by Weston Ochse
Now what should he do? Of all the things Matt hadn’t planned, this was it. El Droopo was spoiling everything. Sure, he could tell the truth, but detailing his adventures with a Vegetarian Troll, a Christmas Witch, a Guardian Spirit and a Wild West ghost with a deep down hatred for all things tourist would send him to the Loony Tunes Bin. That, he knew, was the place crazy people were sent—his father had said he was gonna have to go there if mom bought another new dress on the charge card. One thing was for sure: when things went bad, they went bad quickly.
“But I did it myself. Me and Reggie, we—”
But the policeman was ignoring him, talking rapidly into a walkie-talkie with his head turned away from Matt. Matt couldn’t make out much of what the officer was saying, but he was definitely calling in Matt’s identity. Now all his plans would be wasted. He’d go home and his parents would argue and get divorced. Somehow, and Matt had no idea how he knew this but he did, enough time hadn’t passed yet. He needed to make them worry a bit longer. He needed to have them come together.
He leaned over and tapped the policeman. “It wasn’t anyone else,” he insisted. “It was just me.”
The policeman kept ignoring him.
“Really, it was.” Matt pushed back his chair and stood. “Reggie—that’s my neighbor—and me. We went to Sturgis and that’s where we were taken in by Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves.”
Finally the policeman turned to look at him. “Sit down, son. Everything’s all right. You’re gonna be safe now.” His big hand came down and shoved Matt back onto his seat. El Droopo regarded him sternly and resumed speaking into the walkie-talkie. “And it looks like someone named Reggie and Ali Baba were involved in the kidnapping.”
The policeman kept Matt in his sight as he listened to his instructions. His expression alternated between pride and seriousness as he nodded and finally said, “Roger.”
Matt sighed and looked across the street, then his eyes widened.
Jacket wasn’t there.
XIV
WILD BILL HICKOK
Five minutes later there was still no sign of Jacket. Somewhere in the back of Matt’s mind, that place where his fears originated, a thought had been germinating. Each minute saw it grow larger and larger until Matt was unable to ignore the possibility it represented.
Had Jacket gone off and left him?
As soon as the thought surfaced, Matt tried to reason it away. But he couldn’t. After all, why shouldn’t Jacket get his chance to enjoy life now that he was wholly human again? He could drink and eat and actually feel the wind rushing past as he accelerated the motorcycle around a curve.
There was enough adult in Matt so that he understood and wished his Guardian Spirit could do these things. The child in him, however, comprised most of his reasoning and desperately needed Jacket to be here with him now.
Each second that ticked past on the police officer’s watch was a second that Matt’s fear grew. How had he been so brave before? Now he was ready to give up. After all, without Jacket what chance did he have?
The police officer tousled Matt’s hair for the third time in as many minutes. The man was grinning from ear-to-ear, filled with pride at spotting Matt. Matt only stared at the tabletop. At least someone was going to get something out of this.
He’d caught enough of the conversation to know that they were waiting for a police car that was coming from Spearfish, the town about a dozen miles east of them. He learned the rest from the police officer, who’d finally introduced himself as Officer Evans. All of Deadwood’s units had been sent to the Buffalo Chip Campground at the request of the State Highway Patrol. It seemed that one group of bikers didn’t like what another group was wearing, so they’d decided to remove the offending jackets. As could be expected, the other bikers didn’t feel like cooperating. The fight was small at first, but escalated quickly as several hundred bikers joined the fray.
Officer Evans was more than a little exasperated about the delay. He felt this should get priority and said so several times into his walkie-talkie. Matt heard the response, because it was twice as loud as the previous communications. “You just do your job and keep the kid safe until we get a car over there. And remember, it’s all about tourism. A biker riot has a much larger effect on the industry than one little kid. Now free the channel.”
With that, Officer Evans had turned down the volume and replaced the walkie-talkie in the leather holster at his belt. Matt could tell Evans was still interested though, because he kept adjusting the volume so there was a slightly audible undertone of static-filled police commands and codes. Whatever they meant was lost to Matt, but with each burst of harried police talk, Officer Evans’ right eye lit up, with El Droopo doing its best to match interest.
Only a minute later a disturbance from somewhere up the street made them both perk up. Women were screaming. Not one or two, but a bunch—all shrieking in alternating pitches of terror. Traffic had halted. People up and down the covered sidewalks stood frozen in place.
Matt and Officer Evans could hear the screams, but they didn’t know where they were coming from. Then a woman came running out of the Gold Dust Casino. About sixty years old and approaching two hundred pounds, her tall blue hair had become disheveled and a good portion of it now hung down in front of her eyes, blinding her. Stumpy legs propelled her over the walk and into the street, nearly running right into the side of a moving van. Her luck ended abruptly as she tore up the sidewalk and lurched into Doc Ockenbee’s House of Glass. Her screaming was suddenly replaced by the sounds of shattering glass.
Then, as though a switch had been flipped, the vehicles began moving again and the pedestrians continued on their way. Matt and the policeman returned their gazes to the front of the Gold Dust just in time to see eight other women, ages ranging from sixteen to seventy, rush out and collide with as many passersby. Their screams filled the air and again everything stopped, as if the world was pausing to see what the problem was.
Likewise, Officer Evans shifted his face and glared at Matt. Instead of the previously proud expression, this one was condemning, as though Matt were the one causing the problems up the street. The police officer scowled again at the Gold Dust casino just in time to see a woman maniacally rush out of it and propel her walker down the wooden sidewalk toward them, her eyes as big as saucers.
Cursing beneath his breath, Officer Evans grabbed a set of handcuffs from his belt and turned. “You stay put, boy. I got to see what’s going on. Whatever it is might be dangerous.” He searched around for a minute, but didn’t find what he was looking for. “Here,” he said and snapped one end of the handcuffs around one of Matt’s wrists. He fastened the other end to the back of the plastic chair the boy was sitting on. “This will have to do.” He straightened his gun belt by pressing his hands down and twisting, then turned to Matt one last time. “Anything happens, you just yell out, hear?”
Matt nodded.
The police officer hesitated again, but another round of screams sent him running toward the now nearly epic disturbance. When he disappeared into the entrance of the Gold Dust, Matt felt a tapping on his shoulder. His head whipped around.
Jacket smiled down at him. “Ready to go, kiddo?”
Matt’s face brightened. “Jacket! I thought you’d left me.”
“Left you? Why on earth would I do that?”
“I dunno. I just thought you did.”
“Old Jacket doesn’t leave anyone, especially you, Matt Cady.” His gaze flicked toward the Gold Dust. “We need to get going if we’re gonna have any chance. Wild Bill can only keep that copper occupied for a short while.”
Matt nodded, but he couldn’t help wonder what Wild Bill was doing. There was also that need to get away—honestly, he was ready to call it quits. He was so tired … and boy, he could sure use a shower and nap. He missed his own room, even if it was a little small and the stuffed animals kept falling out of the closet every time he opened the door.
“You go on without me, Jack
et.”
The old biker looked as if he’d just been smacked across the face with a two-by-four. “What do you mean, go on without you? We’re doing all this for you, kid! Since when do you give up?”
“It’s just no use. My parents aren’t going to get back together. This was all stupid.”
Jacket stood there, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to think of something to say. Finally, he shook his head, reached out and hoisted Matt to his feet. “I don’t know what’s happened, but you’re not in your right mind. Let’s get some wind in your hair and see if that doesn’t clear out the fuzziness.”
Matt stared down at the ground. He really didn’t care. When it was clear Jacket wasn’t going to let him be, he sighed and lifted his trailing hand. “What about this?” The white plastic chair came up, still attached via the handcuffs.
Jacket scowled, then shrugged. “I guess we’ll take it with us.”
Outside, the motorcycle was parked only a few feet away. In two quick strides, Matt and Jacket were next to it. Jacket quickly opened the saddlebags, then lifted the chair and placed it over the rear part of the seat so the chair legs fit neatly into the leather bags. Then he swung Matt onto the chair and tied him down using a length of thin rope he tugged from one of the bags. Matt tried not to wince as the rope loping through the chair’s back slats dug into his waist. Satisfied, Jacket cinched the flaps on the saddle bags and mounted the motorcycle. “Hold on,” he said, and motorcycle roared to life.
Slowly at first, Jacket drove down the center of the street toward the disturbance. All eyes were on the Gold Dust and the escalating noise. AS they passed, Matt saw Officer Evans with his arms raised, screaming for everyone to “Remain calm! Remain calm!” None of the women paid any attention as Wild Bill and several other blurry ghosts savagely pinched their bottoms. Matt watched as Wild Bill planted his ghostly lips on the flushed cheeks of a pretty brunette; her face turned white as her screams climbed to nearly a screech. Then the motorcycle rolled past and they were lost from view.
In front of Matt, Jacket chuckled. “Potato Creek Johnny and a few of Bill’s other dead friends were more than willing to give us a hand.”
Matt couldn’t help grin a little as Jacket throttled the motorcycle to full power. The old ghost was probably having the time of his life … or death. Then Matt let his smile slip away in the wind.
What did it matter anyway? Life had become one big whatever.
XV
BEATEN AND SMASHED
Night enveloped the Black Hills in a tight, dark fist. Only the tiniest glimpse of moon glimmered through the skeletal branches of the ponderosa pine, and even the stars were hidden. If it weren’t for the spear of Jacket’s headlight and the occasional car, there would have been almost no light at all.
Jacket and Matt had stopped outside of Deadwood where Jacket had cut through the plastic of the chair to free Matt. He tried to pick the handcuffs, but had absolutely no luck, so they decided to attach them both to the same wrist, like a pair of bracelets. They were pretty heavy and Matt didn’t think men wore bracelets, but he didn’t have much choice.
Now they were heading toward Hill City. Beyond that was Keystone and then Mount Rushmore, where beneath the heads of the presidents Wild Bill had said Calamity Jane could be found. Wild Bill, too, had heard of the fabled War Shirt of Crazy Horse, and had told Jacket that if anyone knew where it was, Calamity Jane would.
Jacket shouted all this into the wind. Matt listened but didn’t reply, letting the wind push the words past along with his tears. An overwhelming feeling of apathy paralyzed him, and from now on, he was only along for the ride. What had begun as his quest to return his parents back together had been taken over by Jacket. Whatever his Guardian wanted to do was all right with him.
They rode over Pactola Dam in silence. The black water beneath them was lit only by the lights of the night fishermen greedy for mountain trout. Soon they passed the tail waters of Sheridan Lake. Smaller than Pactola, Sheridan was a natural body of water where older, larger fish could be captured by fishermen with enough patience.
Occasionally Jacket would toss out a comment, but Matt remained silent. His gaze was unfocused. His thoughts were dim.
As if sensing Matt’s change of emotion, Jacket found a roadside turnoff a few miles before Hill City. He coasted to a stop, shut off the engine and let the kickstand down. Climbing off the motorcycle, Jacket strolled over to the hip-high retaining wall that separated the road from a seventy-foot sheer drop-off. He leaned over and stared into the blackness below, then whistled in wonder. The sound tailed off into a sad sigh.
A movement farther up the road caught Matt’s attention. A glowing mist bobbed slightly along the edge of the road at the apex of a steep curve. Knowing what to look for, Matt concentrated on the form. As he had with Wild Bill, he tried to assign human features to it. Unlike Wild Bill, Matt had no idea what the ghost had looked like in life. Still, the mist began to coalesce and form, but before it could become anything recognizable, Jacket called out to him. “Come here, kid.”
Matt turned his attention back on his Guardian. “I don’t wanna.”
“Come on. I got something important to show you.”
Grudgingly, Matt dismounted and trudged over to where Jacket stood. The chain connecting the handcuffs rattled as he moved. The retaining wall came up to Matt’s chest and he had to stand on tiptoes to peer over. He stared into the darkness, but that’s all he saw—darkness. “I don’t see anything.”
“Things are different here now. I almost didn’t recognize it, you know.” Jacket squatted and ran his hands along the retaining wall. “Although I doubt even this would have stopped me.”
Matt showed interest for the first time in several hours. “What do you mean?”
“It had been raining real hard,” Jacket said. His voice had taken a faraway tone. “Not raining like most people think of raining, either. What I’m talking about is one of those summer downpours where a day’s worth of rain gets unloaded in an hour. Know what I mean?”
Matt did know what Jacket meant. No one grew up in South Dakota without experiencing the fury of summer storms, lightning, and sometimes hail. The hail was the worst, sometimes supposedly big enough to kill small animals and maim children.
“No self-respecting biker would have been out in it, but I had this girl I was going to see. I was thinking if I was late, she’d move on to someone else.” Jacket sent a slight grin in Matt’s direction. “You know what I mean.”
Matt blinked. Actually, he had no idea.
“When I hit the curve, there was a Mississippi River of water hurling itself down the mountain. See where it comes down from the hillside over those quartz rocks?”
Matt turned and, yes, he could imagine the deluge of water tumbling over those rocks and onto the road, obeying the laws of gravity and following the quickest way down to the canyon floor.
“One second I was riding to a rendezvous and the next I was flying through the air. Then … blackness.” Jacket said the last word with a sigh as he stared into the night.
Matt sidled closer and gripped Jacket’s hand where it rested on the retaining wall. Neither spoke for the next few moments.
Finally, Jacket broke the silence. “It didn’t hurt, you know? I never felt a thing. One minute there was blackness, the next I found myself standing inside a hospital delivery room with you screaming your way into the world.”
Matt’s eyes widened. “You were there when I was born?”
“Of course I was. Now, how I got there, I don’t actually know. I could have gone to heaven. I could have gone to hell. Or I could’ve ended up like that poor schmuck over there, destined to stand at the spot of his death until pigs finally evolve wings.”
Matt turned and stared back at the road, finally able to make out a ghost as it stood with its thumb out in the universal hitchhiking symbol, apparently oblivious to the fact that it was invisible to ninety-nine percent of the universe.
“I
figure I was put there for a reason. Whether or not it was ‘cause I was being punished or rewarded, I don’t know exactly. But I’ve been with you in one shape or form your entire life, so it’s pretty easy for me to figure out when something’s wrong.”
“Nothing’s wrong,” Matt replied a little too quickly.
“Uh-huh. And pigs just evolved wings.”
Matt sighed. He leaned over and placed his forearms on the wall. Then he rested his chin on his hands as he stared down to where Jacket had died. “I just don’t want to do this anymore.”
“That’s what I figured,” Jacket said. He picked up a handful of rocks from the road, then one by one hurled them over the wall. When the last one arced away, Jacket spoke again. “You used to be one of those people who’d never give up. Frankly, I thought that attitude was mighty bothersome at times. Like that time your uncle taught you how to play solitaire. You played for six hours straight until you finally won. Your mom asked you to stop. Your dad asked you to stop. Even Reggie invited you over for a ride. Heck, I remember I was virtually begging you. It didn’t matter. You never gave up. You never quit. You never even cheated.”
“I remember.”
“You kept at it until you’d accomplished what you’d set out to do, and that’s how you were right up until this afternoon. Matt, don’t you see?”
“See what?”
“It’s not you that’s making you act like this. It was that damned Christmas Witch. I am sure of it.”
“She didn’t do anything, Jacket. All she did was help us.”
“Oh, she helped us all right. And you paid her, didn’t you?” Jacket turned his head and spit on the ground, then looked back at Matt. “Whatever she asked you to give up is something critical in your makeup. I know this as sure as my body still lies down below. That memory, whatever it was, is one of the reasons you never gave up.”
