The Sky Fisherman (33 page)

As he climbed into the car, I noticed he had left on the air conditioning. Coolant ran onto the ground, and I wondered how much of the taxpayers' money he had burned letting the car idle.

***

Two days after Columbus Day, the back-room boys trickled in a little behind schedule, griping about the deluge. They wore water-repellent coats and boots; the water dripped from their hat brims even after the short dash from parking lot to store.

"Too wet to fly," Buzzy said, shaking off like a dog in the store entrance. "Better put some 'warm-up' medicine in that coffee. Winter's coming."

"I know," Sniffy said. "Been thinking about snow tires more than sex."

I'd noticed Sniffy's attitude had improved lately. He seemed more relaxed and talked less about moving to Arizona. Even the raw cold weather didn't seem to bother him.

Wheeling out the bikes had gone quickly for me. Only ten remained and the Christmas order hadn't arrived. After tucking the bikes far under the overhang, avoiding the rain, I studied the seven remaining picnic tables. The soaking rain made them seem even more forlorn.

"Fireplace fodder," Sniffy called them. "Pretty soon they'll be too soaked for kindling. Jake sure got beat on that deal."

The boys kept their jackets on and Buzzy poured a second shot of warm-up. It was colder than usual in the store, and I noticed Jake hadn't turned up the heat much, but business was slow and I figured he was just saving on overhead.

Even Homer complained, and that was unusual. "Going back to the bakery. I've been in morgues that are warmer than this."

Sniffy got one of the camping buckets and a small hatchet. "I'm heading out to the picnic table area to gather wood. We'll warm up in a minute."

"Stay put," Jake said. "Got something to show you fellas."

He was gone a few moments, then reappeared wearing an oversize hooded shaggy coat.

"For Christ sakes, get the gun! It's a Sasquatch!" Sniffy's eyes widened in mock terror.

"Looks just like your wife, Sniffy." Buzzy sipped his coffee. "Only she's hairier."

"Genuine, one hundred percent natural synthetic fiber," Jake said. "Guaranteed to keep you warm." He stroked the synthetic fur fibers. "The catalogue says they used the Alaskan brown bear for the model. Largest bear on the North American continent."

"Looks more like a mole's fur to me," Sniffy said. "Maybe a rat's."

Ignoring him, Jake continued. "I only ordered it in large and extra large. No puny people in Gateway. Get one of these and your wives will think you're a big cozy bear. It'll keep you warm until she can heat you up."

Buzzy shook his head. "Couldn't make it to the house. The dogs would attack me as soon as I hit the yard."

Jake took off the coat, handing it to me. "Put the coats on display," he told me. "This item will be the rage of Gateway this Christmas, but these yokels missed out." He nodded toward the boys, then followed me to the display section of the store.

I touched the fibers. They were over an inch long and had an unnatural sheen, the way gasoline looks in water. "Tough to sell these," I said.

Jake ran his hand over the fur. "I got to admit, they looked different in the catalogue," he said quietly. Patting me on the back, he added, "Everything's not as easy to sell as worms. Some merchandising takes a little imagination." He stroked his chin. "Tell you what. I'll give you a five-dollar bonus for each coat you sell. If they don't move by Christmas, you can take one as a present."

Later that morning, Billyum came in wearing a dark blue parka with an orange lining and fur-trimmed hood. He was soaked, his boots and pants smeared with mud and char. He smelled like a doused campfire and damp wool. Ordinarily Billyum didn't socialize much with the back
room boys, preferring to talk with Jake in private, but this time he took one of the spare cups and poured coffee, then helped himself to one of Homer's bear claws.

After Billyum was settled, Jake modeled the coat for him. "What do you think? You'd take an extra large."

Billyum took a hard look at the coat. "Every so often, someone on the reservation reports seeing something like that. I suggest they quit drinking."

Jake scowled. "That coffee and roll costs six bits. Put your money in the creel. You're not on the reservation now. No freebies."

Fishing in his pocket for three quarters and a nickel, Billyum smiled. He tossed the money into the creel. "Nice floor show, Jake," he said. "You need a younger model though."

***

When Gab came in, Jake didn't bother showing him the coat. "I'll talk to Priscilla when she comes looking for his Christmas present," he told me. "Those other fellas kind of spoiled today's selling atmosphere."

"I don't ever want another trip like that to Reno," Gab complained once he was settled. "Customer relations be damned. The hopper plugged up on the tour bus and we had to make potty stops every two hours."

"Maybe you should quit sweet-talking the old ladies," Sniffy said. "Start sugaring up to some of the younger customers. Better bladder control."

"Priscilla would just love that, wouldn't she?" Gab helped himself to one of Homer's jelly roll slices. "Old women weren't the worst of it." He lowered his voice. "Hate to bad-mouth a customer, but the real pain in the ass was Dunk Taylor. Something peculiar about that man."

Taylor owned two secondhand stores in town. Dunk's Junque featured pretty good collectibles. Mom and Franklin browsed there sometimes. Dunk's wife had managed Sheila's Swap Shoppe until she died and her sister Arietta took over. Tourists were always getting confused about the names.

"All right. I'll bite," Jake said. "What's so peculiar about the old coot? Sure, he mutters and makes strange noises, but that didn't start until after Sheila died."

"I can live with those noises," Gab said. "But every time we stopped the bus, he scooted off to some drugstore like he had to win the lottery. Then he'd disappear into a bathroom. Everybody would be back on the bus ten or fifteen minutes before he showed.

"Dunk would come out of the bathroom with his face glistening—that's the best word for it—and he smelled of medication. Others noticed it, too. Before long, he was sitting away by his lonesome."

"It can get hot down toward Reno," Sniffy said. "Maybe it was suntan oil."

Gab shook his head. "This trip wasn't hot. I make sure we have air conditioning. My advertisers travel in total comfort. Besides, suntan oil smells like coconuts." Gab got up and poured another cup of coffee. "Later on, when the bus overheated, Dunk took off his sport coat. His arms were entirely covered with the greasy stuff."

"Well, what was it anyway?" Buzzy asked.

"That's what I wondered, so I followed him while he searched along a drugstore aisle, muttering to himself and making those little grunts like 'pig, pig, pig, budda, budda, budda,' real quiet though. Then he goes 'Aha!' so loud everyone in the store looks. And he reaches for something on the shelf.
Unguentine.
That's it, I think. That's the exact smell, all right. But he doesn't buy just one tube. He takes all six or seven, whatever they got. He pays the pharmacist, who gives him kind of a fishy look, and then he goes down the street to the gas station and pops into the restroom.

"I followed him, not noisy, but not sneaky either, and he's sitting in the stall. He drops his pants, takes off his clothes and shoes, and rubs the stuff all over his body, even his feet. Then he reassembles himself and says just plain as a preacher, 'Now you can't burn me!' Practically shouts it, then adds, 'Hallelujah!'" Gab popped the last of the jelly roll into his mouth and took another.

"My wife had an aunt like that," Sniffy said. "Only with her it was Mentholatum. Sinuses flowed like the Jordan River. Don't think she put it on her feet though."

"Mentholatum's for coughs and colds," Buzzy said. "Plugged chests. Unguentine's for
serious
stuff. You guys don't know it, but up where I am, all kinds of activities go on, behind the clouds mostly." His eyes glimmered. "X-men from Mars. Whole squadrons with deadly heat rays. Only Dunk and I know."

"You should smell like Unguentine, too, then," Sniffy said.

"I'm on their side. At night, they land on my airfield. I'm surprised you haven't reported them, Sniffy." Buzzy sniffed his arms. "Anyway, I do smell a little like Unguentine. But you have to stand close. The way that glue's sabotaged your sniffer, you can't tell shit from Shinola."

Everybody laughed at that one. Even Sniffy cracked a smile.

"A-bomb tests," Jake said when things quieted. "Dunk protected himself from desert radiation. Too bad you didn't know, Gab. Now if you fire off a kid, radiation might give it two heads."

"Priscilla says we're too old for that anymore," Gab said. "All I know is I'm not paid to baby-sit nut cases. And that man is peculiar even if he is a preferred customer." He spread his hands. "I just don't know what to think."

"I think you better take Priscilla out a little more," Jake said. "Hanging around bathrooms watching men rub down with Unguentine sounds kind of sicko. Probably against the law, too."

Sniffy laughed so hard he blew coffee out his nose and had to retreat to the bathroom. Over the next few minutes we heard him chuckling, choking, and blowing.

"Gluehead," Gab said to no one in particular.

"Well," Jake said, "I sure regret missing that Reno trip. Sounds like a humdinger."

"You jokers can't carry on a decent, halfway intelligent conversation," Gab muttered, then turned to Billyum. "So what's new on the rez? I wish I could get some of the lodge people to go on my trips, improve our cultural relationships."

"Yeah, Reno should do that all right," Billyum said. "Especially the floor shows."

Gab didn't respond to the remark. "I want to go out there—drum up some advertising. What's new?"

Billyum stirred his coffee. "Found a burned-out vehicle—way back in the woods." He studied the boys one by one.

"That's hardly news," Gab said. He probably didn't want anyone trying to top his Unguentine story. "Lots of burned-out wrecks on the rez." Clearing his throat, he added. "Off the rez, too, of course. Somebody gets mad at his brother-in-law, stuffs a rag in the gas tank, and lights a match." He paused. "Whoosh! Instant pyrotechnics."

"This was a little different." Billyum finished the bear claw. "Two dead guys in it. Big elk in back. All of them black as charburgers."

Gab released a low whistle. "That is something. Any idea who they were?"

"Burned too bad to tell. But my guess is they'll wind up those guys from town Grady wanted to find."

"You think the dumb sons of bitches were poaching on the rez?" Jake asked.

Billyum nodded. "Indian meat cost them plenty this time. Damn sure."

"But they could be Indians," Jake pointed out. "Burned up, it's hard to tell."

"Maybe." Billyum stood and rinsed his cup. "But we're not missing anybody. You are."

"All burned up, huh?" Sniffy asked.

"You think that elk was smoking in the woods?" Jake glanced toward the place where the cigarette-smoking moosehead trophy had hung. Maybe he'd forgotten we took it down to hang Juniper's paintings.

Billyum shrugged. "They spotlighted that elk, most likely. Got drunk, fell asleep. Who knows? Dropped a cigarette in the pine needles. Maybe a spark from their exhaust pipe started it. They were right in the middle of a sixty-acre burn at the edge of Weyerhaeuser lease land."

Buzzy cocked an eyebrow. "Didn't I tell you about that vehicle almost a month ago? I saw a plume of smoke, and when I swooped down to drop retardant on the burn, thought I saw something funny under a canopy of pines. Couldn't get too good a look because of the smoke, but I went back after the rains started and things cooled. Sure looked like a car."

"Pickup," Billyum said. "But you were right. You win the diamond-studded stomach pump."

"How come you waited so long to send somebody out?" Buzzy asked.

"I was shorthanded. Everyone wants vacation time to go hunting. Anyway, like Gab says, lots of wrecked vehicles on the rez. When Squeaky got back after hunting, I sent him. He tried following an old logging road and got stuck up to the axles. Had to send another rig out with a winch and a hundred feet of half-inch steel cable. Used that outfit to winch around the mud holes, but some big trees had fallen across the road, so they had to walk the last few miles." Billyum shook his head. "They stumbled around in the mud and burn a few hours before they managed to find the pickup. Finally, Squeaky tripped on one dead guy lying about twenty feet from the wreck. Thought it was another chunk of charred wood, until his boot hit that soft flesh and everything started oozing."

Gab set down his jelly roll. "Jesus, Billyum. I'm trying to eat here."

Billyum studied everyone. Buzzy seemed somber and Sniffy had turned pale. Billyum cleared his throat. "I'm telling you fellas, it'll take a lot more than Unguentine to fix those two."

"I'm losing my appetite," Gab said.

"Some of us got weak stomachs," Billyum said. "Squeaky barfed all over himself. He could still barely talk by the time he got back. It'll be awhile before old Squeaky can eat a burned biscuit." He put down his coffee cup. "So that's the news on the rez."

"You tell Grady?" Buzzy asked.

"I'm fixing to do that soon," Billyum said. "After I talk with the coroner. They could be Indians, I guess. Either way, it's our jurisdiction."

"Bad rubbish." Sniffy spoke so suddenly everyone gave a little jump. "Good riddance, if it was them. Two troublemakers."

"No point in speaking ill of the dead," Jake said.

Sniffy made a face like his coffee needed sugar. "You didn't work around those wiseasses. I had to swallow a lot of shit."

"The hell you say." Gab put the last of his roll in his mouth. "I thought that glow was suntan."

Sniffy didn't reply, but his look stayed sour.

Billyum stood. "I better go check with the coroner. Then I'll let Grady know. Just as a courtesy. Don't worry. I'll keep you boys posted."

"Don't hurry back," Jake said. "You're lousy for business. Next time, try bringing a little cheerful news."