Dark Places

by Reavis Z. Wortham

  Pepper’s shrill voice cut across the crowd. Some stopped to stare, others examined their feet, and a few laughed. “Right, dear old mom and dad?”

  Molly followed Pepper’s aim and caught the eye of a middle-aged couple embarrassed by the scene in front of them. The man in a crew cut raised an empathetic eyebrow toward the waitress that said, “What are you gonna do with kids these days?”

  Molly sighed and waved toward the crowded counter. “Come on, kids. Sit at the end down there, and keep your voice down, hon.”

  Pepper led the way past the line of people perched on red stools. She whispered. “If we play this right, we can eat for free. I’ll tell her to take the bill to our parents over there.”

  Cale laughed. “That’s pretty smart.”

  They plucked menus from the holder and when Molly came around back, ordered the daily special.

  She watched Molly swing back toward the booths to deliver plates. “You know, I think we’re gonna walk this check instead. No need to stick those folks with the meal. They didn’t do nothin’ to us.”

  The cafe buzzed with conversation. A kid in a nearby booth stuck a dime in the tableside jukebox. Bobby Bare filled the air with “Detroit City.” Pepper wished there was a little jukebox on her end of the counter so she could play some rock. She figured that was exactly what this bunch of squares needed to hear.

  Another bus arrived bringing a fresh rush of hungry travelers. The kids were halfway through their gray meat loaf when Molly came around to refill the glasses and coffee cups lined up along the counter. She was pouring hot tea over what was left of the ice in Cale’s glass when her eyes hardened. She gave her head a stiff shake.

  Pepper noticed and spun on her stool to find a black family in line had finally reached the cafe’s glass vestibule. The dad’s face fell. He spoke softly into his wife’s ear. Her shoulders slumped and the couple gently guided their three children out the exit door. Suddenly furious, Pepper spun back on her stool. “What’d you do that for?”

  Molly met her gaze. “For them, honey. It would have been embarrassing if they’d gotten all the way inside. My manager don’t allow no coloreds or Indians.”

  Pepper felt her face drain of blood. For the first time in her life, she realized what Miss Becky, a full-blood Choctaw, and Grandpa Ned had known all along about the world. “You better run me off, too, then. I’m a quarter Indian.”

  “But you can’t tell. Hon, your back was to me when I pointed for them to come to the back. They can get something there, but coloreds can’t eat in the cafe.”

  “Damn the back door. I won’t eat here, neither.”

  “You already have.”

  She threw down her fork. “C’mon Cale. Let’s get gone.”

  “But I’m not done with my dinner.”

  “I am.”

  “You’re gonna leave hungry because of some niggers you don’t even know?”

  The air around Pepper sucked away, leaving her in a silent vacuum. Not trusting herself to speak, she stalked away.

  “Fine,” Molly said, picking up Pepper’s half-eaten plate.

  She was outside when Cale caught up to her. “Where are you going?”

  “I want to see.”

  “What?”

  They rounded the corner. She stopped, drained of all energy. “That.”

  People ate in haphazardly parked cars and trucks. An Indian couple squatted in the skinny shade of the wall, while a line of little barefoot kids sat on a tailgate, swinging their legs and devouring sandwiches from a bag. A Mexican family walked past a hippie couple sharing a hamburger and knocked on the back door.

  The colored family wasn’t there, but a well-dressed middle aged black man smiled, nodded, and kept eating behind the wheel of his Oldsmobile.

  Pepper started for the open back door, but Cale grabbed her before she blew past the Indians and into the kitchen. “You can’t go in there and stir up a stink. I know you’re madder’n an old wet hen, but they’ll call the laws on us. Let’s go.”

  Pepper spun to give him what for when she stopped, hearing Molly crying inside the door. “Those kids walked the check.” She sniffled. “Dammit. I should have known better, but they tricked me and I can’t afford to pay for another meal out of my own pocket. That’s three this week, and Don’ll take a quarter of my check.”

  Her voice moved away to disappear in the clatter of dishes. Unsure which way to turn, Pepper stayed in one spot for several seconds. Then she held out her hand. “Money.”

  “What?”

  “Give me that money you got squirreled away.”

  “Why?”

  She snapped her fingers.

  Cale reached into his pocket and dug out several bills. Pepper glanced at them, then went inside. When she came out, her eyes were full of tears. “Come on.”

  “What’d you do?”

  “Paid for our dinner.”

  “After what she said about them colored people?”

  “Don’t matter. She’s trying to get by, same as the rest of these folks.” They walked back to the highway and Pepper stuck her thumb out. “This ain’t no better’n where we come from.”

  Chapter Thirty-six

  I was bored stiff with all the rain and Pepper being gone. Even school wasn’t the same without her. At least one thing had changed, though. With Cale gone, his toadies pretty much left me alone.

  The day passed with the smell of chalk, lunches, and mildew. Everything around us was souring from the dampness. Kids’ shirts and pants smelled musty, because most people in Center Springs depended on the sun to dry their clothes. With the weather like it was, folks had to dedicate one room in the house to racks of still-damp clothes, but unless they had good circulation, things like towels soured in a short time.

  Miss Becky had a wooden rack she set in front of the open oven to dry ours. Other folks might smell mildewey, but not her family, because she also went through a lot of Mrs. Stewart’s Bluing.

  After school, I went into my back bedroom to read. I hadn’t felt much like doing anything since Pepper left, but I had a pretty good book called The Year of the Jeep. In it, a kid named Cloud needed to make money to buy parts for an old jeep he was fixing up. Because of him, I’d considered getting a job for my own spending cash.

  I flopped down on the bed with my head toward the foot while rain drummed the roof. I punched a feather pillow into shape and tilted the book toward the window for more light. When I opened it, a sheet of paper from a Harold Hodges notepad fell onto my chest.

  I didn’t use it for a bookmark, so I laid the book down and opened the folded paper to find a note from Pepper.

  Hey butthole. I’ve had enough of this hick town, so I’m leaving with Cale. He’s not really my boyfriend or anything, but we’re going just the same. I bet he tries to kiss me, but he better not. I know everybody will be worried and it’ll get on you, so I’m sorry. Cale has a cousin we’re going to meet, then on to San Francisco. This will be a great adventure. Love you.

  It was signed with a heart and a lot of Xs and Os that I didn’t understand.

  My eyes burned. I wiped them with the back of my hand. Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I sat there to think for a minute. It was a private letter, but I had something that Grandpa and Miss Becky would want to know, not to mention Aunt Ida Belle and Uncle James.

  I knew where they could find Pepper.

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Crow was waiting in front of the house when Ned steered the butter-colored Bel Air around the corner over an hour later. They were down to one car after a mechanic finishing his lunch in the diner agreed to give the engine a once-over. He started the car and listened for only a moment before slamming the hood and calling a tow truck.

  James rode with his elbow hanging out the window. This time, instead of only Dona and Kandi, Crow was standing in a smal
l crowd mostly made up of young women. Ned pulled to the curb beside them. Everyone in the yard took notice until they realized the men weren’t getting out, then returned to their animated conversation.

  Their clothes were a riot of color selected by a blind man. There was no definition to wardrobes of patched jeans, sandals, and a wide array of oversized shirts. The only thing the girls had in common was their complete abandonment of brassieres, which shocked the older men.

  A girl with curly hair barely restrained by a yellow headband pointed. “Is that them?”

  Crow didn’t acknowledge the car and ignored the obvious question. “You see her, or this Cale kid, you call the sheriff’s department for me.”

  Kandi grimaced. “We don’t talk to the fuzz.”

  “I know, darlin’, but do this one for me.”

  “What about your girlfriend?”

  Crow ran his hand up and down her side. “I’m getting close to forgetting her.”

  She melted into him. “Will you be coming back this way?”

  “You can count on it.”

  “All right. Maybe we’ll find you in San Francisco, though.”

  To Ned and James’ shocked surprise, Kandi slipped her arms around Crow’s neck and gave him a kiss that should have been delivered behind closed doors. She didn’t turn him loose for a long moment, and when she did, both grownups in the car realized they’d been holding their breath.

  Crow spoke softly into her ear, gave her a pat on the backside as if he didn’t care who saw the intimate gesture, and waved to the rest. Most flashed peace signs, and one of the boys gave Crow a handshake. He climbed into the backseat. “Found what I was looking for! Winslow.”

  Ned glanced over the backseat. “Arizona? There’s a lot of other places between here and there.”

  “There’s a lot of big empty and nothing else. Pepper’s been here, with that boy…”

  James’ voice choked. “Cale.” She’d been right there, only yards away, and now she was gone again.

  “Yeah, Cale. They crashed here but nobody remembers when and that’s all anyone knows. One of the girls said she left in a car with some kids heading for Winslow first, then on to San Francisco.”

  “They’re following sixty-six?” Ned studied Crow’s eyes.

  “That’s the way.”

  “Sixty-six don’t go to San Francisco,” James said. “It goes to Los Angeles.”

  Crow nodded, watching the girls walk back into the house. “That’s right. And we’d better get going. Our best chance to catch them is Winslow. If we miss her there, we’ll be playing catch up, and if they get to Barstow ahead of us, they might take any way to San Francisco. They may head up to Bakersfield and north, or cut across to Highway 5, so there’s no telling what they’ll do.”

  “We might find ’em in San Francisco, if they get that far.”

  “Two kids in that city will be like finding a needle in a haystack,” Crow said. “There are tens of thousands there already, and more are coming. Once they get off sixty-six, they can go whichever way the wind blows.”

  Without a word, Ned aimed the car toward the Texas/New Mexico line. He pegged the speedometer at eighty on the straight highway leading to the distant horizon.

  The two-lane held straight and true, occasionally cresting a ridge, then revealing a shallow drop through the desert with a view so wide open it took their breath. Used to small, curving roads through landscapes of trees, pastures, and farms, the vast spaces drew their eyes to distant blue ridges shimmering in the sun.

  Crow slid to the middle of the seat to see down the highway. “There’s a slight chance we’ll find them in Santa Fe, but the kids told me the best place they can crash is Winslow.”

  “Crash?” James cracked the window for some air.

  “It’s a place they can sleep.”

  “Is that where they take that dope?”

  The slight frown on Crow’s forehead was the only indication of how he felt for James. “There’s drugs there.”

  “I hope they don’t make her take none.”

  “James, these kids live for grass…marijuana. Most of ’em smoke it, and they’ll take pills too, and LSD, and about everything else you can think of, but they don’t make anyone do it.”

  “She wasn’t raised like that.”

  Nothing Crow could say would sound right, so he kept his mouth closed.

  They shot across the state line into New Mexico, and passed a highway patrol car heading in the opposite direction. Driving with his arm out of the open window, the trooper waved downward in an exaggerated patting movement, telling Ned to slow down. He took his foot off the accelerator, flicked a wave back to the trooper as they passed, and once he was over the hill, he slammed the hammer back down.

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Rumbling thunder drummed beyond the distant treetops. Occasional bolts of brilliance punctuated the day as Cody fidgeted in the front seat, occasionally turning on the wipers to clear the rain sluicing down the windshield. One of those times when the glass cleared, he saw Cracker locked up as if pointing a covey of birds.

  “Buck.”

  Cody opened the door before the justice of the peace could rise and tilt the hat back on his head. Outside, he lit a cigarette and watched the Wilson boys slog their way to the dog. Cracker broke his point and dug in the soft ground.

  Buck cleared his throat, spat, and lit a Camel. “Whadda ya think?”

  “I think they’re awful close to that dragline. I’d a thought they’d have found something farther out toward the middle of the bottoms.”

  The Wilson boys conferred, then pulled Cracker away by his collar. They tried to coax the dog to toward another pile of cold, wet charcoal, but he ran back to the original site to dig. Jimmy Foxx knelt beside the wet dog and ruffed his sides.

  Ty Cobb waved at the sheriff’s car.

  Another door slammed, and Ike Reader joined them carrying a bildukey. Those who’d been waiting in their trucks sloshed through the mud to Cody’s side. Ike took the lead, waving the skinny shovel like a sword.

  “What now?”

  Cody took a drag on the cigarette and squinted through the smoke hanging in the moist air. “The rest of y’all get your shovels and let’s see what we can find.” He pondered Ike’s shovel and the long, thin blade sometimes called a sharpshooter. “Uh, Ike, I doubt they’ll be buried in post holes.”

  He examined the shovel as if it had materialized in his hands. “Uh, okay. I’ll get another’n. Hey, Cody, listen, you think they’ll put that dog in his box?”

  “Don’t see any reason why not. He’s done his do.”

  “Well, if it’s all the same to you, I’ll wait until they get him in it first.”

  Cody took a shovel from Buck. “That’ll be fine, Ike.”

  “Listen, I’m not tryin’ to get out of workin’, ner nothing.”

  “I know that, Ike. I’m glad you’re here. Let’s go, boys.”

  The digging was easy in the soft ground. The problem was that water quickly filled the growing excavation. Ike soon joined them, and half an hour later, they had a mud hole.

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  James saw a sign outside a small Sinclair Station near the New Mexico/Arizona border. Last Chance for New Mexico Gas. “We might ought to fill up.”

  Ned’s patience was short, and when the attendant didn’t arrive in what he considered a reasonable amount of time, he got out of the car. James followed suit and stretched to work out the kinks.

  A man in filthy overalls popped out of the garage, wiping his hands on a rag as oily as his clothes. “Help you?”

  Ned was already around the back of the Chevrolet, reaching for the gas nozzle hanging on the side of the pump. “Gas.”

  “I’ll do it. We’re full service here.”

  “All right. We’re in a hurry.”
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  The attendant with the name Duke sewn onto his coveralls dug in his ear, leaving a smudge of oil on the lobe. “Regular, or ethyl?”

  “Regular.”

  “Figured.”

  Duke removed the cap, jammed the nozzle into the tank, and gave a lever on the pump a flip. Internal machinery meshed and the numbers reset. “Travelin’ far?”

  “A fer piece.”

  Duke scrubbed at a particularly stubborn bug smear on the windshield. “There’s drinks inside.”

  James gave the fender a slap. “That sounds good.”

  Crow emerged on Ned’s side. He stretched as well and noticed that for the first time Ned wasn’t wearing his badge or pistol. Ned saw him glance at the empty space on his shirt, and started to comment but he stopped when an old DeSoto fifty yards away coughed, slowed, and coasted toward the drive. There wasn’t enough momentum to carry it any farther, and the car died in the middle of the lane.

  Crow shaded his eyes, making Ned think of an old painting he’d once seen of a Mohawk brave squinting into the distance. “That’s an old lady driving.”

  James trotted over to help. The two-lane highway was momentarily empty, but he knew a car would be along any minute. The woman’s mouth was a tight line and her fingers fluttered over a strip of lace at the top of her blue dress. “I’m out of gas.”

  “I see that. You steer and we’ll give you a push. Put ’er in neutral.”

  Crow joined them and she forced a smile at the hippie. James and Crow planted their feet and found a place on the sloped rear end. The black metal was hot against their hands. The heavy car moved slowly at first, then picked up momentum as they dug in to gain as much speed as possible to overcome the drive’s upward slope. Moving like molasses in the wintertime, Duke joined them.

  The car was rolling at a pretty good clip when Ned gave a wave. “Turn!”

  Using both hands inside the wheel, the elderly woman put every bit of her ninety pounds into the turn. Puffing and pushing, the trio managed to subdue gravity. The car rolled to a stop at the pump opposite Ned’s sedan.