Who am I gonna call in Shit Creek?
I havent the faintest idea. And now, if youd be so kind as to turn the car around and give me a tour of the town?
Here goes. Corrie glanced in her rearview mirror to make sure the coast was clear. Then she swung the wheel around violently, braking and accelerating at the same time. The Gremlin slewed around in a one-eighty, tires squealing, and ended up pointed back in the direction of town. She turned to Pendergast and grinned. I learnedthat playingGrand Theft Auto on the computers at school.
Very impressive. However, I must insist on one thing, Miss Swanson.
Whats that? she said, accelerating back toward town.
You must not break the law in my employ. All traffic rules must be strictly obeyed.
Okay,okay.
The speed limit on this road is forty-five, I believe. And you have not buckled your seatbelt.
Corrie glanced down and saw she was going fifty. She eased down to the correct speed, then slowed even further as they entered the outskirts of town. She tried to fish the seatbelt out from behind the seat, the car swerving back and forth as she drove with her knee.
Perhaps it would be more convenient if you pulled off to the side of the road to do that?
Corrie gave an irritated sigh and pulled off, retrieved the belt, and buckled herself in. She started up again with another screech of rubber.
Pendergast settled back. The passenger seat was broken, and he reclined into a semi-supine position, his head just barely at the level of the window. The tour, Miss Swanson? he murmured, eyes half closed.
Tour? I thought you were kidding.
I am anxious to see the sights.
You must be on drugs. The only sights around here are fat people, ugly buildings, and corn.
Tell me about them.
Corrie grinned. Okay, sure. Were now approaching the lovely hamlet of Medicine Creek, Kansas, population three hundred and twenty-five and dropping like a stone.
Why is that?
Are you kidding? Only a dipshit would stay in a town like this.
There was a pause.
Miss Swanson?
What?
I can see that an insufficient, or perhaps even defective, socialization process has led you to believe that four-letter words add power to language.
It took Corrie a moment to parse what Pendergast had said. Dipshit isnt a four-letter word.
That depends on whether you hyphenate it or not.
Shakespeare, Chaucer, and Joyce all used four-letter words.
I see I am dealing with a quasi-literate. It is also true that Shakespeare wrote:
In such a night as this,
When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees
And they did make no noise, in such a night
Troilus methinks mounted the Troyan walls,
And sighed his soul toward the Grecian tents,
Where Cressid lay.
Corrie looked at the man reclining in the seat beside her, his eyes still half closed. He was seriously weird.
Now, may we continue with the tour?
Corrie glanced around. The cornfields were reappearing on both sides of the road. Tours over. Weve already passed through town.
There was no immediate response from Pendergast, and for a moment Corrie worried that his offer would be rescinded and all that money in the glove compartment would vanish back into the black suit. I could always show you the Mounds, she added.
The Mounds?
The Indian Mounds down by the creek. Theyre the only thing of interest in the whole county. Somebody mustve told you about them, the curse of the Forty-Fives and all that bullshit.
Pendergast seemed to think about this for a moment. Perhaps later we will see the Mounds. For the present, please turn around and pass through town once again, as slowly as possible. I wouldnt want to miss a thing.
I dont think Id better do that.
Why not?
The sheriff wont like it. He doesnt like cruising.
Pendergast closed his eyes completely. Didnt I say I would concern myself with the sheriff?
Okay, youre the boss.
She pulled to the side of the road, made a nice three-point turn, and headed back through town at a crawl. On your left, she said, is the Wagon Wheel Tavern, run by Swede Cahill. Hes a decent guy, not too smart. His daughter is in my class, a real Barbie. Its mostly a drinking establishment, not much food to speak of except Slim Jims, peanuts, the Giant Pickle Barreland, oh, yeah, chocolate eclairs. Believe it or not, theyre famous for their chocolate eclairs.
Pendergast lay motionless.
See that lady, walking down the sidewalk with the Bride of Frankenstein hairdo? Thats Klick Rasmussen, wife of Melton Rasmussen, who owns our local dry goods store. Shes coming back from lunch at the Castle Club, and in that bag are the remains of a roast beef sandwich for her dog, Peach. She wont eat at Maisies on account of Maisie being her husbands girlfriend before they got married about three hundred years ago. If only she knew what Melton gets up to with the gym teachers wife.
Pendergast said nothing.
And that dried-up old bag coming out of the Coast to Coast with a rolling pin is Mrs. Bender Lang, whose father died when their house was burned down by an arsonist thirty years ago. They never found out who did it, or why. Corrie shook her head. Some think old Gregory Flatt did it. He was the town drunk and kind of nuts, and one day he just sort of wandered off into the corn and disappeared. Never found his body. He used to talk about UFOs all the time. Personally, I think he finally got his wish and was abducted. The night he disappeared there were some strange lights in the north. She laughed derisively. Medicine Creek is an all-American town, and everybodys got a skeleton in his closet. Orher closet.
This, at least, roused Pendergast, who half opened his eyes to look at her.
Oh, yes. Even that dippy old lady whose house youre staying in, Winifred Kraus. She may act pious, but its all a crock. Her father was a rum-runner and moonshiner. Bible-thumper, too, on top of that. But that isnt all. I heard that when old Winifred was a teenager, she was known as the town vamp.
Pendergast blinked.
Corrie snickered, rolled her eyes. Yeah, theres a lot of that going on in Medicine Creek. Like Vera Estrem, whos doing the wild thing with the Deeper butcher. If her husband ever finds out, theres going to be blood. Dale Estrems the head of the Farmers Co-op and hes the meanest man in Medicine Creek. His grandfather was a German immigrant and during World War II he went back to fight for the Nazis. You can imagine what the town thought of that. The grandfather never returned. Screwed the whole family, basically.
Indeed.
Weve got our share of nutcases, too. Like that tinker who comes through here once a year and camps out in the corn somewhere. Or Brushy Jim, who did one tour too many in Vietnam. They say he fragged his lieutenant. Everybodys just waiting for him to go postal one of these days.
Pendergast had lain back in the seat again. He looked asleep.
Anyway. Theres the Rexall Drug. That empty building is where the Music Shop used to be. Theres Calvary Lutheran Church. Its Missouri Synod. The pastor is John Wilbur. A fossilized specimen if ever there was one.
There was no response from Pendergast.
We are now passing Ernies Exxon. Dont get your car fixed there. Thats Ernie himself at the pump. His sons the biggest pothead in Cry County and old Ernie doesnt have a clue. And that old wooden building is Rasmussens, the dry goods store I told you about. Their motto is, If you cant find it here, you dont need it there. Ive always wondered where there was. Theres the sheriffs office on the left, but I hardly need to pointthat place out. And theres Maisies on the right. Her meatloaf is just edible. Her desserts would give a hyena the runs. Uh-oh, I knew it. Here he comes.
Corrie watched in the rearview mirror as the sheriffs cruiser pulled out of the alleyway, lights flashing.
Hey, she said to the motionless Pendergast. Wake up. Im getting pulled over.
But Pendergas
t seemed sound asleep.
The sheriff came right up behind her and gave his siren a crank. Please pull off to the side of the road, his voice rasped through the loudspeaker atop the car. Remain inside your vehicle.
It was the same thing that had happened to her at least ten times before, only this time Corrie had Pendergast in the car. She realized the sheriff probably hadnt seen him, he was sunk so low in the seat. His eyes remained closed even through the siren and the noise. Maybe, she thought, he was dead. He certainly looked dead.
The door of the cruiser flung open and the sheriff came sauntering up, billy club flapping at his side. He placed his meaty palms on the open passenger window and leaned in. When he saw Pendergast, he jerked back abruptly. Jesus! he said.
Pendergast opened one eye. Problem, Sheriff?
Corrie enjoyed the look that came over the sheriffs face. His entire face flamed red, from the fuzz-covered folds of skin piled up against his collar to the tops of his hair-clogged ears. She hoped Brad would age just like his father.
Well, Agent Pendergast, Hazen said, its just that we dont allow cruising back and forth through town. This is the third time shes been through.
The sheriff paused, obviously awaiting some kind of explanation, but after a long silence it became clear he wasnt going to get any.
At length, Hazen pushed himself away from the car. You may go on your way, he said.
Since youve taken an interest in our movements, said Pendergast in his lazy drawl, I should inform you that well be driving through town again, and perhaps even a fifth time, while Miss Swanson shows me the sights. After all, Iam on vacation.
As Corrie looked at the darkening expression on Sheriff Hazens face, she wondered if this so-called Special Agent Pendergast really knew what he was doing. It was no joke making an enemy like Hazen in a town like Medicine Creek. Shed been stupid enough to do it herself.
Thank you for your concern, Sheriff. Pendergast turned to her. Shall we go, Miss Swanson?
She hesitated a moment, looking at Sheriff Hazen. Then she shrugged.What the hell, she thought, as she accelerated from the curb with a little screech and a fresh cloud of black smoke.
Twelve
The sun was settling into a bloody patch of cloud along the horizon as Special Agent Pendergast exited Maisies Diner, accompanied by a slender man in a Federal Express uniform.
They told me Id find you in there, the man said. Didnt mean to interrupt your dinner.
Quite all right, Pendergast replied. I wasnt especially hungry.
If youll sign for it now, Ill leave everything by the back door.
Pendergast signed the proffered form. Miss Kraus will show you where to put it all. Would you mind if I take a look?
Help yourself. Takes up half the truck.
The shiny FedEx truck was parked outside the diner, looking out of place on the dusty, monochromatic street. Pendergast peered into its interior. Along one wall were perhaps a dozen large boxes. Some had labels readingPERISHABLECONTENTS PACKED IN ICE .
Theyre all from New York, the driver said. Starting a restaurant or something?
Its my deliverance from Maisie.
Im sorry?
Everything seems to be in order, thank you.
Pendergast stepped back and watched the truck glide off into the soupy evening. Then he began strolling east, away from the dying glow of the horizon. Within five minutes, he had left the town of Medicine Creek behind. The road stretched ahead like a dark faultline in the corn.
He quickened his pace. His errand was a vague one, an intuition more than a certainty. Intuition, Pendergast knew, was the end result of the most sophisticated kind of reasoning.
Twilight and crows rose from the fields, and the smell of cornstalks and earth drifted on the air. Headlights appeared, grew larger, and then a huge semi-trailer came shuddering past, leaving dust and diesel in its wake.
Two miles out of town, Pendergast stopped. A dirt track ran away from the road here, angling off to the left between walls of corn. Pendergast followed it, moving with long silent strides. The track began to rise more sharply, heading for a dark cluster of trees on the horizon, surrounding three dark low outlines framed against the dusky sky: the Mounds. Leaving the corn behind, the track turned into a trail. Ahead were the trees, giant cottonwoods with massive trunks, bark as rough as fractured stone. Broken limbs lay scattered on the ground, clawlike branches upturned.
As he entered the shadowy confines of the grove, Pendergast paused to look back. The land fell away in a long, gentle declivity toward the town. The distant streetlights formed a glowing cross in the sea of dark corn. The Gro-Bain plant lay south of town, a low cluster of lights all by itself. The creek lay between them, a meandering line of cottonwoods that snaked through the landscape of corn. As flat as the land looked at first sight, it had its gentle undulations, its rises and its bottomlands. The point on which he stood was the highest for many miles.
The summer darkness had fallen heavily on the land. If anything, the air had grown muggier. A few bright planets glowed in the dying sky.
Pendergast turned and walked deeper into the darkness of the grove, becoming virtually invisible in his black suit. He followed a trail that wandered uncertainly through rabbitbrush and oak scrub. After another quarter mile, Pendergast stopped again.
The Mounds were just ahead.
There were three of them, low and broad, arranged in a triangle, rising twenty feet above the surrounding land. The flanks of two of the mounds had worn away, exposing limestone ledges and heavy boulders underneath. The cottonwood trees were thicker here and the shadows were very deep.
Pendergast listened to the sounds of the August night. A chorus of insects trilled furiously. Blinking fireflies drifted among the silent trunks, their streaked lights mingling with the distant heat lightning that flickered to the north. A crescent moon hung just above the horizon, both horns pointed upward.
Pendergast remained motionless. The night sky was now blossoming with stars. He began to hear other sounds: the rustlings and scratchings of small animals, the flutterings of birds. A pair of close-set eyes glowed briefly in the dark. Down by the creek a coyote howled, and at the very edge of hearing, from the direction of the town, a dog barked a reply. The sliver of moon cast just enough light to see by. Night crickets began to chirrup, first one, then others, the sounds rising from the tall grass.
At last, Pendergast moved forward, toward the three dark mounds. He walked slowly and silently, his foot crackling a single leaf. The crickets fell silent. Pendergast waited until, one by one, they resumed their calls. Then he moved on until he reached the base of the first mound. Here he knelt silently, brushed aside the dead leaves, and dug his hand into the soil. He removed a fistful, rolled it between his hands, and inhaled.
Different soils had distinctive smells. This, he confirmed, was the same soil as that found on the tools in the back of Sweggs car. The sheriff had been right: she had been digging for relics in the Mounds. He pinched some earth into a small glass test tube, stoppered it, and slid it into the pocket of his suit jacket.
Pendergast rose again. The moon had disappeared below the horizon. The fireflies had stopped blinking; the heat lightning grew less frequent, then ceased altogether. A profound darkness slowly enveloped the Mounds.
Pendergast moved past the first mound, then the second, until he stood at their center, three dark swellings growing gradually indistinguishable. Now the darkness was complete.
Still, Pendergast waited. A half hour passed. An hour.
And then, suddenly, the crickets fell silent.
Pendergast waited for them to start their chorus again. His muscles gathered, tensing. He could feel a presence in the dark to his right: a presence of great stealth. It was moving very silentlytoo silently even for his highly sensitive ears. But the crickets could feel vibrations in the ground that humans could not. The crickets knew.
He waited, tensed, until the presence was no more than five feet away. It h
ad stopped. It, too, was waiting.
One by one the crickets resumed their chirruping. But Pendergast wasnt fooled. The presence was still there. Waiting.
And now, the presence moved again. Ever so slowly, it was coming closer. One step, two steps, until it was close enough to touch.
In a single movement, Pendergast dropped to one side while pulling his flashlight and gun and aiming both toward the figure. The beam of the light illuminated a wild-looking man crouching in the dirt, a double-barreled shotgun pointing to the spot where Pendergast had been standing a moment before. The gun went off with a great roar and the man staggered back, shrieking unintelligibly, and in that instant Pendergast was on top of him. Another moment and the shotgun was on the ground and the man was doubled over, held in a hammerlock, Pendergasts gun pressed against his temple. He struggled a moment, then went limp.
Pendergast loosened his grip and the man fell to the ground. He lay there, an extraordinary figure dressed in buckskin rags, a string of bloody squirrels slung around his shoulder. A giant handmade knife was tucked into his belt. His feet were bare, the soles broad and dirty. Two very small eyes were pushed like raisins into a face so wrinkled it seemed to belong to a man beyond time itself. And yet his physique, his glossy and extraordinarily long black hair and beard, told of a robust individual no more than fifty years of age.
It is inadvisable to fire a gun in haste, said Pendergast, standing over the man. You could have hurt someone.
Who the hell are you? the man shrilled from the ground.
The very question I was going to ask you.
The man swallowed, recovering slightly, and sat up. Get your goddamned light out of my face.
Pendergast lowered the light.
Now who the deuce do you think you are, scaring decent people half to death?
We have yet to establish decency, said Pendergast. Pray rise and identify yourself.
Mister, you can pray all you like and it dont mean shit. He rose to his feet anyway, brushing the leaves and twigs out of his beard and hair. Then he hawked up an enormous gob of phlegm and shot it into the darkness. He wiped his beard and mouth with a filthy hand, front and back, and spat again.
Still Life With Crows Page 7
