Borderland

by S. K. Epperson

  "All right, Ed," Vic said. "Last night someone set fire to Myra Callahan's trailer."

  "Was anyone hurt?" Jinx asked.

  "No. Nolan got them out in time. But the interior of the trailer was destroyed and nearly everything Myra owned along with—"

  "Who's Nolan?" someone down the counter asked.

  "Mr. Kimmler's friend," Jinx answered.

  "Oh, that one."

  Vic frowned. "He thinks someone used a gasoline concoction to start the fire."

  "See anyone?" Ed Kisner asked.

  "What about Myra and the boy?"

  "They were sleeping. Look, I know there's not much you can do now, but I wanted to report it. Myra and Cal are going to be moving into the house with me and… Vic let his voice trail off at the immediate frowns that wrinkled the faces watching him.

  "Ain't proper," Jinx said finally.

  "It's a damn site more proper than throwing her out with nowhere to go," Vic replied. Were these guys all religious fanatics or what? He looked back to Ed Kisner. "I just want you to know that if any more of these so-called acts of vandalism occur, I'm going to be protecting my property with every means at my disposal."

  "He means guns," someone said.

  "That's exactly what I mean. Until I move out of that house, all trespassers will be taking their lives into their own hands when they come on my property. Do you have any problem with that, Mr. Kisner?"

  Kisner shrugged and looked at Jinx. Jinx picked his purple nose and looked hard at Vic. "We don't like guns around here."

  "I don't like arson," Vic replied.

  "Did you say you'd be moving out?" a white-haired man asked. Vic couldn't remember his name.

  "That's what I came to talk about." He looked at Jinx. "I'm going to put the place up for sale and I thought I'd give the town first crack. I understand you own the adjacent property."

  "Not me. The town does. How much are you askin'?"

  "I don't know yet," Vic said. "I want to get it appraised. When I know something I'll get back with you. I just wanted to let you know my plans."

  "Well, that's awful nice of you," Jinx said. "Joe, move over and let Mr. Kimmler here sit down. How about havin' a nice cold lemonade while you're here? We can tell you a little about ourselves, and you can tell us what it was like to be a big-city policeman."

  Vic thought he detected a note of sarcasm, but a moment later he told himself he must have imagined it as Jinx bustled around behind the counter and fixed him up with a tall glass of lemonade. The nearest stool was vacated and every man moved down one to accommodate him. Within seconds a barrage of questions was fired at him and he sat back to answer, eventually enjoying himself and even laughing along as the old men cackled at a few of his tamer anecdotes. When Jinx offered to refill his empty glass, he nodded.

  CHAPTER 8

  Myra held the phone snug against her ear and looked around herself after giving up the outrageous amount the machine requested. Vogel's store was bustling with females, as always, but only the checker at the cash register showed any interest in her. It was Sue, Kent Vogel's wife. Myra put her back to the woman as her ex-mother-in-law's number began to ring. When a secretary answered, Myra told her what she wanted and was put on hold. Four minutes later, Clarice came on the line. 'What do you want?"

  "To be left alone," Myra said flatly. She'd decided to come out with guns blazing and not the usual preliminary insults, threats, and name-calling. "I want you to stop what you're doing and leave us both alone."

  "I don't know what you're talking about," Clarice said in her husky Houston drawl. "How is my grandson? Is he walking around in rags yet? Starving? How are you feeding him, Myra? I heard about Mr. Kimmler's death, you know."

  "I know," Myra said. "And you jumped right in. It wasn't enough to leave us penniless after Patrick's death; you want to make sure we don't have anything at all. But now you've gone too far. Cal and I could have died in that fire."

  "I'm sure I don't have the faintest idea what you're babbling about," Clarice responded. "Is this an appeal for money? Bring Cal back and you can have anything you want. Anything."

  "We've been over that," Myra said. "And it's still no sale. You can't buy me and you can't buy Cal. He doesn't want to come back. He has no desire to live with you in Houston. He despises you."

  "At your urging, I'm sure," Clarice said. "You really are a common person, Myra. Everything is either love or hate with you. Cal understands neutral ground, or at least he used to. God only knows how you've tampered with that brilliant mind of his. Why don't you stop being so foolish and self-serving and bring him back? We can put an end to this unpleasant situation once and for all."

  Myra sucked in her breath. She could picture the immaculate nails, the perfect platinum blond chignon, the creaseless suit and the pearly white teeth.

  "You may not realize this," Clarice went on, "but in later years Cal will come to resent you for all you're depriving him of now. William and I can give him so much more. And we can help you as well."

  "I've told you what you can do with your help," Myra said between her teeth. "All I ask is that you leave us alone. I’ll have the money to settle down and start applying to college somewhere. We don't need—"

  Clarice was laughing. "Settle down? My God, Myra what are you thinking of?"

  "Cal," Myra said. "I'm thinking of Cal. And I didn't say we'd be staying here. Where he goes to school is up to Cal. He hasn't decided yet."

  "He belongs in Harvard," Clarice snapped. "Both of us know it and I'll be damned if I will sit by and let you ruin his potential by giving him his own head in this matter."

  "He already has his own head, Clarice, and I would appreciate your letting him keep it. Don't try any more stunts like last night. You're going to wind up killing both of us to get to him."

  "I'd rather see him dead than ruined by his hayseed mother."

  "Don't try it," Myra said. "I've got protection now. We're not helpless anymore."

  "Oh really? Is it a new boyfriend, perhaps? I've been wondering how you could afford to stay on out there, and now I'm wondering just where you've come up with these paranoid delusions. You must be slipping, Myra. I don't appreciate being accused of whatever it is you're talking about. This may be grounds to take you to court finally and have you proved un—"

  Myra hung up. She had nothing else to say. No court in the country would believe she was... A sharp pang of guilt prevented her from finishing the thought. Cal was walking around in rags. And he hadn't been eating much lately. She could very well be proved an unfit mother, especially with Clarice's money backing up the claim.

  Was she wrong to keep Cal with her? He seemed mature enough to know what he wanted, but he was only thirteen. How many thirteen-year-olds knew what was best for them?

  Myra suddenly wanted to cry. What if the sniffing crone was right? What if she was an unfit mother?

  "'Lo, Myra," a nearby voice said, and her gaze flew up to see Coral Nenndorf, owner of the town's beauty shop, addressing her. Myra felt like looking around to see if another Myra was present. Coral Nenndorf hadn't spoken more than three sentences to her in two years. Worse, she reminded Myra of the woman she had just hung up on. Coral had the same immaculate manicure and the same perfectly coiffed hair . . . unusual for your average hayseed.

  "Coral," she said politely, with just a hint of coolness on the last syllable.

  "How are you getting on out there?" Coral asked. "Have you seen much of Darwin's boy?"

  "Quite a bit," Myra said. She was uncomfortable with this. The woman was obviously nosing around for information. She decided to cut things short. "It's nice to see you. If you'll excuse me, I have some shopping to do."

  Coral frowned a little and tried to look confused. "Am I going senile, or did I see you and Mr. Kimmler in here just yesterday.”

  "I forgot some things," Myra answered. "Have a good afternoon, Coral." She breezed past the woman and went to fetch one of seven carts at the front of the store. Sue Vogel's e
yes followed her every step of the way. Myra felt like turning and asking her what the hell she was staring at. She was sure every heard syllable of her phone conversation would be discussed the moment she left, and the small-town shiftiness once more annoyed her. She pushed the cart through the aisles with a vengeance. First they would talk about the tightness of her tank top and the shortness of her shorts, then they would comment on her flyaway shoulder-length hair and her lack of proper skin care (a dark tan) and then they would dwell on what was going on out at that farm with just Myra and two healthy, eligible men. Myra knew how it worked.

  She considered saving them the trouble and telling them how her trailer had been destroyed and how she was now living in the same (oh my goodness) house with those two healthy, eligible men. But she knew she wouldn't. Any town gossip would hurt her if Clarice did decide to take her to court. There would be speculations on twosomes, threesomes, and all kinds of illicit behavior as it was, and Myra didn't see any need to provide the fuel to start the fire. It would blaze on its own soon enough.

  She remained distant as she paid for her purchases in spite of an attempt at conversation by Vogel's fat wife. It seemed everyone was getting into the act. Let's all start talking to Myra instead of about her. It'll be fun!

  Myra wasn't fooled. After two years of only grudging nods and grunts, she wasn't about to be taken in by this new pretense of interest in her life, If she were ten years younger she thought she might've mooned them on the way out, Instead she merely parted her lips enough to show her teeth and carried her sacks out the door.

  Vic wasn't in the car. Myra put the sacks in the back and looked across the street. The diner was full of bodies, but she couldn't make out which one was Vic. She sat down in the passenger seat and did a quick hop as the upholstery burned the backs of her thighs. There was a strange smell in the hot, motionless air—like rotting meat. Myra wrinkled up her nose and covered her mouth with a hand.

  Five minutes later she remembered the ice cream and lightly tapped on the horn. When another five minutes passed, she leaned her hand on the horn and brought faces to nearly every window on the street. Vic finally appeared at the diner's door. He looked annoyed. She waved to him and he turned back inside for another full minute. By the time he loped across the street to the car she was beyond irritation. "Our ice cream has probably melted by now."

  "It'll be okay," he said. "You shouldn't have honked like that."

  "I was boiling alive out here. Aren't you going to call a real estate agency?"

  "I used Jinx's phone. You could've stayed in the grocery store until I was ready."

  "No, I couldn't have."

  He frowned at her. "Why not?"

  "Too many queen bees. I was about to get stung."

  "Don't you think you're being overly sensitive? You women kill me. Why do you automatically hate each other? These are nice people, Myra. Maybe you haven't made enough of an effort to be friends."

  Myra's jaw dropped, but she said nothing.

  Vic shook his head and started the engine. She watched him and couldn't help thinking something had changed in the short time they'd been separated. He was different.

  She knew what it was once they were on the road again. He was smiling like a fool.

  "Those old guys are a real riot. Sure, they're suspicious at first, but all small town people are like that. Once you start talking to each other everything's fine. Old Jinx had me rolling on the floor back there. I haven't laughed like that in ages."

  Myra looked away from him. Maybe it was different with men. Maybe having the dangling variety of genitalia guaranteed instant acceptance out here. She heaved an inward sigh and tuned him out as he went on chuckling and laughing about Jinx and the guys.

  Seven hundred miles away, Clarice Callahan was on the phone to her secretary. "Please find William for me. He's still in Louisiana. Delta Downs, I believe. I think he's racing his new colt today."

  Moments later she picked up the phone again and heard her husband's voice asking what the hell she wanted. It was almost post time.

  "I'm breaking my promise to you," Clarice said. "Myra has lost control. She accused me of attempted murder and even threatened me. She's dangerously ill, William. I've been telling you that for years and now you must believe me. She hasn't come around like you said she would. She has no money and no job, but she's determined not to accept our help. I'm very worried, dear. There was a fire. Cal is unhurt, but I'm not taking any chances. I'm going to send someone after him again."

  CHAPTER 9

  Jinx Lahr eyed the men seated at his counter. They were men he had known all his life. He knew everything about them—more, probably, than they knew about themselves. He had memories of each man's childhood and adolescence. He was familiar with each man's service record. He'd been to every wedding and knew the name of every child born. He knew the lives of these men as well as he knew his own. There were no secrets in the slack, wrinkled faces before him.

  But there was worry. It was a tangible thing, an odorous cloud in the thick, greasy air of his diner. If he chose, he could open his mouth and banish the cloud with a single sentence. But he decided to leave it hanging for the moment. He enjoyed watching them breathe in the worry and blow it helplessly out again in his direction. Always in his direction.

  "He let a total stranger move into the house," Vogel the grocer said in disgust. "Now, I know Myra's a nice-lookin' gal and all, but that boy a hers is pretty damn spooky. There's such a thing as bein' too smart."

  How would you know? Jinx thought.

  "Just ain't right," Vogel went on. "Pretty soon she'll be sleepin' with 'em. You know how city women are."

  All eyes fixed on Jinx, waiting. When he said nothing they gazed at each other again, ready to chew on the bone as long as it was available.

  "Can't afford to pay for the Kimmler place," Fred Bauer mumbled finally, and several of the others nodded their heads and murmured their agreement. Jinx remained aloof.

  "Ain't enough left over from the stud money," Bauer continued. "The horses brought in enough to replace those two old combines, but what's left ain't near enough to buy that place from Vic outright."

  Bauer ran the hardware store and liked to think he was something of an expert on farm equipment and finances. Jinx knew better. Bauer was dumb as a toad and twice as warty. Reading stock quotes in the paper and subscribing to ten different money magazines didn't make one an expert on anything but timing a trip to the bathroom to coincide with the end of an article. Though Compound W Bauer had his aspirations, Jinx was the actual treasurer. He always had been, and as long as he was the only one who understood fractions and decimals, he always would be.

  "You're not telling us anything we don't know, Fred," the white-haired Doc Stade said. "But what are we going to do if someone else buys Vic's place? We can't have that."

  More murmurs of agreement.

  "Maybe we can get a loan from a bank," Tom Hamm, owner of the gas station and garage suggested.

  "No," Kent Vogel said. "That's invitin' trouble into your living room. You want some bank officer snooping around out here to check up on the collateral? Hell if I do. And I don't know about the rest of you, but I say nay to riskin' our equipment for that pissant place. And the equipment's all we got for collateral, really, 'cause I sure ain't puttin' up my store or my house."

  "Well what do you suggest?" Bauer said. "You're the one who got us into this pot of dog doo. It was your idea to put the screws to Darwin."

  Vogel puffed out his chest and showed everyone the titties he'd developed over the years. The men had taken to teasing him about pencil tests and such, so he usually tried to keep his breasts hidden. Today he simply forgot. "He brought the Callahan’s in. He told us it was only gonna be that Patrick fella and then Myra and the boy showed up to make it three. He knew better. If we hadn't stopped him, how many others would he a brought in? It was his fault. He got what was comin' to him."

  "And we lost what he gave to us," Hank Nenndorf s
aid with a contemptuous spit into a paper cup he carried. "Any of you think about that yet? Anyone beginning to feel the bite? I might have to disconnect my cable here in a few weeks."

  "Me too," Tom Hamm lamented. "And that means I'm gonna miss that new show comin' out next month."

  "Yeah?" Fred Bauer said. "Which one?"

  Jinx was slowly shaking his head. Doc Stade noticed first, and one by one the others finally looked around. Jinx thought he had let them stew long enough. When they lapsed into talk of cable television it meant their tiny overworked brains had been tapped of viable solutions to the problem at hand and would rather contemplate less exhausting matters.

  "What is it, Jinx?" Doc Stade finally asked. "You come up with something? Hush, boys. Jinx has an idea for us."

  Jinx did, but it was risky. Risky because he hadn't had time to iron out all the wrinkles and consider every possible repercussion. But it was all they had.

  "I think,” he said slowly, so slowly that each of the men leaned forward on their stools, "I think I know of a way to keep the land without buyin' it. But it would also mean keepin' Darwin's boy."

  He held up a hand at the immediate burst of mumbles and grumbles that followed his statement. "He's one of us, boys. Don't forget that."

  "No, he ain't," Kent Vogel said. "He may have the name, but he ain't one of us."

  "He could be," Jinx suggested. "He surely could be, if we do things right. He's desperate about now. I told you how he was yesterday, all bright-eyed and high-steppin' before I told him about the horses. And you all seen him today when he come in. He's desperate as all get out. We could use that, and we could use his experience…if you know what I mean."

  Fred Bauer straightened. "For what? Are you talkin' about using him for the hunt?"

  "Think about it," Jinx said. "And speakin' of that, whose turn is it?"

  "Mine," Ed Kisner said in his soft voice.

  "When?" Jinx asked.

  "Soon. Real soon. I have to take care of some things first. I filed the change of address for Myra like you said, but the electric company wanted to know who out there is usin' the juice if she’s gone. I guess I'll tell 'em it's Darwin's boy and ask 'em to bill him from now on."