The Nightcrawler (14 page)

“So Roger, how long are you going to stay?” Bobbie asked.

“Are you tired of me already? Maybe you can’t stand getting beat in the pool by an easterner and you want me gone.”
 

Both girls sprang like cats and Roger found himself submerged with both girls holding him under. They let him up and between coughing up hot chlorinated water and laughing uncontrollably he surrendered. From his knees, the steaming water agitating around his neck, his hands folded in mock prayer he begged forgiveness.
 

“We’ll let you off this time, Vermont, but you best remember your place in the future.”

“Yes ma’am,” he replied through his laughter. Then as quick as the girls moved on him he grabbed them both by an ankle and with a sharp tug pulled them off their seats and it was their turn to come up spitting hot tub water.

“You kids want something to eat?”
 

A woman was standing over them with a huge smile on her face. “It looks like you girls may have found someone who is up to the task.” Her smile didn’t fade while she spoke. “I’m Nora, mother of these two bobcats.” She was looking directly at Roger, her smile unwavering and warm. About the same size as her daughters and stunning, Roger immediately saw where Bobbie and Beth got their beauty. She looked young enough to be an older sister. She wore white pleated shorts and a red sleeveless blouse that had pockets over each breast. Her long dark hair was as shiny as she was impressive. She had the collar on her blouse turned up and a wide brimmed hat shaded her neck and face.

Roger got out of the hot tub and did a quick job of drying himself. He reached out his hand and said, “Roger Morris, ma’am. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
 

Roger put a T-shirt on, the girls grabbed matching terrycloth robes and they all followed Nora up to a large gazebo behind the main house. There was an assortment of muffins, bagels, and fruit put out on a circular table. They ate and talked and laughed. Roger sat between the girls, while Nora sat across the table. Roger was struggling with his plan to see the canyon. He was having the time of his life, he hadn’t been truly happy since Paige refused to see him when he went to her house. Now he was drowning in glee and it felt good, it felt right.

“So Vermont, you didn’t answer Bobbie’s question.” Beth looked directly at him and didn’t look like she would let him off the hook this time.
 

Roger was just about to tell Beth that he planned to leave right away when they were interrupted by a voice from behind. This time it was a deep, almost menacing, male voice.
 

“What’s going on out here?”
 

Roger heard in stereo, “Hi Daddy.”
 

Behind him there stood a mountain of a man, clean-shaven, wearing pressed jeans and a denim shirt. His sleeves were turned up exposing muscular forearms. Roger’s mind began to race. Here he is sitting at this man’s table, eating his food and the last two nights sleeping in his guest room. The big man probably thinks Roger is banging one of his daughters. At least ten farmer’s daughter’s jokes came into Roger’s head and the punch-line never favored the guy banging the farmer’s daughter.

“How you doin’ son, I’m Jackson Walker. Who the hell are you?”

“Daddy,” Beth said looking sternly into the giant’s eyes.

Roger stood up and extended his hand, “Roger Morris sir. It’s a pleasure meeting you.” He noticed that Mr. Walker wasn’t so much a giant now that he was standing. In fact, they were about the same height. Roger however, was outweighed by at least eighty pounds of muscle.

“One of you two want to explain who this scrawny feller here is?”

“Daddy, he’s my guest and you better be nice.” Beth stood beside Roger, and hooked her arm in his.

His face softened a bit with Beth’s gesture of solidarity with Roger.
 

“So where you from, Roland?”

“It’s Roger sir, and I’m from Vermont.”

“No kiddin’ kid. I ain’t met anyone from Vermont before. Whatcha doin’ in Nebraska?” Mr. Walker’s words came out sounding hick but his eyes were anything but. Roger saw dominance and confidence in the big man’s gaze.

Before Roger could answer they were joined by another man. This one younger, about Roger’s age and build. He also wore jeans and a denim shirt. He took no notice of Roger, “Daddy, we have a problem. Davey Johnson went to Wheeler Saloon last night, got sauced and got in a bar fight. He broke his wrist and he won’t be able to play tonight.”

“Shit. This is the first time I really felt we would kick Tom Dinkle’s ass and that dummy gets his arm broke.” He looked back at the table then his eyes brightened as if a light just went on.
 

“Robert, do you play ball?”
 

“The name is still Roger, sir, and I play a little.”

“Well, we have this annual slow pitch game ‘ginst Tom Dinkle over at the Double D ranch. One of our boys got his arm broke last night. Now we’re short a man. Whadaya say?”

“Mr. Walker, if you’re asking me to play ball I’d be glad to. But I don’t have a glove or shoes or …”

“Bethy, you take this boy down to see Ray, get him a glove, some shoes and fit him with a uniform and anything else he needs. You tell Ray to put it on my tab. Then you get him to the ballpark at four. Billy you round up the rest of the boys and get ’em to the park at four.”

“Four, damn Daddy that won’t be easy.”

“Just get it done, Billy.”
 

Billy didn’t say a word, he just did an about-face and went back the way he came. It was obvious to Roger that when Jackson Walker gave orders they were obeyed.

“Randy, you sure you can play ball?”

“Yes, Mr. Winter, I play a little ball.”

“You a smart ass, Roger?” Jackson said.

“Yes sir, sometimes I am.” Roger replied with the confidence he developed once he realized Mr. Jackson Walker needed him to fill his squad. If there was one thing Roger had confidence in, it was his prowess between the foul lines.

Jackson turned and headed back to the house. He looked back and said, “Bethy, you make sure you get to the park by four and kid, you can call me Jack.” He turned and resumed his walk up to the house. His head was shaking and he chuckled a bit saying, “Mr. Winter, well I’ll be dipped in shit.”

“You got some big balls, Roger,” Bobbie said looking at him in amazement. “Daddy does the wrong name thing with all of our friends. Nobody has ever corrected him. Then you throw it right back at him. Huge ones, Roger, huge.”

Beth had been standing with her mouth open not believing what just happened. Daddy had never told any of their friends to call him Jack or Jackson for that matter. He was Mr. Walker or Sir and all the kids visiting at the Three B’s Ranch knew it. Roger gave her a nudge and suggested that they go see this Ray guy. She nudged him back and grabbed his arm dragging him away.
 

“Thanks for breakfast, Mrs. Walker,” he called back over his shoulder.

Beth yelled a giggling goodbye to her mother as she dragged Roger across the lawn toward the car.

Chapter Fifteen

“So Ginny’s dad buys a condo in Toronto so she can go to fashion school at some place called Ryerson. I think that’s what it’s called. I’m sure, right? Why does she have to go to Canada? Anyway, her condo is like five minutes walk from this huge mall. And he gives her a new car and her own Visa card. Can you believe it? Like, she goes to school a couple of hours a day then she spends the day at the mall. Like, I’m sure. Last week I asked my mom if we could go to the Frosty Freeze for an ice cream and she says ‘Ashley, for the cost of one cone there, we can get a gallon of ice cream at the supermarket.’ I mean, I wasn’t asking for a car or a condo, was I?”
 

Scott just nodded once in a while but he didn’t really care to participate in a conversation that chronicled Ashley’s life. He sat quiet letting her carry on, while he thought to himself,
if she was a good representation of today’s youth then look out, world
. He wondered how anyone could talk so much, yet say so little. She didn’t even seem to breathe when she spoke. It was just an endless whirr like driving next to one of those crotch rockets the kid’s race around the LA freeways. Scott was beginning to like her but that feeling began to fade every time she began another onslaught of “Ashley, this is your life.” What he liked most about her was that she liked to drive and it gave him an opportunity to do some work on his laptop and make some phone calls. He just wished he had internet access in the car.

“So I told Kimmie there is no way that I’m going to hang out in some bar so she can meet Johnny. You should totally see this guy. He …”

Scott held his hand up between them as if to shield himself from the barrage of senseless nattering.
 

“I have to make a call. Can you hold that story for a bit?” Not waiting for her to answer he dialed. As he held the phone to his ear he was thinking to himself, “Thomas, you had better be there. I need a break from the fireside chat with the valley girl”.
 

A familiar adult voice was music to Scott’s ear. “C.S. and T. How may I direct your call?”

“Hi Sarah, it’s Scott. How is everything today?”
 

Scott deliberately tried to be distant with Ashley, but he was getting the feeling that she was beginning to develop a crush. She didn’t look like she thought much of him calling another woman. She had the hurt look of a school girl who just heard that the boy of her dreams had just asked someone else to the prom.

Sarah gave him a courteous “all’s well here” response and asked how she could direct his call.
 

“Is Thomas there?” he asked.

Hearing that, Ashley inserted the ear-buds of her iPod and added a smile. Happy again, her head began to bop to the music.
 

Scott explained some of the issues about the website mentioned in an email he had read while at the Best Western. He told Thomas that the car was running great and that he was somewhere between St. Louis and Kansas City. Scott left out Ashley who was barely old enough to drive, tooling down I-70 in Thomas’ prize Charger. After Thomas, he called to check on Max. He called the office to fill the boss in on his conversation with Thomas. Not able to think of any more excuses to stall the never-ending onslaught of Ashley-ism’s, he put his phone down between the seats. Ashley still bobbed, her eyes bright and alert, gave her a grownup look that was a stark contrast to her giddy happiness.
 

While her attention was on the road and her music, Scott took the opportunity to rest. He reclined his seat as far as it would go. Silently he thanked Thomas for replacing the original seats, which would not have been nearly as comfortable.
 

The fluffy white clouds that dotted the morning sky when they left the IHOP had become heavy and considerably darker as the day progressed. Now in the early evening it looked like they were heading into some serious weather. The surroundings, which may have been vibrant on a sunny day, looked muted by the gray sky. Scott stared off into the distant storm, his eyes fixed on the darkest part of the sky. Flashes of lightning streaked toward the ground with regularity. He looked at the scrub on the side of the road. The air was still but it felt alive with electricity causing the hair on his neck to stand. A shiver went up his arm to the base of his skull. He told Ashley to take the next exit that might have a place to eat then resumed his fixation with the distant lightning.

It was completely dark now. There was no visibility. Or, there was just nothing to see. The headlights didn’t illuminate lines on the road. There was no shoulder, or wild grass to mark the edge of the blacktop. The only images his eyes could make out were the instrument panel in the car and the yellow glow of the headlights dissipating into total blackness.
 

Scott was driving, the needle on the speedometer buried, but the engine made no sound. The window was open but there was no wind noise. At one hundred plus miles per hour there should be some wind, lots of wind. It wasn’t silent, though. George Thorogood screamed out
“
Bad to the Bone
”.
The Charger appeared to be cresting the top of a steep incline. Then from out of nowhere, he was there; standing in front of the car. How could a panhandler from Detroit be in the middle of a road in Missouri? If there was a road? Scott wasn’t sure. He jammed on the brake pedal and the car came to a stop inches from a man Scott was sure he would never see again. He just stood there, wearing the same shabby clothes he had worn in Detroit. Standing in the glow of the only visible light, grinning that hideous yellow grin. Scott stared through the windshield into the darkest night he had ever seen. There were no stars in the sky, no lights from a distant town, no headlights in the rearview mirror or taillights up ahead. He didn’t see any cars going in the other direction either. Yet with no traffic on the road but for Thomas Andrews Charger, there was a man standing in the middle of the road. How did he get there?

Scott decided the time had come to put an end to this shit. He got out of the car slamming the door. The door made no sound. There should have been a bang audible from a quarter mile but Scott didn’t hear it from inches away. Through the open window George still boomed.
 

Scott looked to the front of the car. The bum was gone. Scott stood staring at the exact spot yet there was nobody there. In fact, there was no sign of anything. No weeds, trees or fences were visible to mark the roadside. No roadside that he could see. No cars or trucks approached in either direction. He saw no moon and no stars in the sky. Just the Charger. If it weren’t for the solid ground beneath his feet Scott could have been convinced he was floating in space. Then the smell, that terrible, unmistakable smell hit him. The same rank odor that repulsed him in front of C.S. and T. Squinting into the blackness, he began to pan around. He was alone. The air was neither hot or cold, it wasn’t anything. It didn’t move or feel dry or humid. Goose bumps began to rise at the nape of his neck and suddenly he was glad the bum had disappeared.