Desperation Road(61)

“If I could arrest people for that I’d stay pretty damn busy,” Boyd said and he tried to imagine what was behind the robe.

“If you ever start I got a few more names for you. Anything else?”

“No. Don’t guess there is,” he said and he stepped through the doorway. She was about to close the door but then he turned around and he reached out and stopped the door with his hand. “One more thing,” he said. “What night was that?”

She rolled her eyes. “Thursday. Or maybe Friday.”

“Thursday or Friday?”

“That’s right. Runs together sometimes.”

“I need you to think a little harder.”

She pursed her lips. Then she said Thursday.

“You’re sure?”

“I told you yeah. Until he decided we were done and then he left out.”

“But not Saturday.”

“Do your ears need cleaning?”

“I don’t guess you’d know what time he left out.”

“Maybe one. Maybe two. I told you it runs together,” she said and she pushed the door closed. Boyd backed away from the house. Sat for a moment on the hood of the cruiser. Scratched his head. Scratched his chin. Then he got in the cruiser and as he drove he thought about it all and one word kept jumping in and interrupting.

Maben.

He wished he would have never heard it.

Russell was clear of the shooting. But he was lying about where he said he was Saturday night. And a woman named Maben ended up at the shelter downtown. A pistol found in her things by the girl on the night shift. And then the woman named Maben snatching the pistol and grabbing her child and making a run for it.

Shit, he whispered to himself. He’s got some good damn reason for not telling me the truth. He scratched at his neck and stared at the pink flamingos. If he wanted to hide something you know where he’d hide it, he thought. In the same place we hid beer and weed and girls. A pay phone we stole. The principal’s dog we borrowed for a while. You don’t want to go back out there but you ain’t got a choice. He’d hide it in the room above the barn.


He drove out to Mitchell’s place and turned onto the gravel driveway. He saw Russell’s Ford but Mitchell’s truck was not there. He sat parked for a moment and watched for movement and didn’t see any and so he drove on to the house. He parked next to the Ford and got out and walked to the back door and knocked.

“Mr. Gaines,” he called. He looked through the door’s glass pane and studied the kitchen. The light was off and it was clean. No plates or cups on the table or on the counter or in the sink. Boyd knocked again and called again but nothing. He waited and listened for the sound of a television or a radio or anything but there was only silence.

He turned and walked into the yard. The sun was high and gave him a short shadow as he looked around. He noticed the cooler out by the pond and some rusted aluminum chairs on the back porch. A full ashtray on a table between the chairs. He walked around the side of the house and the yard was cut and trimmed and it was such a quiet place. He had forgotten how nice a quiet place could be.

Then he looked toward the barn. The tractor and riding mower parked underneath. Shovels and rakes hanging on nails and stacks of paint buckets and drop cloths and a pile of rolled extension cords. And standing tall out in front of the barn was a concrete statue.

“What the hell?” he said and he walked toward it. He stopped in front and thought she must have been an angel but there were no wings and she wore drab clothing, even for a concrete statue. Then he figured it out. You never know what’s gonna end up where in this world, he thought. He shook his head and looked around again. Decided he didn’t want to go up the stairs to that room. Not yet. But when he turned to walk back to the cruiser out of the corner of his eye he saw the curtain fall in the upstairs window. And for the first time he noticed the hum of the air-conditioning unit around on the other side of the room.

He reached to the radio on his belt and turned off the sound. The stairs to the room ran up the outside wall of the barn and he walked over and climbed, taking each step slowly and listening for movement in the room as he eased his way up. He knew he wasn’t going to surprise whoever was in there but he remained patient with his steps and held his lips together tightly as he moved. When he reached the top of the stairs he unsnapped the holster and put his hand on his pistol. And then he touched the doorknob and turned it as if it might snap or break and the door made a click and he cracked it open.

He paused. Listened. Moved to open the door wide and a voice behind him yelled, “Hey! Que tal?”

Boyd jumped and standing a few steps below him was Consuela. She was pointing a finger at him and screaming short phrases that he didn’t understand but she was damn serious about whatever she was saying.

“Holy shit, you need a damn bell around your neck,” he said.

“Pare! No suba más!”

“Calm down.”

“Váyase de aquí! Ahora mismo!” She was waving her thick arms now and had moved a step closer and looked like she might tear him up if he didn’t do what she wanted.

“All right, all right. Calm the hell down. I’m going.”

“Voy a llamar a la policía!”

“I am the damn police,” he said and he pointed at his badge. She shouted and waved and he came down the stairs and slid by her and she paused the animation long enough to let him get past and then she cranked it up again. She followed him down the stairs and stalked him across the yard as he walked quickly to the cruiser, looking over his shoulder every couple of steps to make sure she didn’t hop on his back or worse.