Chapter 38

Chapter 38

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A swirling dust devil swept the fringes of the parking lot of the Gadsden Motel, making slow and methodical circles, as if it too could not find the energy to work in the heat.  It switched directions several times from clockwise to counter clockwise, unable to make up its mind if it was a good spirit or bad spirit.  Finally it sandblasted the abandoned motel before moving on without any apparent sense of urgency, having carried out its intention - which was to get first licks in on the erosion process of the vacated structure.

On its way out it splattered a capricious shower of uplifted gravel against the pickup occupied by Dustin Diesel and Tony Vargas, but they didn't really care because it was Lindell's truck, not theirs.  Dustin stopped the truck in front of the office, where Mike's truck was parked, but they found nobody there.  Then they went to the critter room, where Tony discovered he did not have his key, so Dustin kicked the door in.  The effort was considerable.  Dustin changed colors for a moment then bent over and breathed deeply, his right hand clutching his stomach.

"You all right, homey?" Tony said with concern untainted with the usual sarcasm he colored everything with.

Dustin nodded.  "I'm getting it together.  I felt a little twinge there.  It'll pass.  I got my pills, just in case."

The critter room was empty of all, save critters.  Hundreds of legs skittered over to deliver salutations to Tony.  He stroked the back of the 99 leg centipede lovingly and let the amputee tarantula crawl up his arm.  Rusty the rattleless rattlesnake shook his tail in joy, but nobody heard it.

"Looks like the kid took pretty good care of the critters," Tony said with appreciation.

Then they found Little F's writings on the bed.  Dustin looked closely at the indecipherable scrawling.  "If you ask me, that's writing.  What age do you think they start them in school over there?"

"The boy couldn't even walk yet when he got here.  I doubt he was ever in school.  He's just smart. Smart attracts smart."

Dustin’s mustache curled doubtfully. "I think he was trying to say something."

The Santa Cruz sheriff looked around the room with a detective's eye.  In the bathroom he found the door beneath the sink open and got down on his painful, arthritic knees to investigate. "Hey, check this out," he called to Tony.  "There's a little door under here that leads to a empty place behind the mirror.  Did you do this? Maybe to hide your girlfriends under here, or something equally perverse?"

Tony stuck his head beneath the sink.  He could barely get his bulky torso inside, but managed to wriggle his balding skull through the little door.  "Hell no I didn't do this.  A lot of renovations have been going on at the Motel since I left.  Hand me your flashlight."

Tony shined the light upward, and found a ladder rising to the attic. It led to a narrow opening that was only large enough for a child.  "The kid built an escape route for the Little Fucker," Tony concluded.  "The Little Fucker must have grown on him, because at first all he could think about was giving the boy away."

"I think the kid used this escape hatch," said Dustin, "because the door under the sink was open.  But Mike's truck is still here, with no Mike.  What does it mean?"

"I don't know.  You're the cop.  I think it means they're in deep shit."

The pair checked the rest of the Motel, but found it empty.  Only one room looked recently lived in, with the beds unmade, towels on the floor, and a note to Mike from some guy named Earl saying that they had to check out "precipitously," and had left the key in the door slot.  Thanks for the hospitality, cheerio and all that, the message added.

"Mike wasn't here when these folks split, because if he had been he would have cleaned the room already.  He was anal about that," said Tony.

"Why do people say anal?" Dustin wondered.

"I don't fucking know.  I think it's short for anal retentive."

"Well if you don't know, why do you say it?  What does anal retentive even mean?  It sounds disgusting. It sounds like something only constipated people should say, people whose turds are so backed up that when they finally come out the fumes are worse than the Bhopal disaster.”

"I don’t know nothing about China,” said Tony. “It's just something people say in a particular situation.  Like, if someone's a neat freak, you say he's anal."

"It doesn't sound neat to me at all.  An anus is a nasty thing.  Please don't say it."

"What the fuck am I supposed to say instead?  The word fits."

"Well, how about neat freak, or tidy person?  Even better, how about fastidious?  Fastidious is a real nice word."

Tony shook his head in frustration.  "Okay.  Fat-tit-ious, whatever.  Now just focus on your job."

"Okay, I'm focusing.  Look over here.  There's a bullet hole in the ceiling."

They decided to head over to the Cafe to see what Linda knew.  Through the big diner windows Linda could see practically everything that went on in town and on sleepy, stifling summer days like this, when she wasn’t napping on the counter pretty much all she did was spy on people.

Linda squealed when she saw Tony, then wrapped him up in a semi-erotic embrace.  "Have you seen Mike?" Tony asked as he tried to peel her off like the Nautilus breaking free of the giant squid.

"He was here earlier fixing Max's computer.  How have you been, honey?  I haven't seen you in forever."

"Yeah, yeah, forever whatever," Tony growled poetically.  "I never change, I’m the same asshole as always.  We need to find Mike.  He might be in trouble."

Linda gasped, her marvelous Milf breasts perking up, then deflating to their normal state of inertia.  "Truth is, I was starting to get worried.  When Mike left I heard a gunshot over there toward the motel.  I assumed it was just kids target practicing in the desert, but it was only one shot.  After that the Earl arrived at their room and it looks like he and Lady Easely cleared out in a hurry.  I thought that odd, because they have been stopping in for tea pretty regularly, and never said anything about leaving.  I love how the Earl refers to me as the 'tavern wench.'  I think that's the cutest thing.  Anyway, a while later an ambulance showed up over there, but I couldn't see what was happening because it parked in a way that blocked the view of the room.  Ambulances in the summer time aren't too strange anyway, people can't deal with the heat anymore and decide to check out.  What better place to check out, then from a motel?  I didn't think much of it but then, to tell you the truth my thinking cap is overheated. But you got me worried now."

Tony looked at Dustin.  "You said the bullet missed.  Why would there be an ambulance?"

Dustin shrugged.  "This is getting weirder and weirder.  There was no blood anywhere."

Linda shook her index finger in the air, tuning her unresponsive thinking cap.  "Some time after that I heard another gunshot, coming from Danny's garage.  Then somebody left in the Crown Victoria Danny has been working on the past few days.  I couldn't see who, the glass was dark.  Since there are always strange doings over there, people coming in one car and leaving in another, I wasn't paying close attention.  You know I can't watch everything.  I do get a few sunburned customers in here on days like this, tired of being hypnotized by the mirages on the highway, and I have to serve them like it or not.”

"We better go check out the garage," said Tony.

"One more thing before you go," said Linda.  She opened the till of the cash register and produced an envelope, which she handed to Tony.  "Mike gave me this to give to you.  I guess he went and visited the Herr in the rest home.  Don't ask me why.  The Herr gave him this, to give to you."

Tony snatched the envelope and gave it a cursory inspection.  "What does that old fucker want now?  He's always asking me to do this and that, like he was my Daddy or something."  Irritated, Tony stuffed the envelope in his back pocket.  "I ain't got time for that crap. Old fucking Nazi."

Linda insisted on a kiss and a hug from each before they left.  Tony had a look on his face like he was kissing his matronly old halitosis aunt instead of a voluptuous babe, but he still copped a little feel, for old time's sake.  Then they motored over to the garage.

"We're going to have to break in and it's not going to be easy because Danny keeps things locked tight," said Tony when they reached the Double V.  Danny's Toyota 4 runner was not there, indicating Danny's absence, but there was an unknown black SUV parked outside with a Malverde sticker on the back window.  "One of Danny's goons is inside.  We better be careful.  Give me that shotgun."

Surprisingly, the side door to the garage was open.  The two stormed in and fanned out SWAT style, but the only one of Danny's goons present no longer presented a threat.  The Malverde devotee was slumped in a chair with half his head missing.

"There's your second gunshot," said Dustin.  "Who was he?"  The Sheriff had his hand on his chest again, and looked pale.

Tony shrugged.  He wondered if his friend was going to hold up.  "You got me.  All of his recognizable features are splattered on the wall.  Does it matter?  These goons look the same, talk the same, and think the same, what little they think.  Danny stamps them out of the same goon mold.  He gets them dumb and ugly on purpose, so they don't get no ideas in their empty heads."

Dustin and Tony started searching the rest of the building, and soon worked out what happened.  They found the storeroom with the playpen and the sliced ropes.  Inside the playpen they discovered a little scrap of paper with two of the strange curlicue words written on it.  "You're right, said Dustin.  "That baby is smart.  He leaves breadcrumbs. But these knots are too big for a baby's hands."

"Mike was here, Mike came to get him.  I'm sure of it," said Tony.  "Here's how it went down.  It makes sense now.  Eric grabbed my key to the critter room off the ring when he tried to do a Deliverance on me at the campground.  After Hal rescued me he went to the Motel and tried to kidnap or kill Little F.  Mike was away fixing Max's computer.  Eric failed, Little F got away, and something happened to Eric in the process.  That part I don't know.  I don't think Danny found him, because Danny would never call an ambulance.  Then the Earl rolled in, whoever he is, saw Eric sprawled out, and called an ambulance, because that's what proper Earls do.  But I guess the Earl and his Lady decided that this town was a little too exciting for them after all, and decided to leave precipitously.  Somewhere along this timeline, who knows when, Danny got here and kidnapped Little F from his hiding place.  I don't think the boy would go with him willingly.  I heard Marisol was working here a while, maybe she went over.  That sounds like Danny, using his niece to get an edge on someone.  Pussy works better than threats most of the time.  I'm thinking Little F knew Marisol, trusted her, and came out of his hiding place.  What else?  Then Mike came back from the diner, couldn't find the boy, and went straight to Danny's.  Danny kidnapped him because he's in trouble and knows Mike has money.  But Danny's not here, and he's always here except when he is off at a secret meeting with some cartel thug.  Until Danny gets money out of Mike he will let him live, but we better hurry.  You see, you're supposed to be the cop, and I just figured all that out for you."

Dustin shrugged.  "I'm just some yokel Sheriff from Bumfuck Arizona.  Where we going next, Sherlock?"

"To the river," said Tony.  "That's where Danny has his meetings.  I know the exact place, but I've never been there because it is on the opposite side."  He paused a moment, then looked at Dustin seriously.  "So what I mean is you are going to the river.  I can't go because I can't... you know."

"Lucky me," said Dustin. "Your scenario makes sense, except for one thing.  Who cut Mike's bonds? Who let him out?  And why do we have to go to the river, if he escaped?"

Tony stroked his whiskers.  "Good questions.  The only answer to question number one is that Marisol cut him loose.  She probably had a change of heart, because Danny can be a real mean son of a bitch.  She's a smart girl too.  I think she seduced that dog who is dead in the chair over there. He thought he was getting a blow job and he did, she blew his fucking brains out.  As for question two, Danny ain't stupid.  Do you think he was just going to let his gold mine drive away in a Crown Vic?  I'm pretty sure he was tracking Mike with some kind of GPS he put on that car, and those kids didn't get far.  I'm betting Danny has them down at the river right now, deciding their fate.  We better go.  If it's up to Danny to decide they might have a chance, but there could be other deciders involved."

They jumped back into Wendell's gravel splattered Ranger.  "Drive for the Roll railroad bridge," Tony told him.

Dustin did as Tony directed him, but it was clear he was uncomfortable.  As they sped along I-8 to the Roll exit he kept rubbing his chest.

"What's the matter?" Tony asked him.

"I don't know," Dustin moaned.  "It must be something I had for breakfast this morning."

Tony tried levity to distract Dustin and get him on track.  "Why does Doris keep making you all those big ass breakfasts?  You should be eating cottage cheese and tofu at your age.  No wonder you can't get any serious police work done.  You eat one of her breakfasts and you're taking a dump the rest of the day."

Dustin did not smile.  "Look in the glove compartment and get my pills out, just in case."

Dustin turned off the freeway and they rolled along the road that angled northeast, following the railroad along the base of the Antelope Hills. 

"There's nothing in here except a very old copy of Penthouse Letters with some nasty looking stains on it," Tony said. "I ain't touching that shit.  Wait a minute vato, this ain't your cruiser, remember? Did you leave your pills in your own car?"

"Shit," said Dustin.  He felt terrible.  He had indeed eaten another artery clogging breakfast this morning, and Doris had packed him a pretty good lunch too.  His doctor had told him he could either give up all the stress, or give up the good chow, but Dustin couldn't bring himself to give up either one of them. He was addicted to both.

"Come on pard, snap out of it.  We're almost there.  Let's bust these bozos and go home."  Tony remembered that he had no home, he didn't even know where the Love Machine was anymore, but it sounded like an inspirational thing to say to people who actually had a home.

"Okay," Dustin said weakly.  He didn't look like the badass sheriff who was the terror of all outlaws, bandits and general miscreants in Santa Cruz County.

They got to the point at the tip of the Antelope Hills where Roll Road crossed the Gila River.  The Railroad bridge loomed to their left.  The pickup rolled bumpily off the gravel and jerked to a halt at a clump of creosote.

"Wait, not yet," said Tony.  "What the f-?"

Dustin's large head was slumped over into his chest.  Part of his tongue was hanging askew from the corner of his mouth, and a thin trickle of drool was already coalescing into a thick drop on the long, drooping bristles of his mustache.

There was no point asking Dustin if he was all right because it was obvious he wasn't.  Tony began reaching for Dustin's cell phone.  "I'll get help," he said.

Dustin jerked his head negatively.  The effort caused him a spasm of pain, and he clutched his chest.

"Dammit I'll save the kids," said Tony.  "You wait for help.  I'll get you help."

Tony knew Hal was usually bouncing around this sector.  If there was someone who wouldn't ask uncomfortable questions about what they were doing out here, it was Hal.  Tony grabbed Dustin's phone and scrolled through the contacts until he found Hal’s number, then dialed it.

As the phone rang Dustin weakly took it back from Tony, his hand over his heart as if trying to keep it from bouncing out of his chest.  "I'll take it from here.  Take my guns and go," he wheezed.

Tony looked at his friend and was torn in different directions.  Although he would never admit it, he realized he was fond of this old fat fool.  On the other hand, he still had a sweet spot in his gruff exterior for Mike, even though he still wasn't sure if he was a fucking faggit or not.  So what if he was screwing his niece, that was no proof - a lot of your homos had girlfriends for appearances sake.  But was he really ready to cross the river just to save some limp-wrist who drank appletinis and might pass that infection on to the world?  He tried to talk himself out of it, but then a picture of the Little Fucker formed in his head.

"Holy shit," said Tony.  He grabbed Dustin's sniper rifle and started walking down the dusty road toward the railroad bridge.

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Altered image courtesy of Ben Churchill, courtesy of Wikimedia Commons