One Step Over the Border (4 page)

Hap stabbed his cherry cheesecake. “I got some. I had thought about workin’ for old Tom Beall over in Nevada for a couple
months, then crackin’ out. But that was before I figured on sharin’ expenses. We could go down to Dwight’s and work his steers
for a week or so, just to see how we rope together.”

“Look, Hap, I need to tell you I’m sort of a quiet person. I mean… don’t expect me to liven up a party or stay up late every
night. On more than one occasion, I’ve been called downright boring. But I like to think of it as being peaceful. I like things
quiet and simple.”

“Hey, that’s exactly the way I like it. Just rope, work a few cows, tell lies with some friends, and enjoy the countryside.
Nothin’ showy. Nothin’ wild. Shoot, I spend a lot of nights just waitin’ for the moon to come up.” Hap motioned to the waitress.
“Say, darlin’, could you fill our coffee cups again?”

The waitress, in black jeans and white shirt, swung around by their table with a steaming glass coffee pot. As she swooped
down for a quick refill, the spout crashed into the rim of Laramie’s cup, tipping it toward him. He sat transfixed as the
boiling-hot coffee flooded across the glass tabletop and plunged over the edge into the crotch of his jeans.

“Geeez!” He sprang up and staggered back. His oak captain’s chair sprawled across the wooden floor, just as a large lady in
green flowered Bermuda shorts stood to leave.

The sliding chair rammed into the back of her bare knees. She tumbled forward onto a table that had not been cleared. A table
leg weakened from years of service gave way. The other three legs dominoed with a scream and crash.

Three Japanese men at a table next to her leaped up to help, spilling their drinks and knocking over the candle. The green
linen tablecloth flamed as the men staggered back. Thick smoke billowed from plastic flowers now consumed with the blaze.

A cook with a tall white hat propped on his head sprinted out of the kitchen with a fire extinguisher. One quick blast of
white foam put out the fire, but the foam kept spraying.

“It won’t shut off,” the cook yelled as he foamed the Asian tourists.

He kicked open the doors and sprayed his way into the parking lot. A black Labrador, foamed from head to tail, snarled his
way into the restaurant, crashing into chairs and tables as he tried to paw the fire retardant out of his eyes.

A lady in sweat pants, who looked about ten months pregnant, crawled up on her chair screaming, “Keep the mad dog away!”

Just then, an old man, with two weeks of white beard, staggered into the dining room from the bar next door. He stared at
the screaming woman, pulled up a chair, then shouted, “Oh, good, it’s karaoke night.”

The original waitress, still standing next to the cowboy’s table with coffee pot in hand, grumbled, “Crap… I didn’t need this.”

She glanced down at Hap, the bite of cheesecake still suspended on his fork. “I think I’ll pass on that refill, darlin’.”

Thirty minutes later, after some order was restored in the restaurant, Laramie and Hap strolled out to the parking lot. Neither
said anything until they were back on Highway 14 headed west toward Greybull.

“Does that happen to you often?” Laramie asked. “I’d like to know what I’m signing up for.”

“Me? You were the one who jumped up when the coffee hit your Wranglers.”

“It was a self-preservation, reflex reaction.”

“I don’t reckon we’ll soon forget it.” Hap tugged on his black hat and chewed on a wooden toothpick. “It could have been worse.”

Laramie looked over at him. “How in the world could it have been worse?”

“The building could have burned down and that pregnant lady could have gone into labor.”

“Well, that was enough excitement for me.”

“You got plans where to stay tonight?” Hap asked.

“Hadn’t thought about it yet.”

“I got an aunt and uncle in Worland. We can bunk with them.”

Laramie pushed his hat back. “Are they boring? I would like very much to stay someplace boring.”

“Uncle Ralph will talk about his hay crop and whether they had enough moisture. Aunt Shelley may entertain us with some excitin’
stories from quiltin’ camp.”

“Sounds like my kind of people.”

Hap tromped on the accelerator and pulled around a slow-moving cattle truck. “We’ll pick up your truck, then head south on
Highway 20.”

Laramie stomped around his pickup in the dim streetlight of Greybull, Wyoming. “Look at this! Oh, sure, leave your rig here
on the street, you said. Nothing will happen to it. That’s what you told me.”

Hap pulled off his hat and tousled his black hair. “I reckon it’s the first time I’ve ever seen all four tires slashed.”

“Have you noticed that ever since I met you, my life has been out of control?” Laramie hollered.

“You blamin’ this on me?”

Laramie flailed his hands. “I’m just saying, I don’t know if I’ll be able to live through this partnership. There goes the
money I’ve saved up. Wyoming is a disaster.”

“I reckon we can bunk in Greybull tonight. Can’t get you new tires until mornin’.”

“And leave my truck on the street, looking like some war zone casualty?”

“If you squint your eyes, it kind of has that lowrider effect. It ain’t that bad. Just four tires. What happened to the easygoin’…
kick back… stay out of the conflict Laramie?”

“No one should be allowed to abuse women, kids… or trucks.”

A thin, ponytailed girl wearing a black
Eat Dirt & Die
T-shirt rode up on her bicycle. “Is that your truck?”

“Yeah…” Laramie mumbled.

“I saw who did it.”

“Who?”

“A big guy on a motorcycle.”

Laramie clenched his teeth. “I knew it! There was a Harley in that shed at Juanita’s house. Good old Francis must have followed
us. He’s not going to get away with this. It’s payback time.”

“Wait a minute, partner. We don’t know it was him.”

Laramie turned to the girl. “Did he have on a sleeveless denim shirt, with a tattoo on his right arm like a crown of thorns?”

“Yeah, do you know him?” she replied.

Laramie reached down and fingered a slit in his tire. “Not as well as I will.”

“He called you some names,” she added. “Do you want to hear them?”

“No, thanks. Can’t be near as many names as I’m going to call him.”

“Cool! Can I listen to you call him names? Maybe I’ll learn some new ones.”

“Go home, darlin’. It’s late.” Hap ushered the girl down the sidewalk.

Laramie stomped back to Hap’s truck. “Come on.”

Hap paused. “I know I’ll regret askin’ this, but where are we goin’?”

“To 2490 Paradise Road, Cody.”

“What do you aim to do?”

“I don’t know, but I’ll think of it by the time we get there.”

Hap slid behind the wheel. “Laramie, you got to think this through. Vengeance ain’t a purdy thing.”

“No vengeance. But he will get what he deserves. This has to end right now.”

“You goin’ to shoot him?”

“No.”

“Then it might be time to ride away.”

“It’s not your truck that’s sliced up. Why did this happen to me? She was your Juanita.”

“I told you she ain’t mine. Never was. But I say you need to walk away from it right now. You go over and do some-thin’ to
his bike, or his house, and then he’ll come look you up and do somethin’ worse than slashin’ tires. Back and forth it will
go, gettin’ worse ever’ time, until finally one of you kills the other. So why not just get it over and shoot him now? Either
that, or walk away from it. Those are your only two choices.”

“Hap, I’m not going to shoot him, but I am going to challenge him. He can’t get away with this.”

“Don’t you think we ought to wait until mornin’?”

“No.”

Hap flipped a U and drove out of town. “What if he isn’t over there in Cody? What if he’s here at Juanita’s folks’ place lookin’
for her? He could have sliced up the entire family.”

“That’s a happy thought. Go over to her folks’ place.”

“What if he’s there?”

“I’ll call him out.”

“Now, partner, I ain’t questionin’ your heart, nor your ability. But he’s a big, strong rounder.”

“Yeah, but I’m on the side of right.”

“That’s what Travis and Bowie said at the Alamo.”

“If you aren’t up to it, let me borrow your truck.”

“Oh, no, I’m stickin’ with my truck,” Hap insisted.

About 11:00 P.M., they pulled through the old brickyard and bounced along the dirt road toward the grove of cottonwoods. No
lights shone from the three singlewide trailers.

“You aim to go up and knock on each door?” Hap asked.

“I thought maybe I’d look around for the motorcycle. If it’s not here, there’s no reason to disturb anyone.”

“You need help? Or do you want me to wait in the truck with the engine runnin’?”

“You can help me look,” Laramie said. “After all, you are my new partner.”

“I was afraid you’d say that.”

Cool air drifted from the west as they parked back in the trees. Laramie and Hap meandered toward the mobile homes.

“Do you see a Harley?” Laramie whispered.

“I see an old abandoned 1949 Studebaker, a John Deere two-cylinder tractor without wheels, an Albertson’s grocery cart, but
no motorcycle. Of course, I know a guy in Sheridan who keeps his motorcycle in his living room. He rolls it into the house
ever’ night.”

“You saying I need to wake everyone up?”

Hap pointed toward the middle trailer. “You don’t need to wake up Mamma. She’s on the porch with a shotgun.”

In the shadows, Laramie spotted the woman’s small frame. She looked like a defiant hen standing against the wolves. “Ma’am,
we’re not burglars,” he called out. “We were with Juanita this afternoon. I just need to ask you a couple questions.”

“You get two questions, then I pull the trigger.”

“Is Francis, the father of Juanita’s baby, here at your place?” Laramie asked.

“No.”

“Did he come over lookin’ for Juanita?” Hap blurted out.

“Yes.”

“Did she go with him?” Laramie asked.

They heard her pump a shell into the chamber.

“Wait a minute, ma’am…” Hap called out. “We thought you meant two questions each.”

“After I chased him off, she took the baby and my pickup and left. I have no idea where she went. If you find her, tell her
I want my truck back.”

Laramie and Hap trudged back to the idling pickup.

“She got scared and ran to some other safe place,” Hap suggested.

“If he was smart, he’d wait at the end of the drive and follow her.”

“That’s a scary scene. It makes you not want to read the paper in the mornin’. Where are we goin’ now?”

“To Cody,” Laramie replied.

“Do you ever call it a day and go to sleep?”

“Not until the work’s done. Too many times I’ve backed down just to keep the peace. ‘Don’t make it worse,’ Mamma would say.
But it got worse even when I did nothing. Well, no more. This isn’t right and I won’t retreat.”