Rumble Tumble

“I’ll take it,” I said, having no real choice. I went back to the truck, leaned against the front of it and watched to see if guns might come out. I also checked a good running route and something to hide behind. There didn’t seem to be any good route, as there wasn’t much vegetation or any real rises in the scenery. The best obstruction seemed to be the truck. I put my hand under my shirt and held the pistol butt and watched the men in the shimmering light of the fifty-five gallon drum.

Bill bent down next to Uncle Brin and they talked. Now and then Uncle Brin looked out at me and puffed his cigarette, each puff sucking his cheeks in, making them look as if they were touching inside his mouth. After a time I saw Uncle Brin nod. Bill hugged him, stood, and walked back to the pickup.

“He will talk to this man tomorrow,” he said.

“You know the man yourself?”

“I do. But I told you, this man will not do it for me.”

“You call him this man. Don’t you know his name?”

“I do. But it doesn’t matter. He will not do it for me if I know his name or not … Uncle Brin needs his money now.”

“All right.” I took the two hundred and fifty out of my wallet and gave it to Bill. He gave it to Uncle Brin and we drove back to the highway.

Bill and I made some plans and he dropped me off at the motel. Inside, Leonard turned off the TV, said, “Do we trust him?”

“I think so,” I said. “Don’t know we got a lot of choice if we didn’t trust him.”

I told everyone what had gone on. Herman said, “Bill and I did some business now and then. He was never on the really bad side, like me.”

“You were doing business,” Red said. “That’s all.”

Herman ignored him. “Bill helped me run some guns and some grass. He helped me haul a few of the Bandito Supremes out of the U.S. and into Mexico. He arranged for an airplane. Some cars. He’s trustworthy.”

“He got paid, though, correct?” Red asked.

“He got paid,” Herman said.

“That I can understand,” Red said. “That makes Bill a professional. That’s what’s important. Professionalism.”

“What kind of world is it where you got to do business with a crook?” Brett said.

“Kind where if you want to get something done illegal, you got to ask a crook,” Leonard said. “Think about it, we’re riding around with a crook and an ex-crook.”

“I guess that makes us crooks,” Brett said.

“I suppose it does,” Leonard said.

“Seems to me,” Red said, “I’ve served my purpose. If my brother is set on helping you, then he must, but I suggest you let me go.”

“I don’t think we want to deal with Big Jim right now,” Leonard said. “We got a lot on our plate.”

“Big Jim may not be all that interested in helping me,” Red said. “In fact, I fear he thinks I was in on all this, and I would not be surprised if Wilber were not fostering that belief.”

“How’s that?” I said.

“Wilber has his good qualities, but loyalty isn’t one of them. He likes money, and if he feels he can discredit me, put himself in the catbird seat, then he will. My guess he’s making me responsible for all that business in Oklahoma City as well. Painting himself as a victim. That’s my take.”

“So if we cut you loose, where would you go?” I asked.

“I’m uncertain, but I would rather face that problem as it came to me than be with people who pistol-whip me, tie me up and humiliate me. I’m surprised I haven’t been asked to perform some circus tricks. Some flips and handstands. Perhaps a cartwheel.”

“Shit, that’s not a bad idea,” Leonard said.

Red gave Leonard a firm look, then slowly dropped his eyes. My guess was he feared Leonard might be serious, and that he would be forced to perform. Red picked up a can of Coke, swigged from it, then eased into sullen silence.

That night was not a good one. Herman was supposedly helping us. We didn’t want to alienate him by tying him to a chair, and we felt it might be bad form to tie Red to one. Leonard and I, by unspoken plan, stayed awake with the shotgun. Herman and Red watched TV most of the night, dozing on the floor from time to time.

Brett slept all night on the bed and snored loudly. Who says it’s a man’s world?

23

Next morning Bill called and we made arrangements for him to come over before dark and lead us to our airplane ride. When he came we followed his pickup through town and out.

The town where we had slept, Echo, wasn’t much. There were lots of tractors parked about and all kinds of yellow equipment that might have been designed for most anything. Farming. Tank warfare or prairie dog removal. In fact, Echo seemed little more than a town of old cars, old people, and huge yellow machines.

We drove out where there were no houses, no mobile homes, and no beauty, only long miles of dirt and brushy growth and soaring buzzards.