Dead Man's Bluff

by Debbie Burke

  A truck moved out and Tillman pulled into the vacant space. “I’ll go check for Smoky.” He got out and walked around to her side. “Mind staying here? Shouldn’t leave the shotgun in a car we can’t lock.”

  “OK.” She watched his long strides toward the entrance. Her fair skin was quickly burning under the bright sun. She got out and stood in the shade of the building, wishing they’d brought hats and go-cups of iced tea.

  Fifteen minutes passed before Tillman came out, carrying two water bottles. He shook his head that he hadn’t found Smoky and handed one to her. They stood in the shade, gratefully guzzling lukewarm water.

  After emptying his bottle, he said, “Well, that was an eye opener. There’s no roster of who goes into shelters. Some bullshit about confidentiality. Red Cross has a website where people can enter their phone number or address so family knows they’re safe and well.” He made finger quotes. “But unless you have internet, which isn’t working in most places, you can’t access the site. They suggested checking Facebook, too. Not damn likely with Smoky. He won’t advertise for the guys chasing him.”

  Tawny ran her arm across her burning forehead. “Yeah, he told me he’s pretty paranoid about staying off the grid. Keeps his cell in a Faraday cage. He thinks the texts from your phone are how those guys found him.” She finished her water. “So, what do we do now?”

  “Keep going from shelter to shelter in hopes of spotting him.”

  Three fruitless hours later, in the parking lot of the sixth school, Tillman started the engine and studied Tawny. “You’ve got to get out of the sun. You look like a lobster.”

  She felt like one, too, simmering in sweat. She pressed the bare skin on her thigh with a finger. Red skin turned white. She closed her eyes, trying to ignore dizziness from her pounding headache. Her pale complexion wasn’t tough enough for tropical sun. Even Tillman’s skin, already bronze from his Ethiopian grandmother, looked burnished. “OK. But what else can we do to find Smoky?”

  He peered at the dashboard. “Only an eighth of a tank left. We can’t waste more gas aimlessly wandering around. Let’s head back to Smoky’s.”

  As he drove, Tawny finished her sixth bottle of warm water, replenished at each shelter they had stopped at. Because she’d sweated so much, she hadn’t gone to the bathroom since early morning. It was now nearly four in the afternoon.

  Tillman steered past floating lumber in rising brown water. “Not sure we can get back the same way.”

  Ahead, a Honda sat abandoned on the side of the road, water edging up to its door handles. An orange bucket from a home improvement store floated past.

  “Shit,” he muttered, putting the T-bird in reverse. He backed all the way down the block to the next intersection and stopped. They peered at the cross streets but the floodwaters flowed deeper and deeper, overtaking the car from every direction. He made a U-turn, heading inland, searching for a road that wasn’t completely submerged. Even at a cautious fifteen miles an hour, the wake behind the T-bird looked like a speedboat.

  Tawny sniffed sewage that tainted the nasty-smelling garbage soup. The car’s footwells filled. She lifted her feet but her socks and sneakers were long past soaked. “I wonder if typhoid or cholera seeps through skin,” she said.

  Tillman swore at water rising through openings around the gas and brake pedals.

  Several blocks away, they spotted the flashing roof lights of a public works truck. The T-bird engine coughed and surged, barely running until they finally climbed a slight rise, out of deep water. Two workers in reflective vests were setting out Road Closed signs. One hailed them and Tillman stopped.

  “Dude,” the man said, “you’re lucky you got out of that area when you did. Anclote River’s flooding. Another few minutes and everybody’s gonna be swimming.”

  “We’re headed home.” Tillman rattled off Smoky’s address. “Any roads still open to get there?”

  The man went to his truck and returned, swiping a tablet. He held the screen so Tillman and Tawny could see it. “These here are satellite photos. Last update was about fifteen minutes ago.”

  The screen showed vast areas of brown water as high as the windowsills of houses. Muddy sludge covered cars up to their roofs. Square residential blocks could be defined but long sections of road disappeared under water. The river no longer had any boundaries, spreading like dirty chocolate milk spilled across a flat table of land.

  The man swiped through aerial views of roofs and bundles of treetops. “That road is still OK. You might get through if you go around this way.” His fingertip traced a circuitous route. “Looks like your house might still be in a dry area.”

  Tillman asked, “Any reports of dead bodies?”

  Tawny chewed her lip. Tillman was always quick to expect the worst and, unfortunately, often turned out to be right.

  The man frowned. “Not that I’ve run across. Nothing’s come over our radios.”

  “A friend of ours went missing during the storm. We’ve been checking shelters.”

  “You could try hospitals or the sheriff’s office. But good luck getting through. Phone lines are jammed and a lotta cell towers are down.”

  “Thanks for your help.”

  The man flipped a salute. “Hope you locate your buddy.”

  They drove the zigzag route, frequently hitting dead-ends and backtracking, but finally turned onto Smoky’s street. A few residents had returned to the neighborhood, slogging through mud to survey the damage around their homes.

  Tillman pulled into the driveway, avoiding the fallen oak tree. Tawny got out and stepped into the shade of the house, relieved to be out of the blistering sun.

  Water had crept from the lake across Smoky’s back yard and lapped at the sandbag barrier he and Tawny had built the day before. She stood atop it and unlocked the back door, swinging it inward. Tillman followed, sloshing through puddles behind her.

  The kitchen floor was still dry so the sandbag barrier had done its job…so far. If no more rain fell, Smoky’s home might not flood.

  The inside of the house felt nearly as sweltering as the outdoors, even though they’d left the windows open, but at least the sun no longer beat down on them. Without ceiling fans, the air hung heavy and stagnant.

  Tillman toed out of his mud-filled sneakers. “I’d sell my children for a shower right now.”

  She peeled off socks so rotten that no amount of bleach could clean them. “I’d buy your children for a shower right now.” Wet shorts chafed the insides of her thighs. She took his hand and led him to the bathroom, their muddy footprints leaving a trail on the tile. They undressed and dipped towels in the water stored in the bathtub to wipe down their sweaty, naked bodies. She patted her sunburned skin, fearing layers might peel off if she scrubbed too hard. But the cool water felt good.

  With two fingers, she picked up their smelly clothes from the floor. “I’d like to wash these but we should save the clean water.”

  “Hang ’em over the towel rack to dry. Best we can do for now.” He studied her red skin then opened bathroom cupboards. “Smoky’s got to have something to take the sting out of that burn.” He grabbed a bottle of green jelly-looking stuff. “Aloe’s supposed to be good.” He squeezed some in his hand and gently coated her face, neck, arms, and legs, anywhere her t-shirt and shorts hadn’t covered.

  “How about you?” she asked, taking the bottle from him.

  “Don’t need it. Thanks to my grandmother.” His brow crinkled as he stroked damp hair off her forehead. “This isn’t quite the vacation I planned. I thought we’d get Smoky’s problem settled right off then go to a nice hotel on Clearwater Beach. Drink those frozen Margaritas you like.”

  Slushy lime and tequila sounded good but the only thing she truly craved right now was air conditioning. The unit in the living room remained silent, useless without electricity. Despite her worry the night before, she now wished Tillman had brought back a generator.

  In the bedroom, she threw on one of his big t-shirts,
light on her tender skin. He stepped into clean shorts but didn’t put on a shirt. She rubbed his bare chest, dark hair tickling her palm. “Want some dinner?” she asked. “I’ll see if more steaks thawed with the power off.”

  He kissed her, his lips salty from perspiration. “You’re my beautiful calm harbor amid the storm.”

  “You weren’t here when the lights first went off. I didn’t feel very calm then.”

  “I’d bet big money you were a helluva lot better than Rochelle would’ve been. Can you imagine the screaming tantrum she’d throw without electricity?”

  The mention of Tillman’s ex made Tawny squirm because the subject usually led to a fight about his children.

  She pulled from his embrace and went to the kitchen. “I had to throw out the salad greens because they got slimy but maybe there are canned veggies.”

  As she searched the cupboard, he checked his phone. “I texted the kids when we got into cell range. Judah texted back. He’s pissed he didn’t get to come with us. He thinks being in a hurricane would be ‘bitchen.’ His word.”

  Tawny smiled. “Big adventure for a thirteen-year-old.”

  “I almost brought them.”

  She watched him watching her, testing for a reaction, and hoped her expression stayed neutral. As much as she cherished Mimi, Arielle, and Judah, she desperately tried to avoid the ongoing custody fight.

  He added, “We could have made the trip into a family vacation.”

  Tawny didn’t answer. She’d been careful not to overstep boundaries. Tillman and Rochelle were the parents and had to work out their children’s future between them. No amount of love could change the fact that Tawny was not the one who’d given birth to them. She would never have the rights Rochelle did.

  His voice deepened, serious. “If I went to the mat, I could get sole custody.”

  “Tillman, no matter what, she is their mother.” Tawny faced the cupboard again.

  “They could use a better one.” He came up behind her, encircling her waist. “Someone who’s the way a mom should be.”

  She selected two cans from the shelf. “Do you want baked beans and corn? Smoky has plenty of those.”

  “You’re avoiding the subject.”

  “Yes, I am.” She slid sideways from him, set the cans on the counter, and moved to the freezer in the laundry room. She opened it. The interior was still cold but, when she pressed a finger on the top package of T-bones, they felt soft. She pulled them out and quickly closed the lid to keep the remaining cold in as long as possible.

  When she turned around, Tillman filled the doorway, blocking her way, his gaze penetrating her soul, recognizing the apprehension that gripped her.

  He knew, even better than she did, that if Tawny joined his fight for his children, Rochelle’s jealousy would rocket off the scale. Her vengeance could destroy the entire family.

  And poison Tawny’s relationship with Tillman.

  “Tawny.”

  “Just let me fix dinner, OK?”

  “Let’s get married.”

  Her head throbbed from too much sun. The sting of her sunburn worsened by the minute.

  There was no escape from the cinderblock hot box or the disease-filled, snake-infested waters lapping outside the house.

  Or Tillman.

  “You know how I feel about that,” she murmured. “We should wait until the kids are grown. Rochelle already thinks I’m trying to steal them from her.”

  “You didn’t steal them. They gave you their love freely. That’s what she can’t stand.” He leaned an arm on the door frame. “I planned to bring the kids along and have the wedding here. Smoky as my best man.”

  Damn. He was always springing surprises on her. “Crap, Tillman, you have the rest of our lives all worked out but you didn’t think to let me in on it?”

  He offered a lopsided smile. “No reason to mention it because it didn’t fly. Rochelle threatened to go to the judge if I tried to take the kids out of state without her permission. I would have prevailed but there wasn’t enough time.”

  Tawny remembered her conversation with Smoky the previous night and his odd comment that Tillman could have sprung for a better ring. “Did you talk about this to Smoky?”

  Sheepishness flitted across Tillman’s face. “Did he spill the beans?”

  “Not exactly. But he apparently knew more about this wedding plan than I did.” She pinned him with a hard look. “You’re not supposed to leave the bride out of the loop.” She pushed past him, pressing the steak package into his bare belly.

  The cold shock made him jerk back. He grasped the package then grinned. “Thanks, that felt refreshing.”

  On the kitchen table, Tillman’s phone tinged with a new text. He set the steak on the counter then studied the screen. “From the guy with the generator. He says somebody else wants it, too, bidding the price up another hundred.”

  Thank goodness for the distraction from wedding talk. “Sounds like a shakedown.”

  “Could be. But if he’s legit, it’d be worth it to run the AC.”

  She had to admit air conditioning sounded awfully good in her dehydrated, sunburned condition. “Is there enough gas in the T-bird to get there and back?”

  “Should be OK. Maybe I can scrounge some en route.”

  Her head pounded and a wave of dizziness swept over her. She braced herself against the counter. “I’ll stay here. I can’t take any more sun.”

  “Good idea.” He kissed her as he headed toward the back door. “Shouldn’t be too long if I can avoid flooded roads. Back in time for steak.” The door banged shut.

  Her aching head lolled back. Damn that man but, damn, she loved him.

  A minute later, he opened the door again, stripping the plastic bag from the shotgun. “You better keep this here. Radio just announced there’s been looting.” He handed the weapon to her.

  “What about you?”

  “Smoky’s pistol is still in the glove box. If it hasn’t turned to rust.”

  “Be careful.”

  His chin thrust out. She studied the towering, lean, shirtless giant, able to bench press more than three-hundred pounds. Anyone who challenged him would be a fool who came out second best.

  Even so, Tawny worried. Plenty of danger still lingered in Irma’s wake.

  Chapter 5 – Unwelcome Visitors

  Smoky’s electric can opener didn’t work without power. Tawny rattled utensils in the kitchen drawers, searching for a manual crank style, but didn’t find one. Unless Tillman punched a knife through the metal lids when he returned, they’d have to eat steak without corn and beans.

  In one drawer, she found a raggedy-looking address book. She put on her readers and tried to focus but even her eyeballs felt sunburned. Squinting, she paged through, sipping sun tea, now tepid because the ice had melted. Maybe she could trace Smoky’s whereabouts through his friends. He’d printed first names only, in pencil with a heavy hand, no notations of who Raul or Lyman or Dennis were.

  Tillman’s name, private cell, home and office numbers were noted, as well as his children’s names and their birthdays. There was also a smeary erasure that looked as if it once read Rochelle, Tillman’s ex.

  If Smoky had family listed, Tawny couldn’t tell without last names.

  When she checked her cell, it still showed no service. To follow up on Smoky’s contacts, they would have to drive someplace where their phones worked.

  If enough gas remained in the T-bird to go anywhere.

  Since Irma, simple everyday conveniences—like can openers, phone service, and gas pumps—had become precious luxuries, as out of reach as the stars.

  Through open glass louvers, she heard a screech of metal in wood. At the bungalow next door, an unshaven Hispanic man used a claw hammer to yank nails from the sheets of plywood covering his windows. He was in his thirties, wearing a ball cap, t-shirt, and cut-off jeans.

  A girl about thirteen with dark brown braids walked around the yard, picking up storm-tossed tr
ash and stuffing it in a garbage bag. A gangly black Labrador scampered alongside her, eagerly sniffing the strange smells brought by Irma’s debris.

  Maybe the neighbors had a clue where Smoky had gone.

  Tawny again put on the oversized rain boots and went out the front door. Afternoon sun beat down, still brutal at five o’clock. Her throbbing headache ratcheted up another notch. She walked around puddles toward the house next door. “Hi,” she called.

  The dog bounced to her, tail wagging, excited to meet a new friend. Muddy paws slapped Tawny’s sunburned thighs. She yelped as claws raked her painful skin. “No!” She shoved the dog away.

  “Churro!” the girl shouted. “Get down!” She ran toward Tawny and grabbed Churro’s collar. “Bad boy, don’t jump up!” Her braids flipped as the dog twisted, trying to break loose. “Sorry, ma’am, I’m still training him. He’s only a year old.”

  Tawny swallowed fresh pain that contracted her throat. Scratches scored her already-red skin. “It’s OK. I’m a dog lover.” Although, at the moment, she didn’t love this dog.

  The girl yanked on the collar. “Sit, Churro, sit.”

  After a short struggle, the dog obeyed. Tawny petted his shiny black fur. “Good dog, Churro.” To the girl, she said, “I’m a friend of Smoky’s. Have you seen him?

  The girl shook her head. “We evacuated. Been at our church. Shelters don’t allow dogs but the padre does. We just got home a little while ago.”

  The father walked over to join them, nodding at Tawny. “Señora.” He gestured toward the fallen oak tree that had smashed Smoky’s carport. “I have a chainsaw. I come over later and cut up the tree.”

  “Gracias, señor,” Tawny answered. “That’s very nice of you.”

  “Smoky, without his leg, it’s hard for him to do work like that.”

  “You’re a good neighbor.”

  The girl piped up. “Smoky’s awesome. He’s coaching me in track.”

  Tawny smiled at her. “Smoky coached my fiancé, too, when he played baseball in high school. But we’re worried now because we can’t find him. He left in the middle of the storm last night and disappeared.”