen a single Hagar since we crossed the state line?"
She had not, and did not expect to.
"Do you see a bridge daughter here?" he said, voice raised. "California is not as hippie-dippy as people think, but we are modern enough to treat our bridge daughters like normal children. We take them out for pizza on their birthdays. We let them ride the rides at Disneyland. These people—" He lowered his voice. "The people here treat bridge daughters the way your grandbridge was raised. Bridge daughters live as domestics in their own homes. The bridges here don't go to school. They don't speak unless spoken to. And there's no way in hell they're taught how to read and write."
He drank heavily. "They will throw you in prison the moment they discover who you are. There is no exemption here. You can't say you're a citizen of California and get some free pass." They were drinking on empty stomachs. His bloodshot eyes peered morosely over his bulb nose and clumpy mustache. "I can get you out. We'll get you past the border patrol the same way we got you in."
The upbraiding had forced Ruby to sit up straight in her chair and ride out his exhortations. She sensed he was finished.
"I can take care of myself," she said. "I have to watch over Henry."
He stared for a long moment. "Okay." He held his hands up in mock surrender. "It's your suicide." He took up fork and steak knife and began sawing. "Those wolf pack boys will tear you apart, Ruby."
They ate in silence for a time. The waitress dropped by to check on them. Benford told her everything was fine.
"I'll leave you some money," he said to Ruby. "Just to get you on your feet."
"I don't need a handout," she said. "You've given me more than enough."
"You're not going to find any Hagar's Jug markings here," he said. "Don't go looking for businesses here that will hire you no-questions-asked. You're going to have to think creatively to survive in Jefferson."
"I've done okay for myself."
"It's different here," he said. "When are you going to see that?"
He strained his neck and upended the near-finished cocktail. The remaining drink galloped down his throat. When it was depleted, he studied with a dubious air the glass of ice cubes in his hand and expelled an under-the-breath belch. She could smell the stale, sugary Scotch from the other side of the table. He stared down into the spent glass with a face of apprehension and regret.
Twenty-three
Kyle sent Alice away when they arrived. He sat up on the raised bed clean and refreshed and shaved, a marked difference to his weary face and five o'clock shadow the day before. The smell of feces and urine was not so prevalent today. He was prepared for them this time, and he told Benford he'd reached his decision.
"If the Abneys stop sending their checks, will that keep them out of our hair for good? I mean, will they stop holding over me the threat of taking away Henry?"
"They've made that threat before?"
"Not from Emeril exactly," he said. "We get letters from Emeril's law firm every few years making vague insinuations about Henry. I want that put to an end."
Benford nodded cautiously. "I can't speak for the family, obviously, but I imagine you wouldn't hear from them again. I don't know if the state will accept that situation, though."
"I know for a fact the Abneys have already appealed to the Jefferson state board," he said. "I spoke with a woman at the state office this morning. The Abneys have been making inquiries for the past year now. If the medical examination goes well and I sign that release form you talked about, that'll satisfy the state people. They said I could fight it in court, but, well—lawyers aren't the way I like
to do things. And I'm tired of the Abneys in my hair," Kyle said, almost announcing it. "You can proceed."
Benford nodded, biting his lip. He brought forth the manila folder stashed in a side pocket of his medical bag. He folded the cover back and held it before Kyle.
"This is the legal release," Benford said. "The Abneys will end their monthly support payments and are absolved of future legal action by you. In return—" With the tip of his pen, he tapped the bottom of the sheet. "You'll receive three thousand dollars."
Ruby watched with dread as Kyle initialed, signed, and dated the form. "Maybe you should talk to a lawyer," she said softly.
"It is done," Kyle said to dismiss the suggestion. "Next."
"This is a medical release," Benford said. "It gives me permission to perform a full examination of Henry and report my findings to Emeril Abney and the appropriate state boards."
"What are you going to do to him?"
"A standard physical. I'll also have blood drawn. And I need to interview the boy."
"For what?"
"Questions about his physical health, his mental health, substance abuse. Familial abuse," Benford added delicately.
"I've never touched him," Kyle said.
"There's a standard rubric I'll be following," Benford said.
Benford offered a pen. Kyle weighed it in his hand as though testing a bar of gold for purity.
"You cannot tell him this has anything to do with the Abneys," Kyle said. "You cannot even breathe their name to him." Kyle glared. "He's a Weymouth."
"Of course."
Kyle signed and dated the paper with a dismissive scribble of the pen. Benford tore off the pink duplicate and left it on the side table.
"Alice will take you upstairs," Kyle said. He looked as drained and empty as when Benford laid out the options the night before. "Henry is waiting for you in his room."
