3. Crash
THREE
CRASH
There she is.
Real as life.
An old Crown Victoria, Virginia Plates, formerly the property of the Florin PD before they retired the line for the Chargers and those damned stupid electric trucks. After a fourteen-hour speed run across state lines, the old girl looks no worse, except for the thick coat of grime that dusts just about everything in Oklahoma.
Car like that, you’d think the owner was just another broke son-of-a-bitch who crawled into the Serenity Motel to get high and possibly entertain one of the fine ladies standing on the corner. But of course you don’t judge a cowboy by his hat or corn hooch by its bottle, and in fact the owner of that Crown Victoria could buy the motel, the ladies across the street, the whole damned gas station and all the gas in it.
I’m here to change that.
This extraction job is what you might call a hair in the butter situation. I am a licensed bounty hunter in Virginia. That means I catch bail jumpers and take them to jail. Sometimes I do work under the table when I need fast money and I don’t personally object to the job. Of late, the money situation has lowered my threshold of personal objections.
Since I’m not in Virginia, and McCall is not legally wanted for anything, what I’m doing here is illegal. I’ve done illegal before, of course. These days that’s most of what pays. But seeing as I don’t know these parts or the powers that reign over them, I have to move careful and especially quick.
One more thing of interest to me in this heap of dust is a certain strigiform species. My buddies at the Southwestern Virginia Ornithologist Association would be hay-green over my being here, if I was allowed to tell them.
I do find there’s an owlish look to the folks of Tippalonga. Perhaps an owl that’s flown into a building a couple times. Big round white faces and dark eyes blinking real slow from the dust.
My Uncle Cotton used to say, An Okie is slick as an eel in gravy but dumb as a catfish.
I park at the gas station, acknowledge the ladies, light up and casually walk over to the Crown Vic parked outside the motel.
I’d been warned not to underestimate McCall. He did time in Appalachia State Correctional for the attempted murder of my cousin Mully Walker. Seven years, exactly. I reckon the judge took the McCall name into favor when he handed down that delicate sentence, but since I was in Iraq at the time fighting for my country I couldn’t say.
I can count on McCall to stand his ground in a fight. He’ll bring the fight, come to that. But sustained pressure will break him, make him paranoid and impulsive. The goal here is a trap, not a gunfight.
A touch of the hood tells me the engine’s cold. I stop and lean casually on it, staring with exaggerated indifference at the surroundings. McCall must have parked overnight. The sun hasn’t come up to bake the steel hood just yet. I drive irons into the back tires and get back to my vehicle.
As I’m sitting there, in short order, one of the prostitutes makes her way over.
She and her friends have been staring at the junction in the road with eagle-eyed attention. This one’s the prettiest and she’s wearing next to nothing. She’s got dark hair and big hips and moves like a ripple on the water.
“Hey Virginia,” she says in a sugar-pie voice, leaning in my window.
“Hi Oklahoma.”
“You want to have some fuuun?”
“Sorry darlin’, I’m at work.”
I don’t see a pimp, but I wouldn’t, anyway.
“My name is Jada. What’s yours?”
“Crash.”
Jada opens the door and folds herself into my passenger’s seat. “I’m working too, shug. Been here since five in the morning,” she sighs. “It smells good in here. Do you use air freshener?”
“Maybe you could help me out, Jada.”
“Yeah?” she purrs.
I pass her a twenty and she takes it delicately between her fingers. “I’m listening, big man.”
“I’m looking for a friend of mine,” I tell her. “Tall, redheaded. Mean look. Drives a Crown Vic.”
“Oh, I saw a man like that,” nods Jada. “He went into that motel last night with a lady. I was on a couple dates this morning though, so I might have missed if they left on foot.”
It’s a more thorough answer than I expected. Seems McCall wanted some female comfort after that long drive. No short supply of that around here.
“He take any bags in with him?” I ask her.
“Yeah. Suitcase. Looked heavy. Anything else? Come on, you made me walk over for nothing?”She touches my arm, squeezing.
It’s been a year. More than that. And I haven’t, not even once.
“Show me,” I say roughly.
Knowing my meaning, she pulls the bikini top off and two real pretty breasts bounce at me, for me. Her nipples are dark red and shiny. She squirms in the seat, pressing her legs together. I swear to God I can smell her and it’s good. Too good. Familiar, female.
Her hand flutters towards me. I remove it.
Control is an iron trap door that I shut on the fantasy.
“Thank you,” I say after a time. “But I’m married.” It’s true, technically.
She winks. “Nothing wrong with a little temptation.”
“I’m living proof there is, sugar,” I tell her wearily.
She laughs, putting her breasts away. Her eyes land on the crucifix hanging from the rearview. She’s thinking. Religious guy, married — she just needs the magic words to have my key dancing into her lock.
“You sure that’s all you want?” She coos.
Handing her a twenty, I tell her, “If you see my redhead friend come out, or his lady, you call me on this number. Hear anything, call me. You have a phone?”
“Duh,” she says. “This is the twenty-first century.”
I hand her a card with my number. Only my number. I have plenty of these on me at all times, and they come in handy for jobs like this.
“Just let me know who’s coming and going in there, alright?” I tell her.
“You bet, handsome. You sure you don’t want your dick sucked? I swallow and everything.”
“I’m happy for you, darlin’, but all I want right now is some grub.”
“The place over there makes a plate good,” she suggests. “My man Crocodile? He always takes us there after work.”
I guess Crocodile is her pimp. I turn my head to read the sign — BURGER PALACE.
Sure, why not.
“Pleasure doing business,” I tell her.
“You too, Virginia,” she winks, and slides out of the car.
A train’s coming. The ground trembles and the deafening whistle drowns out her goodbye. Don’t know how people can live next to trains.
I watch Jada walk away real slow and face the opposite direction, towards the motel doors. So I have a lookout for however long twenty dollars will buy. Unless she’s got another “date”.
Hell, I don’t know how people do a lot of things.
Burger Palace it is. While McCall enjoys the company of his lady friend, I can patch the hole in my stomach that’s been groaning since I lit out of Virginia in the middle of the night chasing his hide.
This town is called Tippalonga. It ain’t much to look at. From what I can tell, the center of its universe is the church. Everywhere I see signs about this Reverend, warning me that my soul is bound for eternal hellfire if I don’t go to his church.
Which has a membership fee, apparently.
At Burger Palace I order a hamburger, fried chicken and waffles, greens, butter beans, sweet tea and cornbread and a bacon biscuit with lemon gravy on the side. While I wait for the food, I text Jessica. I haven’t heard from her since I left.
I couldn’t care less if my darling wife was hanging by her thumbs off an overpass, but Ruby is another story.
Updates?
I need more money.
How is Ruby?
Had to pay the plumber and now we are starving to death. Where’s the money?
I paid him before I left. I also left her a thousand dollars, and it’s only been one night, but I don’t need to tell her that. She knows.
I mean the electrician. I had to pay the electrician for the water heater, she corrects.
Take Ruby to my sister’s if ur gona do this.
Fuck you.
I call Jessica, no answer.
I knew I shouldn’t have left Ruby alone with her, but since the court stuff didn’t go in my favor it’s been hell getting Jess to let her go. She doesn’t give a rat’s ass about the kid, she just likes playing games and seeing how bad she can wind me up until I snap.
When I got back from the Service I imagined I’d find a good woman around town to make my wife. Someone to laugh with and break bread with, a warm and happy woman who wouldn’t mind my strangeness. Somehow I ended up with a devil who hates her own young. I’d do it all over again if I could, but then Ruby would have nobody to care for her at all, and I could never allow that.
I stay away from women now. Just because Jess and I don’t live as man and wife, that doesn’t mean I can’t get fooled again. I’m not saying all women are like Jess, but most times you can’t trust a damned word out of their mouths.
“Mister? Your food’s up.”
I go to collect the bag.
“You are finer than a frog’s hair, mister.”
“Uh— thank you.”
“Bless you,” she says. “You should make a living off that face I tell you what.” She dumps about six packets of ketchup in my bag. “Do you like older women?”
“I’m married.”
“Happily?”
“We have a daughter.”
She sighs. “It was worth a try.”
“Thank you, Ma’am. Have a nice day.”
I hear her talking:
“That ass, Irene!”
“Mm. Child .”
Good grief.
I head back to the Challenger, eating right out the bag like an animal. I’m starved.
Sun’s out and blazing now, and there’s no breeze. I swear it jumped about ten degrees in five minutes. I put away the rest of the food and decide to drive around some to check out the town.
What the fuck am I gonna do about Jessica?
Ruby can’t stay with her anymore. I need to handle this.
I start the car and pull out of the Burger Palace lot.
I can’t go back to Virginia. I’m this close to getting McCall and getting a fat chunk of change from Roman. I need that money to get Jessica out of the picture. The lawyer down in Rowanville ain’t cheap. There’s the mortgage, tax debts…Ruby’s daycare, too. I can’t keep pawning the kid off on my sister.
Stick to the plan. No distractions.
Once I’m fed, I’ll get McCall stitched up, and then –- good Lord.
Is that — sitting right there on the hamburger sign.
Yes.
It is.
An owl.
White. Silver tail feathers. Red beak.
I’ll be damned. I need a picture— where’s my phone? Not my souped-up work phone, but the other one. Them sorry bastards at the SVOA ain’t never gonna believe this. I scrabble in the glove compartment, and at that moment something huge and white bolts in front the car.
Fuck!
SCREEEECH!
CRUNCH.
The burger billboard takes the worst of it; my fender guard protects the Challenger from crunching like a tin can. Can’t say the same for the other thing I just rammed into. Mother of God. I’ve got boots on the asphalt in half a millisecond, my heart pounding fast.
The very first thing I see is the heartbreaking sight of a fallen birds nest crumpled on the asphalt. Two lifeless pink chicks are sprawled next to it. My stomach drops.
“Oh, hell. Oh, no, no.”
The nest had to be perched in the crook of the billboard beams. God, this is the last thing I would ever want. The baby owls are goners. Gone because of me. I killed them. And that gut-clenching stab of horror punches deeper when the other thing I rammed into starts to moan.
I hit a human.
Oh, fuck.
“Hey! Hey, you alright?”
I leave the fallen nest and hurry to the writhing thing on the road, which is thankfully still alive.
“Ahhhh,” the thing groans.
It looks like a giant bedsheet. But then the bedsheet rolls to the side, and a cinnamon-colored face appears, scrunched in pain.
A woman.
God, could it get worse?
“You okay, Miss?”
Yes, it’s a female — but that big white thing is no bedsheet. It’s just a dress. A big, frilly, ugly dress that looks like it’s eating her alive. And if I didn’t know better I’d say it was a wedding dress.
“Miss, you alright? Say something to me.”
“Oh God,” she whispers. “Oh God…sweet Jesus! Did that really just happen?”
I help her up. “It’s alright. Relax. You’re just fine.”
I sure do hope so. Hell, this is the last thing I need.
“Anything hurt, honey?” I ask her. Is that a wedding dress for real?
I touch the pearls and beads marching up the white fabric. Holy moly. I nearly ran over somebody’s bride. Great job, you son of a bitch.
I look around for the rest of the wedding party, but the scene is the same as before, only the churning passage of the train across the horizon.
There’s nobody and nothing.
No bridesmaids, no groom, and no priest. No horse and carriage, no footmen, no mice, no pumpkin. Just Jada and the girls staring at us across the road.
“Please don’t call the police!” says the bride.
I stare down at her. She barely comes up to my chest. She’s Black. She’s wearing makeup and jewelry like she just came from church. No shoes, just white stockings which are very dirty and ripped damn near to pieces.
“ Don’t call the police?” I repeat.
“No! Don’t!” She says. “Please.”
She smells good, like she’s just washed with some fancy soap. Her hair and skin smell like roses. She’s still covering her face with both hands and shaking. And I take note that her jewelry is the real damned deal. Gold. Diamonds. Pearls.
Interesting.
“Uh — you got somebody around — family —? Ambulance?”
“No!” she gasps. She says. “No. Please don’t call anybody at all.”
Very interesting.
“Well, how about we just sit here real nice and easy?” I suggest.
“That’s a great idea,” she says in relief. She collapses so fast I nearly get a heart attack. But she’s only taken a seat on the curb, drawing deep, steady breaths like a normal person would.
“You’re just in shock,” I tell her. “I don’t think you got the worst of it. How do you feel?”
“I’m fine. Somehow,” she laughs shakily.
I had the notion she might be a junkie, since there seems to be a fair population of those walking about here wearing stranger things than wedding dresses. But she’s not crazy or strung out. She looks like my Ma used to look when she jumped out of her skin.
Well, she doesn’t look like my Ma at all.
Her skin is like cinnamon tea. Her hair’s an explosion down her back and shoulders. The curls are tight and I could stretch one out like I used to do them old spring toys…no… more like the curling tendrils of a grapevine, soft…delicate…wanting to wrap around my finger.
Her eyes are large, almond-shaped, deep brown. Her nose is a button, and her lips are big and soft-looking.
She’s pretty as a picture. I don’t know when I ever saw a woman who looked like that.
“I’m very sorry Miss,” I tell her. “It was an accident.”
“It’s alright. I wasn’t watching myself,” she mumbles, that Oklahoma accent coming like hot honey over warm biscuits. She laughs a little hysterically. “I almost got hit by a train!”
“No, you almost got hit by an idiot from Virginia.”
Her dazed eyes move to my Challenger and land on my plates. A line appears between her perfect eyebrows. “Is that a cardinal?” She asks.
“A what? On the plates? Yeah, it is. I, uh, I like birds.” I think of the mangled baby owls and shake my head. One thing at a time. “Listen, does your head hurt anywhere?”
Her mouth drops all the way open. She suddenly grabs me by the arms and says all in a rapture, “It’s a cardinal . Oh, my God!”
“Uh, look here, honey. I don’t know how hard you hit your head, or if maybe you just —smoked something — but how about I give you a ride somewhere and we call it fair?”
“Yes!” She says joyfully. “Yes, you can give me a ride! God must have sent you to me. It’s a miracle!”
I glance at the motel. McCall is in there. So close. I can grab him and be done with this. Simple — back to Virginia, to a fat paycheck and an end to all my problems.
But actions come with consequences. I nearly turned this female into a bridal pancake. She might be utterly insane but I owe her now, that’s just manners, when you nearly run somebody over. And she ain’t bad on the eyes. Not like that makes any difference whatsoever.
“How about something to eat?” I suggest. I guess McCall can enjoy a few more hours of freedom. There’s still Jada keeping an eye out, if I want to put faith in Jada, which I do not. I’ll take care of Miss Cuckoo here and then get right back to the mission.
“Let me get you a hamburger or something,” I offer.
She hesitates, a light of reason perhaps dawning somewhere in her mind. “Mister, you’re not, like, some kind of rapist, right?”
“You think God sent you a rapist?”
The laugh bursts out of her and it’s a normal, nice laugh.
“Can I get a hamburger and fries?” She asks, eyes shining up at me again.
“With those pretty manners, you can get anything.”
“And I feel fine. You didn’t hurt my head,” she adds kindly. “So don’t worry about that. I’m just a little excited. I’ve had a very long morning.”
“Mm. Alright. Just let me do something first. Go stand by the car.”
“Okay,” she says dreamily. “God is so good.”
“Uh — amen.”
I go back to the fallen nest.
“Sorry little guys,” I grunt, turning the nest over and laying the dead chicks inside so they look like they’re sleeping. I know nature is brutal, and these things happen. But the truth is animals feel pain just like we do, and birds are more complicated creatures than you could ever imagine. I look around for the hen but she must have flown off.
Some birds are known to starve themselves from grief.
I clear my throat and go into the burger joint to wash my hands and order food for the crazy woman I nearly ran over.
If McCall flies the coop while I’m in here messing around…
I guess what the Boss doesn’t know won’t hurt him.
Sure as fuck will hurt me not to have the money, though. That might hurt me all the way dead.