Carrying Albert Home

by Homer Hickam

  “Denver’s my given name,” he said. “My mama, she went to Colorado once and never got over it.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with Denver for a name,” Elsie said.

  “You thirsty?” Denver asked.

  “Not for that rockgut I suspect you’ve got in that glass. But I guess I could use a glass of water.”

  Denver walked over to the kitchen sink, where there was a pump. He took a glass from a shelf, pumped water in it, rinsed, then pumped some more. He handed the glass over to Elsie, then pulled out a chair for her at the table. “You hungry?”

  “No,” Elsie said, even though she was. For all she knew, he was going to drug her, then drag her into the unmade bed in the corner and have his way with her. She sat in the offered chair and drank the water, which she guessed was safe since it had just been drawn. It tasted sweet and she discreetly wiped her lips with the back of her hand before asking, “Why am I here?”

  Denver sat down at the table and studied her. Finally, he said, “I’m making a run tonight. All the way to Charlotte. If I have a woman with me, the police there will think I’m a regular Joe with a wife or out with my girl. I asked Troy to find me a hootchy-kootchy girl to play the part.”

  “I’m no hootchy-kootchy girl but I am a wife,” Elsie said.

  Denver smiled. “Then you should be perfect to go on a run with me. How would you like to make a hundred dollars? No, I take that back. Two hundred.”

  Elsie’s eyes involuntarily widened but she answered, “I can’t. I have a husband to find. He went off with Varmint in our car to test it after it got fixed at the gas station.”

  “If he went off with Varmint, he’s going to be fine. Varmint’s harmless. I see what’s happened now. Kind of a misunderstanding. Where are you from?”

  “West Virginia but I lived in Florida for a while.”

  Denver smiled. Elsie couldn’t help but admire what a nice smile it was. “Tell you what,” he said, “if you like, I’ll leave you here and, after I make my run, I’ll send word to Varmint to tell your husband where you are. But if you go with me tonight, I’ll send Flap off to fetch your husband right away. They can meet us in Charlotte.”

  “I’d prefer you send Flap off to fetch my husband right now,” Elsie said.

  “Can’t. I need him to finish loading my car. Besides, your husband might want to go to the police. No, the best thing is for them to meet us in Charlotte after the run.”

  “What about my alligator?” Elsie asked.

  “You have an alligator?”

  “He’s the reason we’re on the road. We’re carrying him home to Florida, but because of all this mess, I had to leave him at the gas station. His name’s Albert and if he or my husband’s hurt in any way, I will track down every one of you and kill you.” She tilted her chin up. “Don’t think I won’t, either. I have Cherokee blood in me.”

  Denver chuckled. “I’ll have Flap fetch Albert, too,” he promised. “All you have to do is go with me to Charlotte.”

  Elsie gave it all some thought, then looked at the cards on the table. “You’re losing at solitaire,” she said.

  “I ain’t much of a card player.”

  “What’s this load that Flap’s putting in your car?”

  Denver raised his glass to her. “Liquor. Moonshine. White lightning. Corn squeezings. Clear death. Best stuff in North Carolina, bar none.”

  “So you’re not only a kidnapper,” Elsie said, “you’re a bootlegger.”

  Denver smiled, then slowly shook his head. “No, ma’am, I’m a driver. The best one in this and several states. We move the ’shine at night from a couple of local distilleries.”

  “And you want me to join your gang?”

  “It ain’t no gang. There’s just me.”

  “What about Troy, Flap, and Varmint?”

  “Flap’s my brother. Troy and Varmint are cousins. They just help out from time to time.”

  Elsie gave it all some thought. “You sure Flap will bring Homer and Albert to Charlotte?”

  Denver put out his hand. “Yes, ma’am. I swear to you that’s exactly what he will do.”

  Elsie looked into Denver’s eyes, which seemed not only soft and warm but also sincere. She put her hand in his. “I want my two hundred dollars in advance.”

  Denver shook her hand, then stood up. “We have signed articles and that will be enough for now unless we could hug up a little and perhaps kiss to seal our bargain.”

  Denver was quite handsome and a hug and a kiss from him would not have been entirely unwelcome had they been in different circumstances but they weren’t, so Elsie said, “I’m ready to go but let me tell you one thing, just so we’re clear. You touch me and you’re a dead man.”

  Denver threw back his head and laughed. “Well, ain’t you the grittiest female I’ve been around in a coon’s age!” Still chuckling, he stood up. “You’re going to enjoy this. Trust me.”

  Unaccountably, Elsie realized she was excited by what lay ahead. “I’ve always wondered what it would be like to be gangster’s moll,” she admitted.

  Denver shook his head. “Why, Elsie, I’m not a gangster and you surely ain’t no moll.”

  “I could write poetry like Bonnie of Clyde. How did it go? You’ve read the story of Jesse James, of how he lived and died. If you’re still in need of something to read, here’s the story of Bonnie and Clyde. Of course, Denver and Elsie will be harder to rhyme but I can work on that. Can I drive part of the way?”

  “No! This ain’t no subject for poetry and it ain’t no Sunday pleasure drive. This is my job. Your job is to just sit there beside me and be quiet like a good little pigeon.”

  Elsie frowned. Despite his warm blue eyes and dangerous air, Denver’s insistence on controlling her was beginning to remind her of Homer and she didn’t like it. In fact, even though she resisted feeling that way, she was kind of happy to be rid of Homer for a little while. He’d been getting at her with his being so kind when she’d compared him unfavorably to Buddy at the plantation, and then when she’d led the mill workers and then been hit by a rock, he’d held her and told her it was okay when she knew very well he didn’t think it was at all. In fact, since they’d been carrying Albert home, he hadn’t tried to be very controlling at all. Her feelings toward Homer were so confusing, she decided to stop thinking about them. She concentrated, instead, on what was going to happen next with a man whose maleness was so strong, Elsie’s legs were fairly made weak when he opened the door to his coupe and bade her to climb inside, to sit beside him, and, as he put it, “experience a little of life on the wild side.”

  17

  HOMER DROVE THE BUICK DOWN THE ROAD. THE MOTOR wasn’t knocking anymore although it was still a little rough. “With them cleaned-up spark plugs, all she needs now is prob’ly just the gunk run out of her,” Varmint said. “Press down on the gas. Let the carburetor open up some.”

  Homer pressed down on the gas and the engine coughed, then caught and began to purr. After a mile or two, Homer slowed the Buick. “Best turn around and go back.”

  “Naw, go on for a few more miles. Let’s make sure.”

  “I think I’ll turn around,” Homer said. “Elsie will be worried.”

  “You ain’t gonna turn around,” Varmint said with a menacing edge. “What you’re gonna do is what I say you’re gonna do. Keep driving.”

  Homer had halfway expected something like this. He braced his hands and arms against the steering wheel and slammed his foot on the brakes as hard as he could. Varmint was thrown against the dashboard, his head smacking into the windshield. Shocked, he subsided on the seat and looked at Homer. A trickle of blood rolled down his forehead. “What the hell did you do that for?”

  Homer got out of the car, walked around it, pulled Varmint outside, and pushed him down on the road. “I guess you’ll walk back,” he said.

  Varmint got to his knees. His nose was also bleeding and his hair was in his eyes, but he had the presence of mind to reach into his bac
k pocket and pull out a snub-nose. “Don’t get back in the car,” he said. “Go down there.” He waved the snub-nose toward the woods.

  Homer stood his ground. “Why are you doing this? Are you after my money?”

  “I don’t want your money. I want your time.” Varmint waved the snub-nose again. “Now, go on over there and sit on that stump and be quiet or I’ll shoot you. You wouldn’t be the first fellow I shot, neither.”

  Homer looked at the snub-nose, then looked at the stump. He went over and sat down. Varmint sat on a big rock across from the stump and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. He inspected the blood on the hand and then touched his forehead, which was also wet with blood. “Man, you did a number on me,” he whined.

  “How long are you going to make me sit here?” Homer asked after a few minutes.

  “All night long,” Varmint said. He waved the snub-nose around his head to chase away biting bugs.

  “The mosquitoes will carry us away by then.”

  “If you move off that stump, they’ll carry you away with a bullet hole.”

  There came the sound of a car and Homer looked in its direction. He thought about waving it down. As if reading his mind, Varmint said, “Don’t even think about waving it down. I swear I’ll shoot you if you so much as move or say a word.”

  The car, a long, low Packard, rolled to a stop, the driver rolling down his window. “Your car’s gonna get hit, sitting in the road like that,” he said.

  “Mind your own business,” Varmint replied, his snub-nose tucked out of sight.

  The driver shrugged and the Packard went on. After that, there were no more cars and, sure enough, the mosquitoes began to seriously bite. Homer noticed with some gratitude toward the insect world that Varmint’s blood was especially attractive to them.

  When one of the insects bit Varmint hard on the cheek, he slapped at it with the hand that held the snub-nose and the pistol went off, the bullet taking with it a piece of his ear. Varmint threw down the gun and yelled and rolled and cursed and then sat up and put his hand on his ear and began to whimper. That was when he noticed Homer had come off the stump and was running toward him. He looked around and reached for the gun but Homer had already made his lunge. The two men grappled for it but Homer was much stronger. He pulled it away from Varmint and stood up. “Run,” he said. “And don’t stop running.”

  Varmint took one look at the snub-nose in Homer’s steady hand and ran into the woods. Homer heard him cursing and crashing through the brush for some time until at last there was a scream followed by silence. Whatever had happened, Homer suspected it wasn’t good. Maybe Varmint had fallen off a cliff or gotten eaten by a bear. Whatever had happened to him, it wasn’t Homer’s immediate problem. He climbed back into the Buick, put the pistol in the glove compartment, and turned around and headed back to the gas station, fearful of what he might find.

  18

  DENVER DROVE WITH ONE HAND, HIS RIGHT ARM UP ON the bench seat. Elsie pretended to ignore the fact that his hand rested very near her shoulder. It was past midnight. The gray road flew at them and passed behind in the dark.

  At the end of a straightaway, Denver flashed through a sharp curve with scarcely a squeal of the tires. Elsie inadvertently slid toward him and Denver touched her shoulder. When he steered the low-slung coupe into another straight stretch, Elsie slid away. She brushed the hair from her forehead and tried not to act nervous because Denver was driving so fast and because he had touched her shoulder.

  A collection of small houses came into view. The houses were all dark and there were no streetlights. Only the headlights of the car lit the houses briefly as they drove past. For just a moment, Elsie saw a cow standing behind a fence. “One,” she said.

  “What’s that?” One of Denver’s fingers was now tickling Elsie’s shoulder.

  Elsie drew her shoulder away. “I saw a cow back there on my side. If we were playing cow, I’d be ahead by one.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “It’s a road game. You count cows on your side of the road, I count cows on my side. A white horse gets ten points. A graveyard on your side and you lose all your points.”

  Denver chuckled. “Do you like to play games, woman?”

  “Yes, but probably not the ones you like to play.”

  “You see me too harsh.”

  Elsie reached up and pushed his hand completely off the back of the seat. “I see you for what you are, Denver. You think yourself a lady’s man. Well, maybe you are but this lady’s married.”

  “So I hear,” he said, placing both hands on the steering wheel. “But I’ve known a few married women in my time. Like in the Bible kind of know.”

  “Now you’re talking dirty.”

  Denver suddenly floored the gas pedal, slamming Elsie back into the seat. “Brace yourself and hang on,” he said.

  Shortly thereafter, Elsie heard a siren and a light swept through the back window. Denver’s face was lit up by the reflection and Elsie saw that he was grinning like the devil.

  No matter how fast Denver drove, the car behind kept up. “Looks like the sheriff’s got hisself a new boy and he’s pretty good,” Denver said as he sped into one hairpin curve followed by another. The tires were shrieking but he maintained easy control.

  Then Elsie saw ahead two cars parked sideways in the road and a half-dozen flashlights waving around. Terrified when Denver didn’t slow down even a little bit, she braced herself by pushing against the floor with her feet and grabbing the seat between her legs with both hands. At the last moment, Denver slammed on the brakes. The coupe slid until it had turned completely around. When Denver next slammed on the gas, Elsie thought his foot was surely going through the floorboard. Her screams were lost in the shriek of the tires, the stink of burning rubber boiling up inside the coupe.

  They roared back at the car that had been following them. Its spotlight flooded the interior of the coupe but then flashed away. As they flew by it, Elsie saw in silent horror its undercarriage. When she turned to look out the rear window, she saw it had rolled into a ditch.

  She hadn’t realized it but Denver had been yelling the entire time. “Yee-haw!” he yelled again and again. He raced along for a while before turning onto a dirt road. When he finally stopped, he switched off the engine, its hot metal clicking like crickets as it cooled.

  Elsie tried to catch her breath but before she could, Denver’s arm went around her shoulders and pulled her close. He smelled sweaty but manly and Elsie struggled somewhat reluctantly from his arms. She admonished herself in her thoughts, although not too harshly, and said, “You can drive, Denver, I’ll give you that. But you can’t kiss me. Unless . . .”

  He leaned back, a smirk on his face. “Unless what, Elsie?”

  “Unless we get to Charlotte. You get us to the big city safe and sound and I’ll kiss you. But that’s only if you can get us to Charlotte.”

  His smirk dissolved. “What do you mean if I can?”

  “How many more policemen are waiting to chase you?”

  “Plenty, but they never caught me yet.”

  “Well, I’ll say it again, Denver. You can kiss me in Charlotte but you’ve got to get us there safe and sound. Why don’t you find another route where we won’t get chased?”

  “That would take too long.”

  “So what? Get there after the sun’s up, we’ll just be one more car. The coppers will never suspect a thing.”

  “Coppers? Where’d you hear that? In a Jimmy Cagney movie?” He laughed good-naturedly before turning thoughtful. “You know, you ain’t even halfway stupid.” He looked at Elsie. “You sure I can’t have a down payment on that kiss?”

  Elsie took a breath and tamped down the temptation that was urging her to do things she just couldn’t—mustn’t—do. “Charlotte, bub,” she said, although her voice wavered just a little.

  19

  WHEN HOMER ARRIVED AT THE GAS STATION, HE FOUND Troy there. Based on the astonished expression
on Troy’s face, it was clear he was surprised to see Homer again, especially when Homer came inside holding Varmint’s snub-nose.

  “Where’s Elsie?” Homer demanded.

  Troy’s hand went for the snub-nose tucked in his belt. “Don’t do that,” Homer warned. He reached over, took the pistol from Troy, and tucked it in his own belt. “I’ll ask again and don’t lie to me. I swear I’ll shoot you if you do. Where’s my wife?”

  “She and Flap went looking for you.”

  “You’re lying.” Homer fired the pistol into the ceiling, dodging the subsequent plaster powder that fell. When the smoke and dust cleared, he demanded, “Where is she? Tell me or I swear the next bullet’s going into your face!”

  Troy opened his mouth to tell a lie but then noticed Homer’s trigger finger tighten. “Easy with that, mister. She’s been taken to a man who runs the thunder road. He needs a woman to make him look like a family man who just happens to be driving through the night at ninety miles an hour.”

  Homer absorbed Troy’s confession but could make little sense of it. “What’s the thunder road?”

  “Any road you use to run ’shine to Charlotte. The man she’s with is named Denver and he’s the best driver out there.”

  “Tell me how to find him.”

  “In Charlotte, he usually hangs his hat at the Sunshine Motel.”

  Homer looked around. “Where’s the alligator?”

  “Locked in the garage.”

  “How about the rooster?”

  “What is this? You gonna ask me next where the bears in the woods are? I don’t know nothing about no rooster.”

  Homer looked past Troy to a closet where oil cans were stacked. “Get in the closet,” he said.

  “Hell, no.”

  Homer fired the pistol at the ceiling and dodged the plaster again and Troy ran into the closet and slammed the door. “You open it, I’ll kill you,” Homer said.

  “I ain’t opening it,” Troy said in a muffled voice from within.

  Homer walked to the garage and found its door padlocked. He looked around, found a rusty old wrench, and whacked the padlock until it fell apart. Inside, he found Albert asleep inside a big tractor tire. The rooster was with him. “Come on, boys. We got to go!”