The Bird Saviors (6 page)

    You touch me I'll scream, she says.

    Nobody's touching nobody, the man says. Touching time is over and out.

    Possession is nine- tenths of the law, says the woman.

    Yeah, well, the other tenth is what matters, and it's my grandmother's ring. So turn it over already.

    You don't scare me.

    Give it back and let's just close this door and move on. That's what we're going to do here, less you got twenty grand cash to buy it straight out.

    You're crazy.

    Right. You don't have it, do you?

    I have a ring is what I have. A diamond ring you gave me. Fair and square.

    You got a broken heart and a rock that don't belong to you, is what you got.

    Jack Brown is breathing hard and pulls his asthma inhaler out and takes a breath as he watches the law approach.

    Come on, now, Brown says to the woman. You're making a spectacle of yourself.

    She sees Elray and her eyes stay on him as she speaks. Don't tell me to clean it up. You're the dirty one, not me.

    Brown holds her elbow. Great, he says. Now you're going to end up in court. Everybody's going to get a good laugh.

    See here, says Elray. Let's you two just calm down and be nice.

    Brown shakes his head. We got no use for you here, Officer. Just a civilized disagreement is all.

    That's a lie, says the woman, trying to twist away from his grip on her arm. He's trying to take my engagement ring is what he's doing.

    That's between us, Becca.

    I'll be the judge of that, says Elray. Let her arm go why don't you?

    Brown doesn't budge. This is my grandmother's ring.

    I don't give a shit whose it is. I said let the woman go.

    I'm not letting her take my—

    In two steps Elray has Brown's ear in his right hand, twisting.

    Pardon? says Elray. I don't think I heard you right.

    He gave this ring to me, says the woman. He gave it to me, she repeats. He called it off but once you give an engagement ring you don't take it back.

    Jack Brown grimaces from his ear being twisted. That ring cost twenty thousand dollars, he pleads, his breath wheezy. It's over, right? Well, I can't be paying twenty thousand dollars for two months of her time, now, can I?

    I told you to let go of her, says Elray. This ain't tag- team wrestling, shithead. Let go before a judge sorts things out not to your liking.

    You want this ring? asks the woman. She puts her ring finger into her mouth. She sucks for a moment, squeezes her eyes shut tight, then pulls the ring off her finger with her free hand and holds it out. Is this what you want?

    Becca? Don't mess with me.

    It's mine, she says. It's mine to do with what I want. She holds the diamond ring between her index finger and thumb. As if to assay its value. As if to offer it in auction. Or to hock at a pawnshop. For a brief moment. Then she smiles and moves to put the ring into her mouth.

    Brown tries to grab her hand and snatch the ring but misses and stumbles, Elray still holding on to his ear.

    Are you crazy? He tries to jam his fingers into her mouth. A confused struggle, his voice cursing her. Elray pins Brown by the neck against the rough wood siding of the motel wall. Brown's baseball cap cants sideways at a comical angle. Elray feels the flex of a windpipe. Brown's face goes purple.

    Whoever you think you're dealing with here, says Elray, you are mistaken. I am a horse cop, yes. That's who I am. Who are you? You're the jailhound who just resisted arrest.

    He thinks he knows everything and everyone, says the woman. He's walking poison is what he is.

    Brown's gasps, his tongue visible in mouth agape. He seems to be shaking his head, grabbing at Elray's left arm with both hands. His hat falls and the woman catches it in the air, flings it backward over the railing. It lands brim down in an oily puddle. Brown continues to struggle. Elray pulls him forward a space and slams him back against the wall. His eyes bulge. He raises his hands.

    That's probably good, now, says the woman. She touches Elray's arm. I don't want you making trouble for yourself. Come on, now.

    I let you go, you going to touch this woman again?

    Brown does the best head shake he can, his neck pinned and his face gone purple.

    Elray loosens his hold and steps back, one hand held out as if to ward off a wild vengeance swing. Brown gasps and hunches over, wheezing, his lungs loosing a high- pitched hiss. He scrabbles on his knees for a moment, a squirming ball of faded western shirt and blue jeans, working the inhaler out of his pocket and into his mouth.

    Oh, good Lord, says the woman. She kneels beside Jack Brown and strokes his forehead as he wheezes. Every time he tries to play the badass, his asthma acts up.

    Elray watches crestfallen, afraid now that this little dustup is turning into something ugly and complicated. Domestics are always like this: One minute you think it's over, the next you're rushing a shirtless drunk to the St. Mary's ER or answering questions at a disciplinary hearing.

    He going to be okay?

    I think so. The woman helps Jack Brown sit up. He just can't breathe is all.

    Elray asks for their names and an explanation of the dispute. Hers is Rebecca Cisneros, friends called her Becca. Long black hair like a show horse's mane and high cheekbones. She's the kind of woman who could be the mother of beautiful children or the teller of a First National Bank. Or end up broadcast on the Internet in a sex video shot in a no- tell motel like the Buffalo Head Inn, with bad lighting, shag carpet, a painting of elk and pines on the wall, and beneath her naked skin an ugly bedspread.

    When he can talk Jack Brown says, My name is Smith. He stares at Becca as he says this.

    Smith? Elray repeats. First name?

    William. That's right. A vein pulses down the middle of Brown's pale forehead, and at each breath he grimaces. I'm guessing you've probably heard my name before.

    Elray looks him straight in the eyes and does not blink. Sounds like an alias.

    I'll get a lawyer, Brown says. Once this gets settled, you'll be sorry.

    Elray has been holding the pepper- spray can at the ready, like it's an aerosol quick- draw contest. He tucks it back into a belt loop and says, Now I'm scared.

    Jack Brown keeps wheezing. Yeah, well, you should be.

    Becca wears the queasy smile of a woman who has swallowed a diamond ring worth twenty thousand dollars and now realizes the only way to retrieved it will be slow, painful, and unpleasant. Most likely the only witness to its egress will be herself, in her mind the rightful owner of the pricey bijou and symbol of undying eternal affection.

    Elray adjusts his hat and looks at the two of them. I tell you what. I hate domestics, you know? I don't like to get in the middle of other people's disagreements. Can we end this here?

    He's not getting that ring, says Becca. Not now. Not a week, month, or year from now.

    Forget it, says Brown. His face is blotchy and eyes bloodshot. He smooths his bushy hair with one hand. I can buy another one, he adds. And get another sweetheart. Same difference.

    Let's hold off the insults, okay? says Elray.

    Can I leave? Without you pulling a gun and plugging me in the back?

    Go, says Elray. It will be my pleasure.

    Brown walks away, wearing the look of a man who has lost a battle but is planning a war. The stairwell shudders under his boots and the weight of his body bounding down the steps. He goes to the parking lot and picks up his cap, brushes it off. Moments later a Jeep wheels out of the parking lot, squealing as it takes a right on the avenue.

    You know how to make friends, don't you? says Becca.

    I suppose, says Elray. He shrugs. Funny how people obey if you have them by the throat.

    Becca touches his arm and tells him she appreciates his help, his standing up for her like that. She explains that Jack Brown gave him a fake name. You can't trust him. He gave me this engagement ring and then demanded it back. I said no way, she says. Then he got all huffy about it, insisted it was worth twenty thousand dollars.

    Elray puts away his notebook. You're better off not married to any man who would ask for the ring back, what I'm thinking. You deserve better than that.

    Becca smiles. You're sweet. Can I tell you a secret?

    Does it involve lawbreaking?

    She looks at him funny for a moment, wiggling her mouth and jaw, then reaches inside her lips with her fingertips. Bingo, she says and holds the diamond ring up in the air.

    Elray grins. You're no dummy.

    That's the truth. Problem is, Jack is. Just enough of a dummy not to let it go. I'm here hiding from him, but he found me. He's like a bloodhound. Dim and determined.

    So what is this outlaw's real name?

    I'll tell you on one condition. You interested in some dinner? I could fix us something. I'm not always involved in such seedy scenes, you know. Most of the time I'm downright civic- minded. I vote and pay taxes.

    You don't, he says.

    I do. She smiles. And I make a good plate of fried chicken. Sound good?

    Elray says it does and he'll be glad to accept. They agree he'll show up later, after nine.

    She gives him a kiss on the cheek and he feels the softness of her lips, smells her skin when she leans in close.

    I'm looking forward to it, she says. You probably got the wrong idea about me earlier.

You're better off without that loser.

She nods and tucks her hands in her back pockets. I am.

    Elray is love- headed on his way out the door, stifling a foolish grin, waving good- bye to her as she stands in the aura of the doorway. Half a mind to double back and ask if he can take her out somewhere nice. But then again, hard to refuse a woman who offers to cook for you. He keeps walking, his mind full of her smell and her softness. He moves on into the early evening, the sky a pure violet overhead, toward his horse, forgetful and enchanted, passing light- headed down the motel breezeway, down the stairs.

    He's a mile toward home, sitting a bit chilled in the saddle, holding Apache's reins, when he realizes he's forgotten to get the real name of her abuser.

A f t e r  t h e  d o o r  c l o s e s Becca feels herself deflate. A depressing quiet settles like the hush of bad news. Her smile fades as she moves through the room, tuning the TV to the Weather Channel, pouring herself a glass of water. She's ashamed and realizes her engagement was nothing more than a pause at the intersection of Hope and Desperation. Forget marriage. She knows the reality likely will be her standing alone in line at a convenience store, trying to corral a two- year- old, buying tampons and a pack of Marlboro Lights.

    She goes to brush her teeth and stares at her reflection in the mirror. A trace of wrinkles around her mouth and eyes and oh God she's thirty- one years old and getting older by the second.

    Out the open window she can hear a couple arguing in the alley. She rinses her teeth and stares at the diamond ring on the counter beside her moisturizer and makeup. From the window she can hear a truck's loud engine throbbing and a burst of drunken laughter.

    She rummages through her makeup kit and comes up with a small vinyl coin purse with the logo and address of First National Bank of Pueblo on it. She wads the engagement ring in several sheets of Kleenex until it's a puffy square, then wedges this inside the coin purse and squeezes it to make sure it fits securely.

    With her palms sweating, Becca heads to the lobby. There the buffalo head looms over a sofa with cow- horn armrests. Before the sofa there's a coffee table covered with magazines and to the left a small table with a coffee pot, microwave, and creamer, sugar packets, and stir sticks.

    Becca pours coffee into a white Styrofoam cup, facing the check- in counter, watching. She takes the coin purse from her pocket and crams it into the buffalo's mouth. She pushes it until she hears a woman talking on a phone, walking up to the front counter.

    You need something, honey?

    Becca wipes her hands on her jeans. No, I'm fine, she says. I was just looking for a magazine to read.

    You want some company? They make a mean margarita in the lounge next door. Aside from the losers and degenerates, it's not half bad. They got free peanuts and pretzels too.

    Becca smiles. I'll keep that in mind.

    On the way back to her room, she stops at the soft- drink

vending machine, feeds a dollar into the metal mouth, her heart still beating wildly. She's reaching for a Pepsi can when a van pulls to a stop nearby and two goons step out, followed by Jack Brown, looking sheepish, calling out, Hey, Becca. We need to talk.

    We don't need anything, she says, hurrying toward the stairs. Before she can reach them one of the goons clamps a hand over her mouth, dragging her backward. Becca's Pepsi can drops to the ground and fizzes. She flails as he pins her arms and the other goon grabs her feet. A car honks as she twists and squirms, shouting, until they slap a piece of duct tape over her mouth. Jack Brown follows behind, saying, Hey, go easy on her. She's my girlfriend. Or used to be.

    The van is already moving before Jack is ready, and he has to run across the parking lot to hop inside, whatever he started already in motion and out of control.