by Paula Boyd
Apparently Larry did because he shoved his little Styrofoam spit cup under the desk and swallowed. The pained grimace on his face indicated this was not a preferred activity.
“And what are you doing here anyway?” Lucille continued. “You got yourself fired again didn’t you? How hard can it be to shove a little stick in a tank and write down how much oil it shows? What’d you get caught at this time?” She pointed a manicured nail. “You were sleeping on the job again, weren’t you?”
The flurry of questions continued unanswered, but the probable scenario was that Larry had gotten fired from his gauging job on the justifiable grounds of stupidity, and his father—mother’s current beau—had gotten him back on at the sheriff’s department. It was not a win-win scenario for anyone, except maybe the oil company.
Larry turned his back to us and stuck his pudgy—and still oil-stained—fingers into his mouth, presumably to remove the contraband. When he turned back it wasn’t actually much of an improvement, but his cheek and lip were less unnaturally puffy. “You gonna tell my daddy about this?” he asked Lucille.
“Depends,” Mother Shrewdness said. “Where is your father?”
“Oh, he and Leroy are out on a call. Nothing exciting, just a fender bender.”
“What about Sheriff Parker? Where is he?”
“He’s—”Larry Harper began to twitch and wiggle like he had bugs crawling on him, which he probably did. “He’s not here.”
“Well, I darn well know he’s not here, Lawrence. Everybody knows there’s been a murder out at a motel and he’s taken a witness in for questioning to help out the Redwater Po-lice.”
Larry frowned a bit while he puzzled with that information, fearing he was expected to comment about it in some way, which, of course, he was.
Now, I do realize that it appears that I was just standing around doing nothing while my mother was taking the lead in the interrogation, and that is indeed an accurate assessment. Mother Experience seemed to have a far better plan for handling Larry Harper than I did and I saw no good reason to interfere. Technically, one might call her technique blackmail. I didn’t much care what anybody called it as long as it helped me find my daughter. And Jerry.
“Now, Lawrence, I very well know Jerry Don has been back over this way and I know you know where he went after he did because he said he would call in and let the office know where he was going when he decided what he was going to do. Now, you better hurry up and tell us just exactly where we can find him so neither one of us gets into trouble.”
The words had come fast and furious, and the supposed point was in there somewhere if you could keep up, which Larry couldn’t. “I think I’m gonna get in trouble no matter what I do,” Larry said with accidental understanding.
“Where is Sheriff Parker?” Lucille asked again, only straight to the point.
“It’s confidential.”
Lucille nodded. “I can keep things confidential too, Lawrence. Or I can tell what I know to people who aren’t gonna like it and let the chips fall where they may, and those are mighty big chips. Did you ever get that last landlord you had the run-in with paid back?”
Larry moaned, the exact circumstances of his rock-and-a-hard-place situation finally sinking in. “So if I don’t tell you where the sheriff went, you’ll tell Daddy about the chew. That’s it, ain’t it? I know it is, and then I’ll be out of the house and fired all in one kick in the teeth, and it’s none of his goddamned business what I do anyway.” He scowled at Lucille. “Yours either.”
Lucille slapped her long-nailed hand to her chest theatrically. “Why Larry Harper I don’t know what on earth you’re talking about. I never said any such thing about one having anything to do with the other.” She paused and gave him a look that said exactly the opposite. “But my memory does come and go.” She leaned over the counter toward him. “Now where is Jerry Don?”
Larry growled and muttered to himself for longer than you’d think a person could. He boldly grabbed his spit cup from beneath the counter and used it. When he finally looked back at us, he was grinning—maliciously. “She’s real pretty, you know.”
My stomach turned a quick and unhappy flip, and it wasn’t due to the brown speckled teeth he was flashing at me.
“She can’t be more than twenty-two or three,” he said, looking right at me. “I saw her when she was here for the horny toad rally.” He whistled appreciatively. “You ain’t bad, Jolene, but that girl’s got it going on. Can’t blame Jerry for taking off with her.”
Before I could even think about what to say or do, Lucille’s hand shot out and grabbed Larry by the collar of his uniform. There might have been a little throat and jowl caught in her clutches as well. “You tell me where they are, Larry Harper, or you’re gonna be picking those rotten teeth of yours up off the floor.”
I was shocked at Lucille’s physical attack, but Larry was awe-stricken. Eyes wide and chins jiggling, he didn’t know what to do.
Lucille let go and jabbed a nail at his nose. “Speak, boy.”
Larry blinked his buggy eyes and swallowed hard. “He took her to his old place.”
“His rent house down the street?” Mother asked.
Larry shook his head. “No, his old house.” He glanced at me again and laughed. “He took the girl out to stay with the dyke.”
“Shit.”
Chapter
Ten
“One word,” Lucille said, pointing the car’s air conditioning vents toward her face. “You said one word the whole entire time we were in there and what was it? ‘Shit.’ That’s what it was. Shit.” She shook her head and tsk-tsked hard enough to spit her bridgework into the next county. “I taught you better than that, Jolene. I just don’t know what’s gotten in to you.”
This from the woman who’d just blackmailed and assaulted a deputy. “Kind of makes you wonder where I learned such filthy language, doesn’t it?” I waited for her obligatory scowl and huff then said, “You know, I have about five thousand questions for you and my daughter. Want to start talking?”
Of course she didn’t. But I already had a clue and it explained a lot. I knew this morning that something was far from official with Jerry having Sarah in the car like that. He knew exactly who Sarah was, and because of that he had taken her to Amy’s. And there was only one good reason I could think of for him to do that and it was protection; he was hiding her out where she’d be safe. I did not want to think about safe from what, so I just imprinted my brain with the fact that she was okay now. Before I could remember what was not okay and had to be dealt with, a catchy little tune began playing from inside Mother’s purse.
It took me a few seconds to figure out that Lucille’s phone was playing an old Marty Robbins song. “Out in the West Texas town of El Paso, I fell in love with a Mexican girl…” She seemed not to hear it at all.
“Phone’s ringing,” I said helpfully.
“Oh, I’m sure it’s nothing important. They can just leave a message. I’ll check on it later.”
I wasn’t buying that for even a second. Thankfully, we were parked safely in front of the courthouse and not speeding down the road at 98 miles per hour, so I snatched her purse away and went for the phone.
“Now, you stop that!” Lucille shrieked, barely missing getting a hand on the purse. “That’s my private phone. You have no business—”
I found it on the first try and flipped open the cover. “Hello?”
“Who is this?” an older woman’s voice screeched. “I know I dialed the right number so you tell me, oh, it’s you,” she added without taking a breath. “Where’s your hussy mother? Put her on the phone. Right now.”
I took a wild guess on my caller’s identity. “Well, Ethel Fossy, so very good of you to call to chat.”
“You shut your nasty mouth and get your mother on the phone. Bobcat wants to talk to her right now.”
I slapped Lucille’s hands away. “Mother’s busy. I’m available though.”
It sounded lik
e she’d covered the phone and was talking to someone, presumably Bobcat. A man’s voice came on the line. “I want to talk to you. You and your mother meet me at the Bowman City Dairy Queen in an hour.”
“I’ll be there in ten minutes,” I said, annoyed with everyone and everything.
“Twenty. And park at the back by the elm tree.”
I was in no mood to be ordered around, although having the chance to get some answers from him sounded pretty good. “I’ll be inside having a chicken basket and ice tea. You find me.”
Click.
I turned to my mother. “That was Bobcat. Want to guess what he wants?”
“You said it was Ethel.”
“Bobcat took the phone. He wants to meet with us.”
Lucille’s annoyance at Ethel—and me—melted into bewilderment. “Us? He doesn’t even know you. Do you think he knows about Tiger?” She twisted on her purse straps again, playing with them like worry beads. “I don’t know why he’d want to talk to me about any of that, it’s not like I had anything to do with anything, although I did rent the room, but that doesn’t make any difference about anything. Do you think that’s it? No, no that couldn’t be it.” Mother’s concern was very real whether her voiced reasons were or not. “If he doesn’t know about Tiger, why would he want to talk to me?”
She was definitely confused, concerned and worried, probably with good reasons that I couldn’t begin guess at. “Maybe he wants to have a strategy session.”
“Well, I sure doubt that,” she said, her anxiety shifting to indignation. “They never cared what I had to say about anything before, well, that one time they did, but that can’t be it. Besides, Bobcat never much cared about anything one way or another unless Tiger told him he should. It was odd, but I guess you’d say they were pretty close so it seems like he’d have to know about Tiger being dead and all, wouldn’t he?”
“You’d sure think so.”
“Well, if he doesn’t, I’m sure not going to be the one to tell him,” Lucille said with conviction. “Those two were buddies back in the war, and I don’t think either one of them is right in the head.”
Great. Now she tells me. Being in Vietnam together didn’t seem pertinent except from a brotherhood loyalty standpoint, and of course their potential mutual mental instability. But if you overlooked the buddy aspect, you had to allow for the option that Bobcat had killed Tiger so he could be the new messiah. It wasn’t a really good option and seemed pretty farfetched and ludicrous solution comes out on top fairly often around here. Hard to speculate about much since there was obviously a lot we didn’t know about either of them.
We also didn’t know whether the Dairy Queen in Bowman City had the same special soft ice as the one in Kickapoo. Yes, it was an odd thought to have at that moment, but my brain was overheating and needed a distraction. At least we could answer the ice question in just a few minutes. “Let’s get a glass of tea and a bite to eat when we get there. We’ll talk about what we’re going to say.”
“I have no idea why he even wants to see us, Jolene, so I surely don’t know what I’d need to say about it.”
“I don’t either, but we for sure won’t be talking about Tiger being dead or what we saw or heard in regard to it. What I want to know is why they really came here, not that I think he’d actually tell me.”
“He won’t. He’ll rant and rave about all kinds of things that don’t make a bit of sense, but you ask him something normal and he clams right up. Half our meetings were spent with him telling the wildest tales you ever did hear, and getting all mad about the government and cover-ups and secrets such. If you believed half of what he said you’d never want to set foot outside your door. He’s a weird one. They all are.”
Couldn’t really argue with her about that, but weird or not, I wanted somebody to give me some answers about something.
The one and only bright spot in the entire situation was that I at least had some answers about Sarah, well, just her location and that she wasn’t in danger. That I no longer had to chase her down to confirm that was an added relief because I had no idea what I was going to say to her when I did. As far as I knew, she hadn’t broken any laws. She also wasn’t a kid anymore. She was twenty years old, and in spite of what I might like, she didn’t have to tell me her every move. “At least we know Sarah is okay since she’s with Amy.”
“Yes, that is a relief,” she said through lips being painted with a fresh coat of color. At some point, the family matriarch had stopped wringing her hands and had taken up preening in the visor mirror. “I think just a touch of sparkle above the cheekbone would be nice. We could be outside and the natural light would bounce up well from that, really highlighting my eyes.”
“Here’s a highlight for you, Mother, if I thought I could take you to Amy’s and keep you out of trouble as well, I would do it in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, that creates more complications at the moment than I want to deal with.”
“Well, you won’t be dumping me off like a bag of dirty laundry, I’ll tell you that,” she said, snapping the mirror cover closed and flipping up the visor. Lucille shoved her emergency makeup kit back in her purse and finished off her lips with her tissue routine. “You may not give a hoot about me and want to get rid of me any chance you get but, hateful as you are, you’re still my daughter, and I won’t allow you to meet up with those hippies by yourself.”
I ran my fingers through my hair, pressing hard against my skull. “The only reason you’re going is because I have no other choice. So forget whatever ideas you had stewing in your head about causing trouble between Bobcat and Ethel.”
She sucked in her breath in outrage.
“Save it. He could be dangerous and I don’t want you at risk.”
“Don’t you be worrying about me, Missy. I can take care of myself, and I can sure enough handle the likes of those two.”
“I’m sure you can, but don’t. I’ll do the talking.” I watched her to see if there was any flicker of a chance that she was actually going to do what I asked. There wasn’t. And then a shiver of knowing shuddered through me. “Oh, my god, you’ve got your gun, don’t you?”
She clutched her purse tightly. “I have a permit.”
Chapter
Eleven
The Bowman City Dairy Queen was a newer cousin to the Kickapoo establishment, meaning it was remodeled in the eighties with basic brown booths rather than seventies orange and olive green. The gold-ish colored tile with scalloped brown edges on the floor dated it like expired milk, but it had the glorious saving grace of employing not a single soul who could possibly know me. And, presumably it had chicken baskets.
While Mother availed herself of the facilities, I gave my order to the anonymous woman in the red apron behind the counter. My thoughts flew in a variety of directions, but mostly on what it might be that I needed to know from Bobcat—or what he thought he needed from me. And the whys of it all.
“Hussy.”
I did flinch, but I didn’t turn around. There was no need. I knew who it was. I flipped the top on my cell phone clipped at my waist to check the time. “Twenty minutes, Ethel. I still have twenty minutes before I have to deal with you or your new boyfriend-messiah-dude.”
She sputtered your basic righteous indignation rhetoric then lowered her voice and growled, “He’s out back by the tree now. Move it.”
“And I’m in here ordering chicken baskets and ice tea.” I put the change in my wallet and turned around. I gasped, jumping back as if I’d been bitten. I’m not sure, but I think I must have said, “Oh, my God,” “Holy shit!” “What the hell” or perhaps something significantly worse, because Ethel went pale. And when the blood made its way back up to her head, she came uncorked.
She began screeching about taking the Lord’s name in vain, which clearly I had not. She transitioned quickly into a fire and brimstone rant on my heathen ways and how God was going to send me to Hell for them all. She didn’t stop there, but I only half heard her because q
uite frankly I was awestruck.
I’d seen Ethel at a distance outside this very place earlier yesterday and noticed she was wearing jeans and looked a little different than when we’d had our little run-ins in the past, but it was nothing compared to the “different” I saw before me now. Gone were the polyester pants and long-sleeved flowered shirt with a collar that tied in a big bow. Bony Butt was now sporting a tight-fitting tank top and hip huggers.
Yes, I said tank top and hip huggers.
And makeup. She had more makeup painted on her face than a celebrity drag queen. I hoped her friends were serious about that exorcism thing because Ethel had indeed been possessed. Before I could think of anything at all to say, Mother came sashaying up to the counter, glaring big condescending holes through Ethel.
“And you had the nerve to call me a slut,” Lucille said, loud enough that a collective gasp rippled through the restaurant. “Surely to God you didn’t paint your eyelids turquoise on purpose. And quite frankly, Ethel, it ought to still be against your religion to be showing off all that old wrinkled skin of yours. Good Lord, what are you thinking?’”
While Ethel sputtered and gasped, sucking in air for another internal combustion, I turned and stepped between them. I handed Mother the order ticket then walked directly out the door to find the elm tree out back. It seemed the least unpleasant of my options at the moment.
As it turned out I didn’t need the tree for a marker. The pony-tailed cigarette-smoking old guy pacing beside a van was pretty hard to miss. I took it slow as I walked to the back of the parking lot. I really hadn’t seen things going quite like this, but with Mother occupied elsewhere, I had one less thing to worry about. And what Bobcat wanted from me was enough of a worry. I walked up near where he’d stopped by the van. “Mr. Bobcat, I presume,” I said because I couldn’t think of anything else.
