Desert Discord

by Henry D. Terrell

  The sign on the door said Dr. Crandell Parent, LPC. Almost no one knew what the credential abbreviation stood for, and Crandell was happy to let them wonder, but it was actually Licensed Pastoral Counselor. On his business card, underneath his name and phone number, it read simply: Man Treats. God Heals.

  Today was family day. There had to be at least one such day with every patient, unless he or she was an orphan. Crandell knew that relief from inner torment was not possible if it wasn’t a family project. He had learned that lesson through years of helping people deal with their demons.

  Del Ray was the largest person in the family, bigger than his dad and several inches taller than his older brother Billy, but the way he hung his head and curled into his chair, he could have been a toddler dangling his feet.

  Phil and Sherry Dustin, Del Ray’s mother and father, were there. Billy was there too, at Dr. Parent’s insistence, though he would rather be anywhere else, judging from his bored glower. Grandma was not there. She didn’t need to be part of this embarrassing business, or even know about it.

  They had to figure out what to do about Del Ray. There was no more pretending.

  “Why are you here, Del Ray?” asked Dr. Parent.

  “I don’t know,” Del Ray said. “Because my folks said I had to?” He said it like it was a question.

  “You tell me,” said Dr. Parent.

  Del Ray looked from Dad to Mom and back again. He wouldn’t look at Billy. “They’re worried about me, I guess.”

  “I’d say they are,” said Dr. Parent. “But why? Why would they even care about you?”

  “Because I’m their kid,” said Del Ray.

  “And that means …”

  “They love me?”

  “Exactly!” said Dr. Parent. “Your mother and father, and your brother, worry about you because they love you. And they know that you love them and would never do anything on purpose to hurt them. That’s where we need to start this afternoon.”

  Phil Dustin shifted in his chair. “I think this whole ‘everybody loves you’ business is fine, but I want Del Ray to understand how serious the situation is. What he did can’t be swept under the rug.”

  “I didn’t do anything, Dad!” said Del Ray.

  “You stole your mother’s car!” said Phil. “And, worse, you got caught by the police with that man.”

  “But I wasn’t doing anything! I promise. I’m sorry I took the car without asking. I didn’t even know that guy!”

  “Yeah?” said Phil. “The police sure knew that guy. They’ve met him before. He’s a known deviant. The officer told me they’ve picked him up about five times for hanging around the bus station and the park. Hanging around with young boys like you.”

  “He just wanted a ride,” said Del Ray, looking at the floor.

  “Yeah, he just happens to want a ride at two in the morning, and you just happen to be driving by the bus station in a stolen car, and just decide to pick him up. A deviant.”

  Sherry Dustin spoke up. “Please, Phil! Don’t accuse him. He didn’t really steal the car, and he says nothing happened.”

  “Yeah, nothing happened because you were pulled over by a police cruiser before something could happen,” said Phil. “If I hadn’t noticed the car missing and called the police …”

  “Let’s all pause for a moment,” said Dr. Parent. He pulled his chair to the center of the room facing the four Dustins and sat down. “I think everyone can agree that nothing really bad happened that night. But that’s not the point. Del Ray, do you admit that what you did that night put you in danger?”

  “Yeah. I mean yes, sir. I suppose.”

  “So, do you agree that your family has every right to be concerned?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “So, tell me something, without anybody accusing you of anything. Why did you take the car and go out that night?”

  Del Ray stared at the floor. The wall clock ticked audibly. Del Ray glanced over at his older brother, who sat unsmiling, no hint of sympathy.

  “I don’t know,” Del Ray said. “I was bored, I guess. I have trouble sleeping. I just wanted to go somewhere. I was sick of everything.”

  “Everything?” said Dr. Parent. “Sick of what, exactly?”

  “Sick of being … me.”

  “Oh, honey!” said Sherry. “There’s nothing wrong with you. There’s nothing to be sick of.”

  “Let’s let Del Ray finish,” said Dr. Parent. “Del Ray, why are you sick of being you? Is there something you don’t like about yourself?”

  “I don’t like … how I get so … bored. Sometimes I think I can’t stand another minute in my room. I feel like it’s … like … I don’t know. A cave. Or a grave, maybe. Like I can’t even breathe.”

  “Oh, honey …,” said Sherry, but Dr. Parent held up his hand toward her, politely.

  “I’ll tell you what I think,” said Dr. Parent. “I think boredom explains a lot in a young man. Boredom and … another thing … curiosity. Those are the twin enemies of good judgment, I always say. I think we can make some progress with you. Let me just say something before we begin: Del Ray, you have taken a step in the right direction by agreeing to get help. And Mr. and Mrs. Dustin, you made a good, correct decision—you brought him to a therapist, but most important, you picked a Christian therapist.”

  The family left after an hour, and then Del Ray talked one-on-one with the therapist for the second hour. He tried to be as honest as he could with Dr. Parent. He didn’t let on that last week was not the first time he’d gone to the bus station with wicked thoughts in his head. It was just his first time doing the picking up—and the first time he’d been caught. He had been there half a dozen times, and four of them had ended in sinful encounters. Every time, he had sworn to himself it was the last time. Now he was ready for somebody to help him. Dr. Parent said he could be helped, if he was willing to work hard. Del Ray was willing.

  They sent Billy to pick him up after the session was over. Del Ray stood by the curb holding a dozen sheets of mimeographed paper, things to read and homework to do, plus a slim volume called the Christian Manual of Maturity. Dr. Parent was right that it was going to take work.

  Billy arrived in his Road Runner, engine idling deep as he pulled up beside Del Ray. Billy stared straight ahead, unsmiling. Del Ray got in the car, and Billy pulled away.

  “Thanks for picking me up,” said Del Ray.

  “I don’t want you around anymore,” said Billy, his voice cold.

  “What?”

  “I don’t stutter. I don’t want you at the house anymore.”

  “Billy … I live there,” said Del Ray. He kept looking at the side of his brother’s face, but Billy wouldn’t look at him.

  “Maybe that’s where you’ve been staying,” said Billy. “But you’re not staying there anymore. I don’t want you around. It’s time to go. You’re not part of this family anymore. Run away from home, whatever you want. Just go away.”

  “You’re not making any sense. Go where?”

  “I don’t … fucking … care,” said Billy. “Just go away. Go to San Francisco. You’ll probably have a great time out there with all the hippies and queers. I just want you out of the house.”

  “It’s … it’s Mom and Dad’s house,” said Del Ray. He felt like he wanted to cry and was afraid his voice would crack.

  “It might be, but it ain’t yours anymore, as far as I’m concerned.”

  They drove back to the house in silence. Billy pulled his car up into the driveway behind the Rambler.

  “Get out,” he said. “I want you gone by the end of the week.”

  “Billy … wait …”

  Billy turned and faced his little brother for the first time today.

  “You know, I was almost proud of you. When you and your friends beat up those two queers in the park. After that bullshit happened two years ago … when that coach caught you with your fairy friend Neil. I couldn’t hold my head up. But then you learned those fags some ma
nhood, and I thought maybe there was hope for you after all. It was me who saved your butt with the cops, by the way. I found that one queer and told him he was going to forget everything he saw that night or they’d find his rotten carcass in the desert—tied up with barbed wire. And you know what? He believed me. He kept his fucking mouth shut. I did that for you. And for what?”

  “I didn’t ask you to do nothing for me!” said Del Ray.

  “Well, now I wish that guy had told the cops the whole story. You might have gone to jail, but at least everybody wouldn’t know you’re a queer.”

  “I’m not a queer!”

  “Bull shit!” said Billy. “Once a queer …” He shook his head. “Shit, that dumbass doctor can’t fix you. You’re a queer and a liar. Get out of my car. If you’re not gone by Saturday, then I’m gone. And I’m telling everybody why, too.”

  Del Ray opened the door, stepped out, and slammed it hard. Billy threw the car into reverse and peeled back so fast the bumper bottomed out when he hit the street. The Road Runner roared away, and Del Ray watched it go. It turned the corner and went out of view, but he could still hear that big engine as it went away, slowing down and then red-lining at every stop sign, gradually fading into the distance.

  – 34 –

  Pancakes for Breakfast

  Jerry liked to be at the office by nine o’clock every morning except Sunday, the one day he slept late. On Saturday, he usually visited his used car business, Honest Injun Auto Sales, checking up on the salesmen and giving the books the once-over. But today he had business out of town. It had been four days since his guest was sequestered, and it was time to have that little talk with Timothy Kaufman. But first, Jerry wanted to speak to his daughter Angela.

  Jerry’s wife Billie made pancakes or waffles on Saturday mornings, a habit that started when Angela was a toddler. She still woke up every time she smelled butter on the griddle. Angela was twenty-one and showed no restlessness about living with her parents, and things like free pancakes were contributing factors. She’d get her own place someday. She just wasn’t in a hurry.

  Jerry waited till she got up. Angela came into the kitchen while Billie was in the bathroom.

  “Hey, Angel. Good morning,” he said. “Pancakes are ready.”

  “What are you still doing here?” she asked, rubbing her eyes. Angela’s hair was a mess and her face was pink from sleep. “You don’t have work today?”

  “Very happy to see you, too,” said Jerry. “I need your help with something.”

  “Help you? Daddy, you never need help with anything!” This was unprecedented, and Angela was intrigued. She stacked three pancakes on her plate and slathered them with butter and syrup.

  Jerry flashed what he hoped was a sly grin. “I want you to help me with a disguise. I want a fake beard, just for today. You know, using that stuff you told me about, spirit glue.”

  “You mean spirit gum.”

  “Yeah, that stuff. Well, there’s this guy at the dealership, and it’s his birthday, and the guys want to pull a prank on him. I need a beard and some dark glasses so he won’t recognize me, at least not right away.”

  “Well … I sort of know how to put on a stage beard,” said Angela. “But really, Daddy, I’m not very good at it. How realistic does it have to be?”

  “I want him to be able to get pretty close without catching on,” said Jerry. “It’s important that he doesn’t know it’s a gag. It can’t look fake.”

  “Hmmm. I could try, I suppose. I don’t know how to do a really good job. I’ll tell you who does know—my friend Saskia’s mom, Ramona, the theater director. She’s a magician with stage makeup.”

  “Do you think she could maybe help me?” asked Jerry “I could drive over there to her house this morning. I won’t be too much trouble. In fact, I could even give a pretty nice … donation … to the theater, if you know what I mean. Let’s call her.”

  Angela chomped down on a bite of pancake. “She’d probably be willing to help normally, but I don’t think you should ask her today. There’s some real bad things happening in her family right now. Her daughter is missing.”

  “Missing? Who? Saskia?”

  “No, Saskia’s sister Erycca. She just took off a few days ago, didn’t take anything, didn’t say anything to anybody. Ramona is worried sick. The police are looking, too.”

  Jerry suddenly felt a little bit sick himself. Erycca? Oh, shit. They didn’t. “She probably just got mad at her parents and left,” said Jerry. “Teenagers do that. She’ll come back.” Oh, please.

  “Maybe, but her boyfriend disappeared at the same time,” said Angela. “He’s sort of a bum, but he’s a nice enough guy. His name is Tim. He’s been living at the Piedmans’.”

  “Tim. Timothy Kaufman?” Jerry bit his lower lip.

  “Yeah. Tim Kaufman. Everybody said they left together to go somewhere, and nobody ever saw them again. The cops found his car parked down on the south side of town. I’m worried. He had some pretty scuzzy friends. I hope Erycca’s not in bad trouble. How do you know Tim Kaufman?”

  Jerry stood up from the table without taking a bite of pancake.

  “I knew his dad … Hey, hon, I need to take off.”

  “You still want me to give you the beard? I’m not very good, but I could try.”

  “No … uh … yeah, maybe later. I’ll talk to the guys. Hey, tell your mom that I’m sorry I had to scoot. I forgot there’s a big meeting this morning. I’ll be home tonight.”

  Jerry made it to his car, started it, and drove a block before he let it out.

  “Son of a BITCH!” he yelled. He pounded the steering wheel with both hands. “Those stupid assholes! Son of a bitch! Stupid, stupid, STUPID! The stupid fuckers kidnapped the girlfriend!”

  He had to get out to the ranch house, right now. It was a forty-five-minute drive, even if he punched it way over the speed limit. He couldn’t call to say he was coming—there was no phone out there. But he had to put a stop to this shit. This shit had to end right now. How could he have entrusted something so important to that hothead Tank and his greasy buddies?

  When Jerry reached the highway, he turned west, took the car up to seventy-five miles per hour, and tried to think, to come up with a plan. You’ve got time. Now use your fat brain, Jerry.

  But he needed to yell once more, just to clear his head. He took a deep breath.

  “FUCK ME!”

  Mitchell took the van into town for beer. Jerry had said no alcohol, but fuck him, this was boring. Tank and Downs stayed behind. They were supposed to be getting things ready for Jerry when he came out later this afternoon to try and talk sense into the hippie dude. There was not that much to do. Jerry said just have a nice little room ready to talk in, with two comfortable chairs and a table, and make sure there’s only one way out of the room so the dude couldn’t bolt. The only room that would work for that was the third bedroom, the big one that Tank was sleeping in, which had a small desk and a chair in addition to a musty double bed. Tank dragged in two stuffed chairs from the living room and set them facing each other on one side of the room, along with a small side table from the kitchen. He removed the thumb lock from the door and turned it around so it could be locked from the outside. That would have to do, unless Jerry had other ideas.

  Downs took some food to the chick. They had not been as hard on her as they were on the dude. In addition to slices of bread, they gave her some fruit and some of their leftover takeout chicken from yesterday. They also put some magazines in the room, just some old copies of Newsweek and a couple of issues of Hot Rod. She read them. Despite the relatively easy conditions she was being kept in, it seemed to Tank that it was the girl who was starting to crack up. She was getting damned annoying, whining and crying and begging them to let her go. Jerry should just go ahead and try and unprogram her, too.

  However, Jerry still didn’t know about her. They had waited too long. Maybe they should have just taken her out into the desert and whacked her the first da
y and gotten rid of the body. That sounded harsh, but then they wouldn’t have witnesses. Jerry wouldn’t have to find out, and the hippie dude didn’t have to know. They could just tell him they took her home and she had said she never wanted to see him again. Or something.

  Okay, that was a stupid idea, and Tank knew it. The dude would tell Jerry about his girlfriend. No, they had to let Jerry know what was going on before this whole fucked-up job got any more fucked up. Jerry would be mad as hell, but he was in it as deep as they were, and his only choice would be to figure something out.

  Downs came out of the girl’s room and locked the door. He was grinning.

  “Hey, she’s still going on about how she wants to take a shower. I told her she could take one if we could both watch.” Downs laughed. “Who knows? If she gets to feeling skanky enough, maybe she will.” He gestured toward the door with his thumb. “I’m telling you, man. I’m gonna get me some of that a little later.”

  “You’re an idiot,” said Tank. He looked at his watch. “Mitchell better get back pretty soon. How long has he been gone?”

  “Just about half an hour.”

  “He should be back by now,” said Tank.

  “He said he was going to Kermit,” said Mitchell.

  “What? Fuck! I never said he could do that.”

  “He was worried about people recognizing him in Wink. He’s been to that piece-of-shit grocery store about five times. It’s only about ten miles farther to Kermit.”

  “Well, he better get his butt back here,” said Tank. “We may have to clear out today. There’s a lot of shit to pack up. Anyway, I need you guys for backup when Jerry gets here.”

  Tank went outside and looked in the direction of the dirt road for signs of the returning van. Sure enough, just over the low hill to the east, dust was rising, and he could barely hear the sound of an engine, revving high. Shit, Mitchell was driving damn fast, considering the condition of that road.

  But it wasn’t the van kicking up dust. It was Jerry’s white Oldsmobile.

  Tank went back inside quickly.

  “Hey!” he called. “It’s Jerry. He’s here early! Fuck!”