2,000 Miles to Open Road (Barefield)

by Trey R. Barker

  "See you, Miss Valley. Maybe next time you come back, you can threaten me some more."

  Over the sound of her booted footsteps, she said, "Don't make me get out the belt."

  The car sat on the third story near the edge. Hal climbed the flights quickly, and burst through the door, hoping not to hear it close and then open again. Wasn't his luck.

  "I'm your only way out," she said. "I can get you through the roadblocks."

  "Get through myself."

  "You don't actually believe that, do you?"

  He didn't. Wanted to…but didn't. Because Dogwood and Templeton would cough up his name to save themselves. They'd probably cough up why he was looking for the disk, too. Which meant the PD would, or already had, made a few calls and probably already had his picture floating high and pretty on the mobile computers in the squads.

  "You know how to steal a car?" Apple Valley asked.

  "Who don't? Messy way to do business, though."

  "Easier to con someone out of it, right?"

  "Why steal when you can get the title?"

  "Titles leave a paper trail."

  "And stealing leaves a jail trail. Other than that, it's a great idea."

  "Whatever you say." She pulled a slim-jim from her purse and shoved it between the window and door. It didn't catch.

  "Sammy give it to you or you have it handy?"

  "Sammy. He works in the…ah…auto industry. But I usually have one myself."

  "Must come in handy when you're looking to score. Boost a car, sell it for dope."

  She stopped fishing with the slim-jim. "Look, I heard you. You think I'm banging for rock or something and that's fine, believe what you want. But could you do me a favor and just shut up about it? We've been together like fifteen minutes and already I'm tired of hearing about it."

  "Yeah? And I don't want to travel with a junkie who steals cars for a living."

  "I dance for a living." The slim-jim banged around. "Damnit."

  "Stealing cars your second career?" Hal pulled two bits of wire from his pocket, stuck them in the door lock and within seconds was sitting in the car.

  Without a word, but with a raised eyebrow, Apple Valley went to the passenger side and climbed in.

  "Grab the wheel," he said. "Back and forth."

  She turned the wheel left and right while he popped the lock. After that he smashed the column open with his fist, pulled a set of wires free, and got as much clearance as he could. Then he jammed the slim-jim inside and fished it around until the car started.

  "You're a dancer and porno actresses are just Kathryn Hepburns-in-waiting, no problem." He sighed. "I'm going to Texas." He gunned the motor. "Don't need a complication."

  She shrugged. "I'm not a complication, I'm a way out."

  "Yeah? How's that work?"

  "Those roadblocks, my friend. They have those in Texas?"

  "Got 'em everywhere I go."

  "Well, I can get you through these."

  He stared at her for a long minute. Her eyes never left his, her body never made a move to get out of the car. Maybe she was full of crap. Probably she was full of crap. But maybe, just maybe, she knew what was going on. She knew, after all, when to turn to avoid the cops and where to go to get some information and this set of wheels.

  With a curt nod, Hal gunned the car out of the garage. On the street, they headed toward U.S. 50. Cops continued to swirl around them but no one gave them a second look.

  "How?"

  "Trust me."

  "Yeah, that's a good plan."

  After a few minutes, she said, "Car rides pretty well."

  "For a stolen car." A stolen car. That hadn't been on his list of things to do for the day. But neither had the shoot-out, though the stolen cash had been. "Helluva lot of felonies for one day."

  "And the day is still young," she said brightly.

  1,993 Miles

  Day might be young, but Hal sure as shit was getting older. Too damned old for this kind of crap anymore. But 35 years of life and what else was there? College sure wasn't in his future and he only had one skill--playing the game--and it surely wasn't in demand in polite society. Sometimes the game was a simple Murphy, sometimes a complicated swing, but always just a game.

  Yet the disk in his hand seemed to say otherwise. The disk, a bit of plastic and laser coding, seemed to say there might be something else available, something else a little further up the line. "Hold on," it seemed to say. "I'll get you there."

  And where, exactly, was there? Back to Barefield, where he could return triumphant--semi triumphant--to his boyhood home? Or maybe a clearing of the air with his brother and a blazing-ass drive to Barefield and then to Theresa?

  Barefield was out of the question. Mama was dead and Hanford was long gone. Plus, there was a ton of baggage associated with that little wide spot in the dusty road. Specifically, baggage from a small room with a single chair.

  So that left Hanford and then Theresa.

  Sweaty, he kept one hand on the wheel and with the other yanked his cell phone out. A deft thumb punched in the numbers. After two rings, she picked up.

  "Hola?"

  "It's me." He spoke quietly and turned as far from Apple Valley as he could. Houses slipped past in a blur outside the window.

  "Hal." Was that relief he heard in her voice? "How are you?"

  Alive, he almost said. Maybe a bit too harsh, considering she already knew he'd been stabbed in the throat and shot in the ass. "Good, Theresa, I'm good. It's a good day, too."

  "Is it?"

  He stayed quiet, not wanting to toss his business out in front of Apple Valley. After a moment, Theresa understood.

  "You found it?"

  "Yeah."

  "Oh, Hal, I knew you could, I knew you could." Excitement built in her voice. "Where are you?"

  "I'm not there yet."

  "Not in Texas or you haven't talked to Hanford yet?"

  "Soon."

  Got silent then, didn't it? But as comfortable as a shot of whiskey and a twangy Texas guitar under a scratchy voice. It was their silence, the one they reveled in whenever they could.

  "I'm waiting for you." She spoke softly. Had her brother come in the room? Was he standing over her, ready to yell about that damned gringo?

  "Almost there," he answered.

  Then she was gone, her voice replaced by a dial tone. Satisfied--her brother had been in the room--Hal snapped the phone off and shoved it into his shirt pocket.

  Almost there, nearly there, but not anywhere near there. Hadn't gotten outta town yet, then another 2,000 miles to Hanford and more miles to Theresa.

  He was closer, with the disk in his pocket, but not anywhere near close enough. He shook his head but it didn't clear. With an angry grunt, he rolled down the window and let the dry heat filter through the car. Eventually, it sank into his head, into his brain and bones.

  "Tired?" Apple Valley asked.

  He said nothing.

  "Hal?"

  Again, nothing.

  "Fine. I'll talk the entire way to Texas, no problem. You don't want to get in on the conversation, that's fine."

  "Shut up, ho-kay?"

  She chuckled and the sound grated against his ears. "You wear that anger pretty well. Did you have it specially tailored?"

  Great, he thought, cheap psychology. What everybody needs after getting shot at. "Got no worries, everything's perfect."

  "And denial ain't just a river…."

  "Who in hell are you?" Hal sat up straight as they passed through a green stoplight. A cop stood on the corner, his face an easy grin for the elderly couple he was talking to, but his body language alert and edgy.

  "Apple Valley," she said.

  "That's not what I mean. I mean who are you? Of all the cars--"

  "In all the cities, you had'ta jump into mine," she finished.

  He tuned her out. She didn't matter. What mattered was that he was on the way…with the disk. Hell, in his more truthful moments, he never act
ually thought he'd get this far. Six months ago he had thought, as he rubbed the scar across his neck, he would wind up with a bullet in the brain in a back alley somewhere. Or maybe dumped in some farmer's ditch.

  "Guess I'm just wondering what you were doing with Dogwood." He swallowed. "And why you didn't turn me in when you had the chance."

  "I've still got the chance."

  Hal's ears laid back against his skull. Not quite the answer I'm looking for. That answer makes my stomach clench so hard I think I'm gonna throw a load. The way she said it, so flat, so matter-of-factly, scared him. The casualness of the threat reminded him of Dogwood's casual threats when Hal managed to steal his twenty grand. When Hal looked at Apple Valley, her jaw was tight, her lips pressed together, her eyes zeroed in on the road ahead.

  They drove with the threat hanging there, both of them sucking air down and spitting it out. It was as though they were both listening, trying to know when, exactly, the other person was going to make a move. Except Hal knew there was more going on. Hell, he could almost hear it. She's calling for that Horse, he thought.

  He could almost see her jaw trembling in anticipation.

  "Two months," she said quietly. "Two weeks, three days."

  "And some hours." He watched her carefully. "Feel like feeding it?"

  "Feeding the beast?"

  Hal nodded.

  "Not right now. That's the key. Not right now."

  Hal sucked his teeth. "That works, huh? That mantra thing you got going?"

  "Listen, quitting was the easiest thing in the world. I used to quit every day. The problem was that I always told myself 'never again.' That screwed it. If I knew I couldn't have anymore, I wanted it." She shrugged. "So I changed the rules. Told myself I could have it whenever I wanted. Makes it easier to keep the demons at bay."

  "Uh-huh."

  A tight grin slipped across her face. "Works for me." After a deep breath, almost ritualistic, she said, "You need to relax a little, Hal, you're as tight as a Catholic virgin."

  He gaped.

  "Didn't know there were any, did you?"

  "Actually, I thought all Catholics were virgins, immaculate selection and all that."

  With her laugh, the car's atmosphere suddenly wasn't all heat and fear. For that moment, Hal breathed easily and his bowels unclenched.

  "Speaking of selection, looks like it's our time." She nodded to the road ahead.

  His heart seized when he saw the cops. Everywhere, spread side to side in a wall of blue blocking the highway. Passenger cars were stacked up like the lines at Disney World, all waiting to get through. Policemen moved slowly between the cars, dogs on leashes, clipboards at the ready.

  "Be cool," she said. "Don't…don't worry about it."

  The easy moment they had shared was gone. "Don't worry? Yeah, easy for you to say. You probably been busted a thousand times. A thousand petty beefs. You spent more than a week total in lock-up?" He coughed and slipped the disk down the front of his pants. "Wouldn't be so quick on the cheap advice if you knew your ass from a hole in the ground."

  She stared at him as the Chevy came to a halt. "Are you bipolar?"

  "What?"

  "One minute we're laughing and the next you're freaking out."

  Two Nevada State Troopers glanced at their car, their eyes unreadable behind mirrored sunglasses. The car ahead came to a stop and a police officer leaned into the window and started talking. Hal could see his jaw flapping up and down.

  On the passenger side, a state cop peered into the back windshield, then into the backseat, then into the front.

  "Damn," Hal said.

  "Calm down, Hal, we can get through this."

  "Shut the hell up, ho-kay?" One hand went to the gear shift while the other went to the door handle.

  "Yeah, that'd be a smart thing to do. Jump out and run. Dogwood told me how stupid you were. I didn't believe him, but maybe--"

  "Don't say it."

  "Then prove me wrong."

  He moved his hand away from the handle as the car ahead of them pulled away. He inched the car forward until the cop motioned them to stop. When he looked at them, she sucked in hard through her nose.

  "What?" Hal asked, rolling the window down.

  "Afternoon," the cop said, leaning down to the window. He glanced at Hal but then moved his eyes toward Apple Valley. A flicker of something passed through his eyes but Hal didn't recognize it. "A bit hot today."

  "Yes, sir, officer it is. Be nice and cool tonight, though. A nice chance for a family picnic, don't you think?"

  Picnic? What kind of noise was that? Hal frowned. A state cop was outside Apple Valley's door, peering down at both of them, his head flicking left and right as he searched the floorboard and the backseat.

  "A picnic?" The cop sounded startled, but his voice got quieter. "Yeah, maybe so."

  "We're taking a picnic, and maybe an overnighter. Headed to the lake."

  "That's pretty country up there." He looked along the highway out of town, as though he could see the lake from this very spot. His badge and nameplate--Ranart--winked in the sun.

  Hal swallowed into a throat as dry as the desert in which they sat. His hands tingled and he tried to nonchalantly slide them under this thighs. The trooper saw it and watched him.

  "Sorry for the delay in your trip," Ranart said. "But we've got a little situation here. You can probably appreciate that."

  Apple Valley nodded. "I certainly can. People get themselves into little situations all the time, don't they?"

  This time, Hal knew exactly what flickered across the man's eyes. It was embarrassment, as naked and pale as if he were standing on this roadside naked and pale. What in the shit is going on?

  "All the time," Ranart agreed. "Not usually of their own accord. Sometimes they're dragged in by someone else."

  She nodded. "True enough. But sometimes they do go willingly, even knowing they shouldn't." With a smile, she looked directly at him. In the driver's side rear view mirror, Hal could see part of her face. "Sometimes it is an accident."

  Ranart nodded. A droplet of sweat dripped from his nose to the asphalt.

  "But people never seem to understand those accidents, do they?" she asked. "Those accidents and situations can be quite a mess."

  The words hung in the car's interior like a ripe, bloody carcass.

  The cop nodded. "Quite a mess."

  "Ranart?" one of the troopers called. "You okay over there?"

  He waved a hand at the trooper without taking his eyes from Apple Valley. "We've got a man. Might have been involved in something in our fair little town. Mid 30's, maybe six foot, comes in about 165 pounds. Short brown hair, in a Marine cut." He crouched until his head was level with Hal's. His eyes bored in on Hal's. "Guy must have an inferiority complex, wearing his hair like a tough guy."

  "Is he a cop?" Hal asked.

  The smile disappeared beneath a smirk as he looked again at Apple Valley. "Probably involved in a little dust-up near the prison. But he's also wanted on a warrant."

  "Really," she said.

  "A murder charge. Killed somebody. That's what NCIC says."

  Keep the eyes casual, keep the breath even. This ain't nothing, just a crappy cop in a crappy town.

  "You don't say," she said.

  "I do I do, computer gave me the whole story. Warrant out of Texas. Torture. Rape. Sodomy. Used a broom handle. Might even have been a dog involved in the sex part."

  Hal's eyes snapped to Ranart's.

  "Got something to say?" the officer asked.

  Ain't even remotely what happened, Hal almost said. "No."

  "Well, if we see him, we most certainly will call the authorities." Apple Valley smoothed her shirt. Ranart's eyes caught the movement. She turned to Hal. "You did remember to bring the camera, didn't you, dear? I mean, since we'll be secluded, we might want to take some pictures." To Ranart, she said, "I do so love taking pictures when there is no one around. How about you, Officer? Do you--or your wife--li
ke pictures? If they're the right kind, I mean?"

  The heat was fully inside the car now, a third passenger. It sat heavily on Hal, next to Hal, behind and in front of Hal.

  "I'd guess you know what the right kind are?"

  Apple Valley nodded. "It's the only kind I like. Maybe I can show them to you and your wife sometime. A friend's holding them for me, just waiting for me to call."

  Ranart did a half-snarl half-smile thing but his eyes flashed dark and angry. If he thought he could get away with it, Hal thought, he'd whack us both here and now.

  He stood and waved at the officers now watching intently. "I guess you'd better get moving, before any of our other officers get here and want to ask questions." He sighed. "If I know Captain Brooks at all, and I do, he'll want to go through all of this again, how you're going to the lake and all." He nodded to Hal. "Captain Brooks is vice, one of those tough guys who doesn't take well to losing what's his."

  Hal's breath stopped. Nothing like getting waved on and threatened at the same time.

  "Depends on what's his, doesn't it, Officer?" Apple Valley asked.

  With a nod and a nervous smile, Hal rolled up the window and left the roadblock behind. As they pulled away, Hal couldn't help but watch the hard stare of Officer Ranart in the rear view mirror. He stood, hands on his cocked hip, his head down just a bit. He watched them as long as Hal watched him. But eventually, even on a road as straight as Highway 50, the cop receded to nothing.

  1,946 Miles

  Forty-five minutes later, Hal scratched his crotch and then broke the silence. It had ridden with them since the road block. Instead of asking about the warrant, which he'd expected, she just sat. Her jaw was as hard as the roadway beneath them and her hands gripped her knees so hard he thought her knuckles might shatter. At one point, he thought he'd heard them creaking, edging up to where they might break. Instead, it had been her teeth grinding together.

  "Want some Horse now?"

  "Not. Right. Now."

  "Right. I believe that."

  She turned on him savagely. "Will you quit pushing the fucking drugs? I am clean and sober. Two months, two weeks, three days, some hours." She punched the radio on, then clicked it off. For a moment, her hand held steady near the radio, clenching and unclenching slowly.