Trouble at the Red Pueblo

by Liz Adair

  “Think so? They’re both lefties.”

  “Of course, some people don’t throw rocks. They destroy pillows.”

  Spider looked over at her, eyes twinkling. “I didn’t think you noticed.”

  Laurie laughed out loud. “Not notice? When the room looked like something out of The Snows of Kilimanjaro?” She undid her seat belt, scooted over and kissed him under the ear. “I love you, Spider Latham.”

  “Mmmm. Careful, I’m driving.” He pulled up the center seat belt and handed it to her. “Buckle up.”

  They rode to where the Yugo was parked, shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh, with Laurie’s hand on his knee. When they pulled in, he turned and looked at her, a smile playing around his lips. “So, here’s the plan. You take the pickup back to the hotel. I’ll bring the Yugo and go by to check on Karam.”

  “Sounds good so far.”

  “Then I thought something sweet before dinner would be nice. You got any more of those cookies?”

  She kissed him, a lingering, slow promise that left them both a little breathless. “I’ll come up with something,” she said.

  THE CLICK OF the door closing woke Spider the next morning, and he opened his eyes to a vacant place in the bed beside him. Rising up on one elbow, he saw that the sound was Laurie returning to the room. “Where you been?”

  “Good morning,” she said. “I was just checking on Karam.”

  Spider yawned. “Yeah? How’s he doing?”

  “Pretty well. The lump on his head is gone. The spot is still a little tender, but there’s no headache. And he had a good breakfast.

  “You took him breakfast?”

  “Yep. Oatmeal and toast.”

  “I wouldn’t call that breakfast.”

  “They’re serving pancakes across the street as part of the celebration, so you’d better get up. Karam is going to join us later in the morning, and we’re going to wander.”

  Grumbling about overbearing women, Spider got up, showered and shaved. By nine o’clock they had joined citizens and tourists under an awning on the lawn of the Latter-day Saint chapel across from City Hall.

  Jack and Amy were there and joined them in the serving line. Jack was his usual jovial self, but Amy seemed distracted. Her eyes constantly raked the surrounding throngs as if looking for someone, and Spider was pretty sure who it was.

  “Do you have a date with Austin Lee today?” he asked.

  Amy’s head whipped around. “Why do say that?”

  Spider shrugged. “You looked like you were expecting someone.”

  Amy picked up her plate and studied a pile of pancakes in a warming pan. “I may see him today.”

  “If you do, would you tell him I’m looking for him?”

  Amy blinked. “Why would you want to talk to him?”

  Spider spooned a pile of scrambled eggs on his plate. “Oh, a little matter of mistaken identity.”

  Spider became aware that Jack had stopped his conversation with Laurie and was listening to what he was saying to Amy.

  Looking at Spider, Jack asked, “Who’s Austin?”

  “A fellow I’ve had some dealings with this week. I’ll fill you in later.”

  Jack seemed to accept that, and they carried their plates to a long line of tables clad in butcher paper. During breakfast, Laurie kept up a flow of chatter with both Jack and Amy while Spider listened and watched Amy’s darting eyes.

  When they were finished, he suggested the ladies go to the bandstand and watch a group of young cloggers. He had something to talk over with Jack. Laurie took Amy’s arm and headed across the lawn to the benches set in front of the stage, but Amy kept dragging her feet, glancing over her shoulder with her brows knit.

  Spider walked with Jack to the stone steps leading up to the historic old chapel, now a family history center. He climbed halfway up and sat down. The position was away from listening ears and was also a good vantage point for spotting potential trouble, like someone looking to get him in a chokehold.

  Jack sat beside him. “What do you need to talk about, Spencer? Are you in some sort of trouble?”

  “First, my name’s Spider. No, I’m not in trouble. I wanted to ask you the same thing.”

  Jack drew back and blinked. “You wanted to know if I was in trouble? Whatever gave you that idea?”

  “Austin Lee. You’re sure you’ve never had anything to do with him?”

  “Positive.”

  “Well, he was on your property a couple days ago. I caught him driving down from the spring, and from what I know, that’s a bad sign. Especially when I find out he’s been dating Amy.” Spider went on to tell Jack the history, as he knew it, of Austin’s mode of operation. When he finished, he added, “I don’t want to see Amy hurt.”

  “Thank you.” Jack stood and looked at his watch. “I’ve got to get to the office. I don’t usually work during Western Legends, but a patient broke a wire yesterday, and I need to fix it.”

  Spider stood as well, his jaw set. Jack was blowing him off. Didn’t he realize how dangerous Austin was to someone in Amy’s fragile emotional state? “Will you say something to her?” he asked, trying to keep an edge out of his voice.

  Jack shook his head. “Amy is an adult. She operates within a different paradigm from lots of folks, but everybody has some sort of flaw. She’ll work through it and come out the other side a better person, I don’t doubt.” He started down the stairs but turned around to say, “I know you mean well. Thanks, Spencer.”

  “It’s Spider.” He spoke through clenched teeth as he watched Jack’s retreating form. Just beyond, Spider saw Karam coming up the street, scanning the crowd. Jack paused to talk to him, and Spider saw him turn and point out Spider’s position. Karam followed his line of sight, spotted Spider, and waved. Spider returned the wave and descended the stairs to meet him.

  “How’re you doing?” he asked when he met the younger man. “It looks like you got a bit of a shiner.”

  “Shiner? You will have to translate.”

  Spider traced an arc under his own eye. “A black eye. Don’t worry. It’s not real noticeable.”

  Karam pulled out his cell phone to catalog the idiom, whispering the word as he recorded it. Dropping the phone back in his pocket, he asked, “Where is Laurie?”

  “She’s over at the stage. Come on.”

  They joined the ladies just as two actors in cowboy getup were presenting a shootout skit. Spider thought it was overdone, but Karam enjoyed it hugely. When that was over, Laurie led them to one of the booths along Main Street that sold cowboy clothing. She chose a paisley print bandana hanging on a rack and paid the vendor.

  “You’ve got a bruise on your neck,” she said to Karam. “Let’s tie this around to hide it. The cowboys call it a wild rag.”

  The young man stood still while Laurie knotted the bandana, and then he touched it. “You are very kind.”

  “Not at all,” Laurie said. “Now, let’s plan our day. I want Karam to see the quilt show.”

  Spider snorted. “Do you think he’ll enjoy that as much as the shootout?”

  Laurie nodded. “He teaches American History. A lot of the old fashioned quilt patterns grew out of the settlers’ need to use up every scrap of material they had. It’s part of his education.”

  “I agree,” Karam said. “I would like to see the quilt show. And then, Spider, would you take me to check on my car? I got a call from my mechanic. He said he has good news and bad news for me.”

  Laurie herded the men across the grass and into the gymnasium of the LDS chapel sitting in the middle of town. The room was awash with colors and patterns, with a hundred quilts hanging on dividers bisecting the room. Two ladies welcomed them, gave them slips of paper, and asked them to vote for best of show.

  Karam chuckled. “You Americans vote on everything.” He seemed to take the matter seriously, though, and considered each entry carefully as he moved around the room, finally writing the number of his choice in the blank and dropping it i
nto the box.

  Spider, who had been observing Karam from a folding chair by the door, got up as he approached. “Have you seen Laurie?” he asked.

  “Yes. She is over there.” Karam pointed toward a table in the corner underneath a magnificent appliquéd quilt that looked like a painting of the red mesas surrounding Kanab.

  Laurie saw them looking at her and smiled, waving three ticket stubs as she joined them. “I entered us all into the drawing for that quilt.” She handed them each a ticket. “They’re going to give it away tonight right after Jack and I sing.”

  Spider put his in his pocket. “Do you want to come with Karam and me to see his mechanic?”

  Laurie shook her head. “As inviting as that sounds, I’m going to see if Jack wants to practice for tonight. Call me when you get back, and we’ll find something nice and greasy for lunch.”

  “Sounds good to me. Come on, Karam. Let’s go see that E-type Jag of yours.” As they walked back to the hotel, Spider asked, “How far do we have to go?”

  “Not far. On a better day I could have walked.”

  “We can take the Yugo and gas up on the way back. I was in a hurry to get to the hotel last night, so I didn’t stop.”

  They walked to the hotel parking lot and got the car. Karam directed Spider to a single wide mobile home on the other side of Kanab Creek that had a rambling shop building out back. Spider pulled up in front of a roll-up door, and a wizened fellow in immaculate coveralls stepped out of an adjacent door, hand raised in greeting.

  “Come meet my mechanic,” Karam said, pulling on the latch.

  Spider got out and ambled over to join Karam and the other man in the shade of the shop building. Karam introduced the older man as Shorty, and Spider shook his hand.

  “That’s quite a car,” Shorty said, nodding toward the Yugo. “Essentially a Fiat 128. Great for basic transportation, but Americans made fun of it.”

  “So did the Brits. I was in London when I had a Yugo,” Karam said. “One of the jokes was that every owner’s manual included a bus schedule.”

  Shorty chuckled. “In 1990, when the Yugo came out with a rear window defroster, people said it was so you could keep your hands warm while you pushed it.” He patted the orange-and-flames fender. “But I’ve always had a soft spot for it. Kind of like the little engine that could. You know NATO bombed the factory during the war in Bosnia, but they’re still turning out Yugos. You gotta feel good about that.” He stepped to the garage door behind him and rolled it up.

  Spider glanced behind Shorty at a low-slung car sitting in the shadows. “Is that the E-type?”

  “Yes. Come and see it.” Shorty turned on the overhead lights as Karam led Spider inside to where they could view the car from the front.

  Spider whistled. His eyes took in the long hood, a full half the length of the car. Painted British racing green, the black canvas top was down, showing off the tan leather seats and walnut steering wheel. The dashboard was all business with rocker switches in a bank across the middle and dials taking up the rest of the space.

  Shorty pulled a cloth from his back pocket and polished a spot on the fender just above one of the recessed headlamps. “In 1960, when Jaguar released the E-type, Enzo Ferrari called it the most beautiful car ever made.”

  “I believe him,” Spider said. “Can I see under the hood?”

  “Sure.” Karam bent over the cockpit and twisted a chrome hook mounted on the doorpost while Shorty twisted its twin on the passenger side, releasing the latches located up by the windshield. Shorty lifted the hood, swinging it forward on hinges at the front bumper and exposing an expanse of metal and hoses completely filling the engine cavity.

  “In the 1970’s they changed from a V-6 to a 5.3 liter V-12,” Shorty said.

  “Wow,” Spider said reverently. “I suppose it’s got overhead cams?”

  “Yep,” Shorty said. “It’ll produce 241 horsepower.”

  “Great suffering zot.” Spider still spoke in a hushed voice. “What kind of transmission?”

  “Manual. It’s a four speed synchromesh, not without problems.”

  “Is that the good news or the bad news?” Karam asked.

  Shorty lowered the hood and made sure it was latched. “That’s the good news. I’ve found a rebuilt one in Los Angeles that I can have here in three days.”

  “And the bad news?”

  Shorty jerked his head toward a workbench. “Come over here and I’ll show you.”

  “Can I sit in it?” Spider asked.

  “Sure.” Karam spoke over his shoulder as he followed Shorty. “Be my visitor.”

  “Guest,” Spider said, opening the door. “Be my guest.” Getting in the car took a bit of folding, but when he was finally in the bucket seat, he found he had plenty of leg room. Sitting was surprisingly comfortable, even though he was so low to the ground.

  “Go ahead and start it,” Shorty said. “There’s nothing wrong with the engine.”

  Spider turned the key, gave it some gas when the engine caught, and was immediately entranced with the throaty rumble enveloping him. He revved the engine and closed his eyes, wearing the throbbing of the powerful engine like a mantle pulled around him. Reluctantly, he turned off the key and looked over at Karam. “I think I’m in love.”

  Karam grinned. “Careful. She is high maintenance.” He held up a small metal part.

  Spider climbed out and noted the solid sound as he closed the door. “She’s way out of my league.” He walked over to join the two men. “Is that the bad news?”

  “Yes,” Karam said. “I don’t understand what it is this does, but the part is essential and unavailable.”

  “Let me see.” Spider held out his hand for the tapered cylinder. He hefted it and ran his thumb over the ridges scored at precise intervals down the length of it. “Couldn’t you machine it?” he asked Shorty.

  “You could if you had the right lathe and lots of skill. I don’t have either one, and neither does anyone else in town.”

  Spider handed the part back to Shorty. “I can do it.”

  “You can?” Karam’s eyes widened and a smile lit his face.

  “Yeah, but not ‘til I get back home, and that won’t be ‘til I’m through with what I’m doing here.” Spider watched the smile fade and tried to offer consolation. “You’re still looking at two weeks. Wasn’t that what you thought it was going to be anyway?”

  Karam stuck his hands in his pockets and nodded. He walked back to the car in the driveway, kicking pebbles as he went, leaving Spider to say good-bye to Shorty.

  “Glad to have met you,” Spider said. “Tell me, how is it that you know so much about E-types?”

  Shorty wiped his hands on a rag and stuck it in his back pocket. “I spent thirty years in L.A. working for a Jaguar dealership. I started there the year they made this one.” He pointed to Karam’s car.

  “So, how did you get from L.A. to Kanab?”

  “Oh, after I retired, the wife and I bought a motor home. We were going to spend a couple years touring the U.S. of A. We planned to spend a couple weeks here in Kanab.” Shorty chuckled. “Been here ten years now.”

  “So it was a good move?”

  “The best.” Shorty walked with Spider out to where the Yugo was parked. “The fellows at the garage in town know I’m here, and if something comes along too exotic for them, they send it on up to me. Somehow, word’s got around that I know E-types. Every now and then, I get someone bringing one in.”

  “Are there that many E-types in Kanab?”

  Shorty laughed. “No, they come from California and Nevada. Even had one come from Wisconsin. Hey, there aren’t too many of us around that know how they work.” He looked Spider in the eye. “I could take on more work if I had a good machinist working with me.”

  Spider held up his hands and took a step back. “I’m only here for a week or so.”

  Shorty smiled. “That’s what I said ten years ago.”

  Spider opened his door. “Wan
t me to drop by before I leave town and see if you still need me to manufacture that part?”

  “That would be great.” Shorty cast a glance at Karam, sitting slump-shouldered in the Yugo. “It’s hard on the young ‘un.”

  “Yeah,” Spider agreed. “I’d better get him back to the festivities, see if we can find something to take his mind off the bad news.”

  Shorty looked at his watch. “You’d better scoot. They’ll be closing streets for the parade any time.”

  Spider touched the brim of his hat. “Thanks. We will.” He got in the car, started the engine, and drove around the circular drive and back onto the city street, heading towards the center of town.

  Karam let out a big sigh and asked, “Do you believe in destiny?”

  Spider noted the earnest expression on his companion’s face. “Does this have anything to do with your car?”

  “Actually, it does.” Karam looked out the windshield as they dipped down into Kanab Creek Wash and pointed at a shady spot at the top. “Can you stop there? This may take a while.”

  Spider’s eyebrows rose, but he pulled over, rolled down the windows, and turned off the engine. “Okay, shoot.”

  Karam looked at his hands for a moment and then he met Spider’s questioning gaze. “You know I am Muslim.” He waited for Spider to nod assent and went on. “Belief in Allah’s power to know and control all things is one of the six articles of faith in Islam. It is called Qadar.”

  “Destiny?”

  “A special kind of destiny,” Karam said. “A person has the freedom, the choice to do as he wants, but he has no control over the outcome of his choices. It is Allah’s will that controls to what destiny that path will lead.”

  The corners of Spider’s mouth lifted ever so slightly. “So what has qadar got to do with the E-type sitting in Shorty’s garage?”

  Karam looked like he was trying not to smile. “You’re not saying it right. The R has to come from down in your throat. Ask your question again, but say it right this time.”

  “I don’t know if I can remember it. What does… qadar… have to do with the E-type?”

  “Excellent, Spider. Well said. Now I will answer. Qadar has everything to do with it.”