Sweetgirl (10 page)

Portis drove the center of Grain Road and the Ranger held a hard, straight line through the drifted shoulders. The pines were set close and the snow had started to fall again.

Somebody was on the radio, singing about the Houston sky and galloping through bluebonnets. Portis had his window cracked and he smoked as he drove. He nodded at the stereo and said it was Warren Zevon.

“Who is that?”

It was a question I immediately regretted as Portis cast a grieving look in my direction.

“Clearly I have failed you,” he said. “Clearly I did not do enough to teach you what was important when I had the chance.”

“Whatever,” I said. “Who was the third president of the United States?”

“Thomas Jefferson,” he said. “Who was the fifth?”

“I forgot you knew the presidents,” I said.

“That's only part of what I know,” he said. “And James Monroe was the fifth president of the United States.”

“Just pay attention,” I said. “I can barely tell where the road is.”

“And you wanted to drive.”

Portis leaned forward to wipe at some fog on the windshield and I could see that he was in the height of his glory. He had a smug half smile and clearly believed some critical victory had been won against me. I shook my head at Jenna.

“Don't mind your uncle Portis,” I said. “He's just old and sour at the world.”

“For your information,” he said. “Warren Zevon is only one of the greatest American songwriters of all time. In spite of the fact that the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame has yet to recognize his brilliance. But yet Madonna is enshrined there. As is ABBA.”

“Madonna was a bad-ass,” I said.

“Madonna tongued-kissed a black Jesus,” said Portis. “For which I credit her.”

“What?”

“Forget it,” he said. “Before your time. The point is, they can induct whoever they want into their ridiculous club, but do not expect me to take you seriously as an institution when you deny artists of Warren's stature in favor of a disco scourge like Barry Gibb.”

I wanted to say something about the road in front of us, how more and more I couldn't tell it from the shoulder. I wanted Portis to slow down, but feared angering him in earnest, which would only lead him to hammer the gas to spite me.

I held Jenna tight and wondered if it would be better or worse for her if I strapped myself in with a belt. The belt would protect me, but if there was an accident I worried the strap would strangle her.

I thought the best thing was to put the lap belt on and slip the shoulder strap behind me. I did so quickly, worried my precautions would offend Portis.

“He wrote a song called ‘Keep Me in Your Heart,'” Portis said. “It was right before he died of cancer. And I will tell you right now that song will hollow you out with its truth. You will feel as if a piece of your own heart has been carved away. And what did Barry Gibb do? Wore tight pants and made music for homosexuals, that's what.”

I did not know what there was to say about Warren Zevon or Barry Gibb. I didn't suppose there was anything I could say. I was just glad Portis had the wherewithal to issue such a rant without slurring. That was really the time to worry about Portis, when he started shaving the edges off his syllables and his words turned rounded and lazy and all slid together in a stew.

I held Jenna and let myself think of what I might do when we cleared the hills. We would take Jenna to the hospital, of course. Then I might grab that hot meal with Portis after all. Lunch at the Elias Brothers sounded pretty good, though what I really wanted was a shower and some sleep. I couldn't wait to blast off the cold and the filth and then crawl beneath some heavy blankets and close my eyes. I would sleep for as long as I wanted, for as long as I could, and then I would wake and return for Carletta.

I had told Portis earlier I'd never come back to the hills, but
even as I said it I knew it was a lie. I needed some rest, but I was no more comfortable leaving Mama than I was when I drove up Grain Road the night before.

I looked out at the Three Fingers and it was frozen where it cut through the pines and pooled. I thought about the white water down the hill and wondered how far north we were of Shelton's. I was going to say something about it to Portis, about how far we'd come, when I felt the Ranger drop.

It was a bunny hop, really, the brief sense that we were falling before the truck hit the snow and we were pushed forward in our seats. I turned my shoulder toward the dash and smacked it hard, but I kept Jenna from the impact as best I could.

I bit down hard on my tongue and after the truck settled some from the jarring my mouth filled with blood and Jenna started to cry.

“Shit,” Portis said, and tapped the gas.

I could hear the tires spin and Portis put it in reverse, but the truck wouldn't budge. I spit some blood on the floor and then looked over at him behind the wheel.

“We're stuck,” he said.

The headlights were cast toward a small stand of birch, and between them and the trees there was deep, drifted snow. Portis tapped the gas and tried to rock us out again. He went from forward to reverse, then back to forward, but the tires only spun.

“I drove us off the road,” he said.

“I could get out and push,” I said.

Portis reached out and punched off the radio.

“Hush,” he said.

He rolled his window down and we were blasted by the wind. I bounced Jenna on my knee to try and calm her. It took me a moment, but then I heard the buzzing.

“Shit,” I said. “Is that them?”

Portis leapt from the truck and told me to grab Jenna's things. I threw the bag over my shoulder and pushed the door open as Jenna's crying reached full throat.

“They're close,” he said.

I nearly fell forward when I hit the ground but I plunged a hand into the snow to keep from going over. The drift was to my shins and I stumbled again when I tried to step forward. Then I felt Portis behind me, grabbing me by the hood to pull me free.

He pointed at a stand of jack pines and said there was a deer blind at the top of the rise just beyond them. The whole hillside was a dull, gray blur to me, but Portis knew every inch and read that little spread of trees like a neon sign. He took off with his own rucksack and the rifle and I followed with both hands cupped beneath Jenna to keep her head from bouncing.

I could hear the sleds nearing but I was afraid to turn around and look. I ran hard and straight and nearly slammed into the blind before Portis swung the door open and guided me in. I'd been looking in the trees and never thought he meant a ground blind.

It was a small square of old, weather-beaten wood and there were openings cut in on two sides for shooting. The ground was dirt and snow-dusted grass, and I fell back on my butt and looked to Portis. He told me to fix Jenna a bottle.

“Keep her quiet,” he said. “Cover her mouth if you have to.”

I dug through the backpack but could not find the formula. Jenna was shrieking and Portis turned to me as he pulled a box of bullets from the ruck and loaded the rifle.

“Cover her up,” he said.

I put my hand over Jenna's mouth and forced myself to squeeze. I could feel her lips quivering and trailing spit along my palm and when she began to kick I pulled back and her cries spilled out.

Portis squatted beneath the window and pointed at the corner of the blind directly across from him. I slid over with Jenna and backed myself against the wall while he eased up to look through the window.

“They seen us,” he said.

“Shelton?”

“No,” he said. “It looks like Arrow and Krebs.”

“Is it just the two?”

“Yeah. Looks like. They don't see the blind yet, but they seen the truck. Probably heard us too.”

I jostled Jenna in my arms.

“I'm not running,” I whispered.

“You run if I tell you run.”

“We'll see if I do,” I said.

Portis aimed the rifle through the window and steadied it on his shoulder. He asked me if I could see out, and I sat up into a squat so that I could.

“On the right is Arrow,” he said. “The other is Krebs.”

They were both moving in a slow crouch. Krebs had a hand
gun drawn in the center of the hill, while Arrow carried a pack strapped to his shoulders and moved up the tree line.

“I got a sight on either one of you,” Portis called. “And I don't mind shooting. Just so we're all on the same page.”

Krebs froze and then dropped into the snow while Arrow stooped lower, came a few more yards up the hill, and took cover in the pines.

“Here comes the warning,” Portis said, and fired off into the trees.

The men ducked low and Jenna nearly leapt out of my lap. She cried out again and I whispered to her that it was okay. That everything was going to be fine.

It was Krebs that hollered up the hill.

“Who you got in that blind with you, Portis?”

“That is not your concern.”

“I think you got a little baby up there with you. And Arrow said he seen a girl.”

“Well, Arrow can't see for shit.”

“Baby don't sound too happy,” said Arrow. “From the way it's crying.”

“She senses your presence and it does not agree with her.”

“What's funny,” Krebs said, “is we had a baby go missing last night. Down at the farmhouse. And Rick put out a reward. Five thousand dollars to whoever brings her back.”

“Five thousand,” Portis said. “That ain't much for a baby. Is it white?”

“Far as I know,” said Krebs.

“If it's white it should be worth ten. Old Rick's playing you for suckers, boys. A white baby is worth its weight in gold. Did you know that all around the world, people prefer the white baby to other races? Were you aware of that, Krebs? People will take a white baby over a member of their own tribe. I think that's sad, don't you?”

“You know,” Krebs said. “It turns out I don't have time for your bullshit.”

“Is that right?” Portis said. “Then why you still out there in the snow?”

“Because we intend to take this baby back to its rightful mother.”

“You don't know nothing about it,” Portis said. “This baby was in a state of neglect.”

“If you were smart on this we could see about a share of the profit for you,” said Krebs. “A little pinch, anyway.”

“The baby will stay with me,” Portis said. “There is nothing to negotiate.”

“You're going to give that baby up,” Arrow said. “Or I will gas you out of the blind.”

Arrow had slid off his pack and assumed a catcher's crouch behind the tree. He was gangly, stoop-shouldered, and a member of the McGraws—a loathsome Cutler family with militia ties. He had on a camouflage parka and ski mask and held up a cylinder for us to see. It was roughly the size of a soda can and he withdrew it quickly.

“It's a little homemade mix,” he said. “You might call it tear gas. At least that's what it most closely resembles in terms of overall effect.”

“Portis,” Krebs shouted, and raised his hands to the sky. “May I have a word with my associate, please?”

“You may stand there and speak to this imbecile if you like, but you will not be taking a single step in any direction.”

“Fine,” Krebs said, then turned to Arrow and called out across the hill.

“What the hell are you doing, Arrow?” Krebs said.

“I'm going to smoke them out,” Arrow said. “Then we will charge Portis. He will be blinded and we will tackle him easily and then get the girl and the baby. You will do your part, Krebs. You will charge or you are not entitled to an even split of the money.”

“You can't gas the baby,” Krebs said.

“Portis is the target here, not the baby.”

“Yes,” Krebs said. “But the baby is in the fucking blind with him!”

“Baby or no, I'm not going to sit here all day and let him take potshots at us.”

“That's a can of chicken noodle soup,” Portis shouted.

“Try me and see.”

“He's gone rogue on this,” Krebs said. “Portis, I don't know what he's got in that can.”

“I'm counting down from ten,” Arrow shouted.

“Arrow!” Krebs shouted.

“Back off, Krebs. I'm going to flush them from that blind and if Portis leaves the baby in there to breathe the gas then it is his own fault. Nine!”

“Goddamn it,” Krebs shouted. “Just come out with that baby, Portis!”

“He's bluffing,” Portis said.

“I don't think he is,” Krebs said, and retook his cover in the snow.

“I'm not bluffing one bit,” Arrow said. “Eight!”

Portis looked at me and then at Jenna.

“Is that really gas?” I whispered.

“I suspect,” he said. “He's a regular Einstein with them gases. Probably came out on this venture based solely on the possibility that he might get to let off one of his prized grenades.”

“What if he's bluffing, though?”

“It's not our bluff to call. Not with Jenna sitting right there in your lap.”

“Seven!” Arrow shouted.

“I can't believe I drove us off the goddamn road,” said Portis.

“It's not your fault,” I said.

“I am sorry I could not get you off this hill.”

“It's nobody's fault,” I said.

“Nobody but Shelton Potter's,” he said. “And the two stooges out there.”

“Six!”

“This is on you, Portis!” Krebs shouted. “This goes any further, it's on you. Just walk out of the fucking blind already!”

Portis looked at me and shook his head. I was crying but I told him it was okay.

“Go ahead,” I said. “We have to.”

I stood up with Jenna, and as Portis went to make his concession I saw a flicker of light in the woods. The wind pushed
west and then there was a sucking sound, a sudden
whoosh—
like a vacuum on thick carpet—and I swear I felt the heat all the way up in the blind.