A Single Shot

“Was on the a.m. news. Some fella up to the Oaks. Police aren’t saying who, only that he’s got a long record and roots in the area.”

Past her head, a hummingbird, emitting a relentless buzz, stabs at the honeysuckle. John pictures its needle-shaped beak slowly entering and narcotizing his brain. “They’re searching for a woman was staying two rooms down from him who’s disappeared without checking out.” Abbie opens her eyes wide at him like she’s staring into that dying place and marveling at its vacuousness. “They think maybe she’s in the victim’s truck. ’Cause it’s missing, too.”

Her studied gaze intimidates John. He thinks of Florence staring out her good eye at the endless flat terrain he imagines Oklahoma to be. And addlebrained Skinny Leak peering out from the depths of his slime-green, ravaged recliner, saying, “You’s one the Fitch boys, ain’t ya?” From around front comes a loud chortled neigh, then heavy foot-stomping. “Easy, boy!” Abbie calls out.

The horse sounds off again, then suddenly trots around the corner of the building, tossing its head. “What’s the matter with you?” says Abbie, waving at him. “Wait for me out front. There’s plenty of grass there!” She smiles at John. “Jealous, must be.”

“Maybe somethin’ spooked ’im.”

“Could be turkeys. Been a bunch of ’em around.”

Diablo turns and walks back around to the front of the trailer. John thinks he hears again the gentle banging he heard earlier, while in the cellar. He looks at Abbie, who apparently hasn’t heard it. She breaks into a timorous laugh. “On the subject of trucks,” she says, “that black Chevy Blazer went up toward Hollenbachs’ again last night.”

John subconsciously touches the empty place in his belt where, before he placed it on the bedroom bureau, his .45 had been. “When did it?”

“Late. Real late.” Nervously, John glances into the woods behind her, then up the hill. In his mind, a fuse burns smaller and smaller. He hears Abbie take a swig of root beer, then loudly smack her lips. “ ’Bout an hour ’fore you got home.”

John looks at her again and this time sees one more of the human race better equipped and more informed than he. “I sleep light’s a deer, John Moon.” She smiles coyly. Behind her, the hummingbird is chased off by two sparrows, fighting. “A twig don’t crack out my window I don’t hear.”

“Fell asleep at a friend’s house,” says John.

“Hope you were protected.”

“Huh?”

She laughs uninhibitedly. “You know, John Moon. A rubber.”

Her straight talk embarrasses John. He turns red.

“Having sex with one person’s like having it with twenty-four. I learned that in health class.”

“I didn’t have it with nobody.”

“Doesn’t matter to me if you did.” She shrugs. “Only you ought to be smart, is all. What’s one second of pleasure worth?”

John scowls. He hears or imagines soft music playing somewhere.

“I could lend you one.”

“What?”

“A rubber. I stole some from Eban’s bureau drawer.” She flicks playfully at her hair. “If Moira doesn’t want to come back, John, you’ll find somebody as nice if you’re patient.”

“What?”

“A good-looking guy like you, gentle and with a good sense of humor?” She nods matter-of-factly. “Uh-huh. I think so.”

“Go home,” says John.

She laughs again. “When I decide to give up my virginity, John Moon, it’s going to be to a guy as sweet as you.”

John waves derisively at her. He’s not sure if she’s seducing him or making fun of him. Once he would have thought her incapable of either. Now no one’s motives are clear to him. “You’re almost the perfect catch, John Moon.” She punches him firmly in the arm. Now John guesses she’s only trying to be a good friend. “All’s you need’s a job.”

“Maybe I’ll take it.”

“You ought to, ’fore Daddy offers it to somebody else.”

The music, no longer imagined, gets louder. John abruptly stands up.

“Am I making you nervous, John?”

“I heard somethin’ in the trailer.”

“What?”

“Music, whatever.”

She cocks an ear toward the kitchen, but the sounds John heard he can’t hear now and neither can Abbie. “When’d he come back down?” John asks her.

“Who?”

“One in the black Chevy Blazer.”

“He didn’t. Unless it was while I was in the barn doing chores this morning.” She gets a more serious look on her face. “Kind of a strange time to be searchin’ for someone’s missing, don’t you think, John?”

“Yeah.”

“What do you s’pose he’s up to?”

John shrugs.

“Maybe somebody ought to call the sheriff.”

“I don’t think so,” says John. Suddenly he wishes he hadn’t left his pistol in the bedroom. He decides to go in and get it, just as the music starts in again. This time they both hear it. Somewhere past the kitchen, barely audible, a steel guitar, accompanied by a piano and a mewling, lovesick voice. Abbie looks uncomprehendingly at John. Behind her soft smile, maybe she’s even a little scared. “You leave a radio on inside, John Moon?”

John wheels jerkily toward the door without answering.

“Sounds like it’s moving from one place to another.”

“You ought to get home,” snaps John, turning back around.

“What?”

“Your folks’ll be wonderin’.”