Owl Dreams

by John T. Biggs

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  “Hide in the tall grass,” Archie said. “Pick a vulnerable animal from the herd.”

  Sarah and Robert weren’t hunting buffalo; they were stealing an SUV. Archie said they’d need one to rescue Marie.

  The tall grass was the golfers’ parking lot at the OKC Golf and Country Club. Sarah’s Subaru Outback was their hiding place. It was the least expensive automobile there, but it was clean and polished and only slightly out of place.

  Robert sat behind the wheel, even though he couldn’t drive. Sarah sat so close to him another person could have joined them on the narrow bench seat. They pretended to be lovers. It was not as difficult as Sarah had imagined.

  All four windows were open. The air cooled Sarah and boosted Robert’s confidence. His lack of driving skills was a serious handicap to car theft.

  “You can do it,” Archie promised. “A thoughtful hunter can overcome any weakness.” His plan hinged on the fact that the Oklahoma City Golf and Country Club employed illegal Mexican immigrants as valets to park guest cars. The Apaches had always used the medicine line between the United States and its neighbor to the south. Some things never change.

  “The Sooner Swing Dance Society will be at the country club this evening. Drinks and light hors d’oeuvres at seven. Dancing starts at eight.” Archie had gleaned this bit of information from the social pages of The Oklahoman. “A hunter picks through the scat of his prey to learn their grazing patterns.”

  “Comparing the city newspaper with scat isn’t much of a stretch,” Sarah said. “But stealing cars isn’t the same as hunting.”

  “A different way of living off the land,” Archie told her. “Now that the buffalo are gone.”

 

  “Watch for a low-end, late model SUV.” Archie had cut pictures from the used car section of the newspaper for quick reference. “More expensive vehicles will be equipped with GPS anti-theft devices.”

  Stealing cars was much more technical than Sarah had imagined. “Why not just break the ignition lock or cross some of the colored wires inside the steering column?” That’s the way they did it on TV.

  Archie knew how to do that too, but stealing cars that way damaged the electrical system. “Turn indicators flicker. Headlights and taillights malfunction. Signs even the most disinterested policeman can’t ignore.” Much better to steal a car along with the keys, one that couldn’t be located electronically by orbital spies in the sky.

  “We need a vehicle that will travel off road.” Archie told them they would be going to Choctaw country. He hadn’t figured out exactly where, but that would come.

  It made sense to Sarah. Hashilli’s Muskogee name, the Choctaw plates on his black SUV, and his connection with the Maytubby bonehouse all pointed to a tribal affiliation. Even if they couldn’t find him in the old Indian Territory tribal lands, they would certainly find clues that might eventually lead them to the place he’d taken Marie.

  “But why has he taken my mother?” If Hashilli intended to harm Marie, he could have done so easily while she was still a patient at Flanders. If he wanted to keep her as a hostage to prevent Sarah’s further interference in his activities, he would have contacted her by now with threats and demands.

  “Don’t think of Hashilli as an ordinary criminal,” Archie told her. “He’s a witch; he has a witch’s motives.”

  Sarah didn’t believe in witches, but Hashilli’s beliefs, not hers, were important here.

  “Hashilli Maytubby is a shape-shifter,” Archie said. “Did your anthropology professors ignore the subject?”

  “Lycanthrope?” An outrageous idea with a Latin name. Or was this one Greek? It didn’t matter. She couldn’t speak either one. “I’m fresh out of silver bullets.”

  “Anthropologists take things so literally,” Archie said. “Hashilli changes from an antiquities dealer to a psychiatrist to a social worker to God knows what. Think of a shape-shifter as a master impersonator—not a werewolf.”

  Could time spent with Archie Chatto could count as fieldwork? Sarah thought Professor Lindsay would be open to persuasion. “But why do we have to steal a car?” Her Subaru could manage the back roads of rural Oklahoma in a pinch.

  “Rough terrain ahead,” Archie told her. Four-wheel drive would be a plus, and size definitely mattered. “Your Subaru is too small. We need something large enough to carry all of us.”

  The “all of us” Archie spoke of included Robert, Sarah, Big Shorty, Marie, and himself. Five people would crowd the Subaru to its limit, but she didn’t understand why Big Shorty was included.

  “Hasn’t Shorty done enough?”

  “There’s plenty left to do,” Archie said. “And a man like Shorty is well worth the space he’ll occupy.”

  So Sarah and Robert sat in Sarah’s Subaru, watching Mexican illegals park cars. Archie Chatto was their invisible backup.

  Lovers meeting secretly in the parking lot. They did it all the time according to Archie. “No one cares. No one pays attention. No one will remember, as long as you make it real.”

  No problem for Robert. He sat behind the steering wheel because that was where men ordinarily sat. He placed his right arm around Sarah’s willing shoulder. The summer breeze carried the odor of freshly-cut grass through the open windows, but Robert didn’t need the wind, for once in his life, to make his smile authentic.

  “Don’t get the wrong idea,” Sarah told him, just before she kissed him softly on the cheek and lips.

  “Kiss me back,” she whispered. “With enthusiasm. You know, in case someone looks this way.”

  Robert slipped easily into his assigned role. Easier than a lawyer, easier than a slacker. He could hear and feel Sarah breathing in his ear. It was a warm and familiar feeling, like a whispered message delivered by the restless Oklahoma wind.

  They didn’t have to wait too long. Members of the swing dance club drove through the double lane entryway with alcohol-enhanced abandon. They passed their keys to Hispanic strangers and went inside to wax nostalgic to music that was new when Germany bombed England.

  During that short span of time, Sarah discovered a very interesting interface between psychology and physiology. A man and a woman need pretend sexual interest in each other for only a few minutes before hormones turn fiction into fact. This was something her mother had always known.

  “Keep your mind on stealing cars,” she told Robert. But she could see from the addled look on his face that stealing kisses was more central in his thoughts. Sarah adjusted the rear view mirror and evaluated her reflection. The vermillion border of her lips was deep red, filled with oxygen rich blood. Her pupils were dilated. Her eyes refused to focus properly. Addled, she decided, not as bad as Robert, but addled all the same.

  She made a show of straightening her blouse, even though Robert had been a perfect gentleman. Would she have let him go further? Sarah would figure that one out after they had stolen their late model, low-end SUV.

  “There’s one now,” she told him. “An exact match to one of the pictures Archie showed us, and it’s red, my favorite color.”

  At that moment red was Robert’s favorite color too. He opened the passenger door and stepped onto the parking lot. The next empty valet parking spot was number 24. His double-digit destination.

  Robert wore a light blue fall jacket purchased at Goodwill. It was a little too heavy for the summer evening, but it almost concealed the shoulder holster under his left arm.

  “Let the valet see the weapon,” Archie had counseled, “but don’t draw it.” No worries there. Even though Robert’s pistol was unloaded, he would never point it at anyone.

  It was the perfect interception. Robert appeared beside the SUV just as the young Hispanic valet turned the ignition off. He tapped Detective Jerald Daugherty’s gold shield against the tinted window with one hand, while he opened the driver’s side door with the other. Exactly as planned.

  “Leave the keys in the ignition. Step out of the vehicle. Let me see your ha
nds.” Three short phrases verging on hostility.

  “Is there a problem, officer?” The valet followed the script perfectly. His name was Alfonso according to the plastic tag he wore on his black OKC Golf and Country Club shirt. Men who parked cars didn’t need last names.

  “Some people back at the main office want to talk with you.” Robert took an aggressive step toward Alfonso, and just as planned, Alfonso stepped back.

  “Momentum,” Archie had called it. “Once he starts moving he won’t be able to stop.” Alfonso tried to run away, but he tripped over an untied shoelace. By the time he was back on his feet, his plans had changed.

  Archie had warned Robert about things like that. “Luck can turn on a dime. When it does, you’ll have to improvise.” He wasn’t specific about improvisation, so when Alfonso reached into the pocket of his uniform pants, Robert didn’t know exactly what to do.

  “I have a green card,” Alfonso said, but what he withdrew from his pocket was a butterfly knife. He opened it with a stereotypical gangster flourish.

  “Shit!” Was that what a cop would say? Close enough.

  Alfonso swung the knife in an artistic arch that brought the tip of the blade within an eighth inch of Robert’s eyes.

  He doesn’t want to hurt me. He wants a chance to run.

  Alfonso cut a figure eight in the air. He executed a spin that would have been the envy of the Sooner Swing Dancers, and he brought the knife around again. The boy had talent.

  Robert drew Jerald Daugherty’s unloaded Glock from its shoulder holster and moved it into the trajectory of Alfonso’s blade.

  The collision sent both weapons clattering onto the macadam surface of the parking lot. Alfonso locked eyes with Robert for a moment. He judged the distance between the policeman and the pistol and decided it was far enough.

  The valet bolted for the golf course where he would find sanctuary among the cedar trees and sand traps long before this officer would be able to take aim and squeeze off a shot.

  When Robert turned back to the red SUV, Archie Chatto was already behind the wheel.

  “Go back to Shorty’s place with Sarah.” Archie told him. “I’ll join you there after I swap tags.”

  The plan was back on track. Archie would trade license plates with another SUV of the same color and model at the parking lot of Will Rogers World Airport. If they were lucky, the owner of the SUV whose tag they stole would be on a long vacation. By the time anyone noticed the license plate exchange, the search for the stolen vehicle would be cold.

  Sarah greeted Robert with a kiss as he slid into the passenger seat of her Subaru. He was pretty certain this kiss was not provided for the purpose of cover.

  “Had a bit of a problem with Alfonso,” he said.

  “So I saw.”

  “I improvised.”

  “Well done.”

  Robert looked over at the valet station. The remaining illegals had disappeared. “I guess the swing dancers will have to handle parking by themselves.”

  “We’ve saved each of them at least a dollar,” Sarah said. “They should be grateful.”

  She had a point, but Robert doubted the swing dancers would feel that way, especially the couple with the missing SUV.

  He found the time to steal one last kiss before Sarah drove away.