Peak Oil

by Arno Joubert

  He swung the chair around, sitting with his back to them. He greeted someone and read back the badge numbers. He listened to the response as he swiveled back to face them, nodded his head, and placed the phone back on the receiver. He slid the badges back to them, leaned back into his chair with a sigh, and shook his head. “You never thought of imparting this information before you were arrested?”

  Alexa stared blankly at the man. “No one questioned our authority, they simply judged our actions.”

  He closed his eyes. His eyebrows twitched. “Do you realize that I have just arrested a member of Interpol, an organization that has political immunity and the full cooperation of the US government?” he asked, looking up at the ceiling.

  Alexa and Neil looked at each other and then up at the ceiling. White, like it had been painted yesterday.

  Harvey continued his conversation with the upper interior surface of the room. “Do you realize that I could be fired for not cooperating with you?” He now leaned forward, still not speaking to them directly.

  “Why are you in my station?” Harvey asked to no one in particular.

  Neil leaned forward. “We’re here looking for two men who went missing a couple of days ago.”

  The deputy sighed. “So open a missing persons.” He lifted his hand, palm-up, indifferently. “We’ll have it checked out.”

  Neil shook his head. “They were last seen with you, Deputy. Two French men.” He leaned back in his chair. “Bis Latorre, blonde, blue eyes, six foot five.”

  Harvey nodded. “And the other guy?”

  “Reg Voelkner, dark hair, brown eyes, skinny, five nine.”

  The deputy crossed his arms. “Yes. I don’t remember their names, but they were taken in for the same thing as Miss Guerra over here.” He looked up at the ceiling, recalling the incident. “It was a big deal making the arrest; they knocked out three of my men before we managed to tase and arrest them.” He leaned back in his chair. It squeaked softly as he rocked back and forth. “They slept their stupor off, and I dropped them at the town limits.”

  “Entering or exiting?” Neil asked.

  “At the far end of town, on the way out, close to the suburbs.” Harvey raised his eyebrows and leaned forward. “Who were they?” he asked.

  “Interpol as well.”

  Harvey’s jaw dropped. “Damn it! There you’ve gone and made me do it again.” He flew up from his chair and paced around the office, his hands behind his back. “You want to tell me that I’ve managed to arrest three members of Interpol in a shade under three days?” He slammed the table with a flat hand. “Lord, I beg of you.”

  Harvey stared at them. “Why didn’t you come to me first?” he asked, blinking three times.

  Alexa shrugged. “We reconnaissanced the area first. Someone didn’t like some of the questions that we happened to be asking.” She folded her arms and leaned back in the chair. “We would have come to you next.”

  Harvey stopped his pacing and stood in front of the window, staring out with dazed eyes.

  Neil cast Alexa a knowing glance. She silently mouthed the words “Oh là là” to him.

  Harvey’s left shoulder twitched twice. He nodded as if making up his mind and turned around, looking at them intently. “I guess you have your own way of doing things.” A smile spread across his face. “It seems that my department has made an error of egregious proportions. Down here, it’s a common courtesy to greet your hosts first.”

  Neil frowned. “Your hosts?”

  Harvey grinned a yellowed-tooth smile. “But of course. Dabbort County would like to welcome you as our guests.” His voice was friendly. He stuck a hand out at Neil. “We are at your service.”

  Alexa glanced at Neil uncertainly and then back at Harvey. “Okay, how about a good place to stay?” She shook the plump hand that Harvey stuck out in front of her. “I need to clean up and have a meal.”

  Harvey nodded and hurried to his table. He took out a notepad from a drawer and scribbled something on it. “This is the best place in town. I dropped the Frenchies close by, at a bus stop.” He tore the note off and handed it to Alexa.

  She took it. “Thanks. We’ll probably need to talk again.”

  Harvey nodded vigorously, his jowls bouncing up and down on his reddened face. “But off course, Miss Guerra. You knock on my door anytime, you hear me now?”

  The older man examined the matrix of numbers printed on the page in front of him. He scrolled his finger fifteen columns across and went down three rows.

  “Why not start with Manhattan?” he whispered.

  He waited for the voice prompt and punched the number on the sheet into his cell as requested. The metallic voice confirmed his selection, and he looked back up at the sheet. He punched in a second sequence of numbers and nodded as he heard the confirmation from the metallic voice. “System shutdown to commence in seven days.”

  He nodded and sucked on his teeth as he disconnected the call.

  Alexa parked the car beneath the shade of a green ash on the cobblestoned driveway of the Ocelot Inn. A flagstone walkway led up the hill to a large, three-story log building. A wooden signpost had been planted in a bed of lavender beside the walkway. A hand had been painted on it; the index finger pointed up the path with the word “RECEPTION” painted beneath it.

  Alexa got out of the car and stretched. She noticed a curtain part slightly in a window in one of the rooms upstairs. Neil pulled his kit bag and her Rimowa rolling suitcase from the trunk, and they made their way along the flowered walkway to reception. Colorful red hibiscus and oxeye daisies were planted in raised beds to the side of the path.

  A plump black lady sat behind the counter reading a copy of The Scientific American. A young girl stared up at them from behind the reception desk, her chin propped up on the counter. The woman hefted her bulky frame up from the chair and greeted them with a smile.

  “We’ve howdied over the phone, but we ain’t shook yet.” She stuck out a chubby hand toward Neil. “My name is Pauline, but people around here call me Missy.”

  She gave Alexa a motherly hug and held her at arm’s length, looking her up and down. “My, my, now ain’t you just a piddly ole thing?”

  Alexa smiled. She had already taken a liking to the woman.

  Missy insisted on carrying their bags to the room. The young girl followed behind Missy, tugging on the hem of her dress. Missy stopped in front of a door and unlocked it. The young girl gazed up at Neil, smiling shyly.

  Neil knelt next to her. “What’s your name, little girl?” he asked.

  She popped her thumb out of her mouth. “Mary-Lou, sir.” She popped her thumb back in. She had grey eyes. Her short dreadlocks, tied at the top with small colorful ribbons, stuck out from her head at crazy angles like needles on a pin cushion.

  Missy patted the girls’ head. “Take no notice of my darling grandchild, mister. The engine’s running, but ain’t nobody driving.” She winked at Neil. “She won’t get in your way, not on my watch, no sir.” She pinched the child’s cheek, and Mary-Lou beamed up at her grandmother.

  Neil stuck out a hand. “Pleased to meet you, Mary-Lou. You have a mighty fine name.”

  The girl giggled, let go of Missy’s dress, and shook Neil’s hand. She didn’t let go.

  “Now you all tell me if you need to fill some empty tummies, and Missy will whip up some vittles faster than shit passes through a goose.” She stood, watching them, her hand planted on her hip.

  Neil laughed and Alexa couldn’t help but smile. She was hungry. “That would be excellent, Mrs. Missy. I am kind of starving.”

  Missy hooked her arms into theirs and led them to the dining room. “You holler when you need anything at all.” She smiled at Alexa. “And just call me Missy.”

  Alexa entered the dining room first. Three people sat at a table in a corner having an animated discussion. Their voices died down when they saw her. A man and a woman looked up and smiled at Missy. The third man sat with his back to them. He looke
d like the same cowboy that they had seen at the bar.

  Missy’s body stiffened. “Get out,” she grunted and marched to their table. “Out, now.” She yanked the cowboy by his shoulder.

  The cowboy stood up and headed toward the exit. He was tall, wiry, and walked with a comfortable, loping gait. He touched the brim of his hat and nodded as he passed them.

  Missy strode back to their table, leaned in conspiratorially, and whispered. “Sorry about that. Mr. and Mrs. Beck are new in town.” She smiled awkwardly. “Wouldn’t want them to get mixed up with the wrong influences.”

  She steered them to a table and they took their seats. “What would you folks like to drink?” Missy asked.

  “Coffee, please,” Neil said.

  Missy nodded. She looked at Alexa.

  “I’ll have a Coke,” Alexa said.

  “What kind?” Missy asked. “We have Coke, Sprite, Dr. Pepper, and Pepsi.”

  Alexa frowned. “Um, Coke?”

  Missy nodded. “Ain’t got no formal menu, as such. I’ll make lunch up with what’s in the fridge if that’s okay by you folks?” She didn’t wait for an answer and disappeared into the kitchen, dragging Mary-Lou behind her.

  The Becks made their way to their table, holding hands.

  “Hi, there. David Beck.” The man stuck out his hand. “This is my wife, Lucy.”

  Neil and Alexa greeted them and introduced themselves. The Becks stood at their table, smiling at them and looking from one to the other.

  Neil sighed and motioned to a chair. “Have a seat.”

  David nodded, pulled a chair out for his wife and sat down next to her. He grinned at Alexa. “I hear you visited the slammer.”

  Alexa looked at him, cocking her head. “News spreads fast.”

  He shrugged. “I guess.”

  “Why?” Lucy asked with a concerned look on her face.

  Alexa touched Neil’s arm before he could protest. “A misunderstanding, that’s all.”

  David turned to Neil. “Chris tells me you left Pete banged up; he was hollering like a mangy mutt down at the clinic.”

  Alexa glanced at Neil. “You did what?”

  Neil shrugged. “I questioned the barman.”

  Alexa mouthed a silent “Oh.”

  Missy walked in balancing two plates, cutlery, and sodas on a tray. David Beck smiled and stood up. “We best get going ourselves. See you all later.” They said their farewells and the Becks sauntered away.

  Missy made a show of unloading the plates, piled high with burgers and fries. She arranged the cutlery and poured their drinks. “Eat up, now.” She smiled at Alexa and squeezed her shoulder. “We need to put some meat on those bones, you hear me?”

  Alexa grinned and popped a fry in her mouth. “Who was the cowboy?”

  Missy wiped her hands on her apron. “Oh, he’s nobody. Works for Mr. Fitch, or so he says. No one knows what he s’posed to be doin’ around here. Always snoopin’ round, sticking his nose into everyone’s business.”

  Missy waved her hand and tossed a napkin over her shoulder. “The water supply is on the fritz again. You’ll need to wait a bit for me to start the pump going on the rain container.” She leaned closer and winked. “Lucky I keep the tank full for times like these. Gimme fifteen minutes before you take a shower or fill the tub.”

  They thanked Missy, and she disappeared back into the kitchen, leaving Mary-Lou behind. The little girl stood there, staring at Alexa.

  “Guess what I have?” she asked Alexa, holding one arm behind her back.

  Alexa smiled and lifted the girl up onto her lap. “I don't know. Show me.”

  Mary-Lou held up her hand with a flourish and handed a small photo to Alexa. “You’re beautiful. Just like the girl in the picture.”

  “Thank you, my darling.” Alexa studied the photo and her eyes widened. “Where did you find this, Mary-Lou?” She handed the passport-sized photo of herself to Neil.

  Mary-Lou shrugged. “The man that fell. I found it in his pocket.”

  “Where?” Alexa asked.

  Mary-Lou jumped down from Alexa's lap. “Come, I’ll show you,” she shouted as she bolted out the door.

  Mary-Lou dashed down the hill toward the road, and Neil and Alexa jogged to keep pace. A hundred yards farther down, she stopped at the main road for a second and scanned left and right. Mary-Lou looked over her shoulder to make sure that she was still being followed.

  “Grandma Pauline says to always look left and right before crossing the road,” she said to them. Neil grabbed her hand as an oil tanker rumbled past.

  Mary-Lou pulled him across the road and stopped at the bus stop. She pointed to a spot next to it. “There, that’s where he was sleeping.”

  “So you took his wallet?” Neil asked with a frown.

  She nodded. “I found it on the ground. I only took the picture of the pretty lady, I promise,” Mary-Lou said and crossed her heart. “And I put the wallet back in his pocket.”

  Neil walked around the bus stop, kicking at some clumps of grass. Alexa examined the surrounding area but found nothing useful.

  Alexa blew back a strand of dark hair from her eyebrow. “Do you know what the man looked like?”

  The girl shrugged. “He was asleep; I couldn’t see.”

  Neil scanned up and down the road. A side road led to a small bus terminal nestled between some trees. Two hundred yards down the road, he could make out a leafy suburb. No sign of any movement in the road.

  Alexa nodded. “Okay then, let’s go finish our burgers and try to piece this together.”

  They walked back up the hill toward the Ocelot Inn, and Mary-Lou held Neil’s hand, skipping merrily as she went.

  Chris Fitch stood, leaning against the wall of the greengrocer across the road, out of sight. He studied the three people walking up the hill.

  The man was tall and solidly built; he had a bounce in his step, like an athlete. The dark-headed woman was a beauty, a head shorter than the man. She had a musical voice that reminded him of bells when she laughed.

  He took a final puff from his Marlboro, flicked it onto the sidewalk, and ground it with the heel of his boot. He fumbled in his pockets for a cell phone and punched in a number.

  “McAllister’s Mortuary, this is Mac speaking.”

  “Mac, Chris. You taken care of the Frenchies like my dad asked you to?”

  “Yep. Cremated this morning.” The man laughed. “Not a dry eye in the house.”

  Chris Fitch nodded, fanning his face with his Stetson. “You’re going to handle the accident?” he asked.

  “Yep. Already on it,” Mac said.

  Chris Fitch nodded. He disconnected the call and glanced toward the roof of the Ocelot Inn that was visible at the top of the hill. Poor Missy.

  Reg Voelkner opened his eyes, but he couldn’t see a thing. His ribs throbbed, and it felt as if his brain was about to explode. He propped himself up but felt himself being firmly pushed back down.

  “Shush now, lay back down. Do you know where you are?” a gentle female voice asked.

  He shook his head. He could barely move his neck.

  “You’re in Saint Josephine’s Clinic in Dabbort Creek, Texas. My name is Nurse Betty Parker. Can you remember what happened to you?”

  Voelkner scanned his memory banks. “Bar fight,” he whispered hoarsely. He had probably broken his back; he couldn’t feel his legs.

  “That’s right. You were messed up badly. You took a beer bottle on the melon, and you were beaten like a red-headed stepchild afterward.”

  Voelkner groaned as a spike of pain shot through his chest. “How long?”

  The nurse was silent for a while. “Four days, give or take. We had to sedate you; you were moaning somethin’ awful, disturbing the other patients and all.”

  He swallowed. “Am I blind?”

  “No, honey, we wrapped you up real good, taped your eyes shut to keep them from drying out. Here, let me just—”

  Voelkner heard a loud teari
ng noise as his eyelid felt like it was ripped from his face. He jumped up and tumbled from the bed, an IV stand crashing down next to him.

  “Do you want to maim me for life, you crazy bitch?” he shouted in French.

  He saw a blurry sneaker on a shiny, linoleum floor in his peripheral vision. A knee appeared next to it.

  “My, my, you are a feisty one, aren’t you? And you speak foreign.”

  He pushed himself up to his knees and hung his head, trying to fight the dizziness. He fumbled blindly where he thought his face was but he felt nothing. His bandaged hand slipped on the smooth floor and he fell down on his face. He heard his nose crack, and felt tears well up under his eyes.

  “Merde!” he shouted.

  The nurse helped him to his feet and back into bed. Her hands were strong and supportive. She picked up the IV stand and rolled it back into position. “Now let’s take the final one off.”

  Voelkner held his bandaged hand in the air. He wondered if it had been amputated. “Wait, you crazy bitch, before I lose my other eye,” he said in French.

  “Oh, you speak pretty. You want to do it yourself then? Okay, let me unwrap your hand.”

  She gently peeled the bandage from his arm. Finally, he saw his hand. He moved his fingers; they worked just fine.

  “Shit, you people must use up a crapload of bandages in this place,” he said in English.

  “Ooh, I love your accent,” Nurse Betty said as she unwrapped his other hand. “You could say we’re well-stocked, yes.” She cut a plaster holding all the bandages in place. “We need to use up all our stock before the end of the month to make room for the new stuff. Mr. Fitch is real generous.”

  Voelkner peeled the plaster from his eyebrow and tried to gently pull it off. It was stuck on solidly. He shrugged and used Nurse Betty’s method. “Oh, shit, you foul-mouthed whore of Satan,” he screamed in French and writhed in pain. Nurse Betty held his thrashing body down on the bed and whispered soothing words into his ear.

  “There, there now, mister. Here, take a look.”

  She handed him a mirror. He blinked his eyes. His eyebrows were gone and his nose was more skewed than he had remembered it; apart from that, he looked the same. He shrugged. Any change to his face was probably an improvement. He looked over the mirror at the smiling face of Nurse Betty.