“Ma says to tell you she put sheets and a blanket and some other stuff in the trailer. And to leave the door and windows open so it can air out.”
He nodded. “Lonnie, before you go — thanks for agreeing to let me stay on here.”
“No big deal to me. You’re working free and we need the help.”
“You still think I’m wrong, though. About your aunt.”
“Damn right you are. She did it. Nothing you do or say’s gonna change that.”
“If there’s a reason you’re so sure, tell me what it is. Convince me.”
“There’s no reason. I just know it, that’s all.”
Messenger said, “Your ma tell you what happened to me last night?”
“She told me. Whoever those two guys are, they were just trying to scare you.”
“Pretty dangerous way to scare somebody. I could’ve been bitten and I could’ve died.”
“Yeah, well, you weren’t and you didn’t.”
“A white pickup with a busted antenna, Lonnie. Ever see one like that in town?”
“Might have, once or twice.”
“Any idea who owns it?”
“Nobody we know, that’s for sure.”
Messenger went to have a look at the trailer. Single room inside, with a hanging drape to separate a sleeping area (rollaway bed with a lumpy mattress) from a sitting area (one ancient armchair, one straight-backed chair). The “kitchen” was a two-burner propane stove and a tiny countertop refrigerator. A sink, a shower stall so narrow you wouldn’t be able to turn around in it, and a chemical toilet set tight between metal partitions completed the facilities. Crude quarters, really — and a sweat-box by day and on hot nights. But he’d never been a slave to creature comforts. It would do well enough for however long he was here.
He took a quick shower, put on a shirt and a pair of slacks that he’d brought from the motel, and then went to the house. Dacy was in the living room, working at her computer terminal. She’d changed clothes too — a blouse and white slacks — and tied up her hair with a ribbon, dabbed on a little lipstick. He wondered if she’d done it for him, as he had showered and changed for her. Probably not. Just conceit to believe she had.
He leaned over her shoulder to peer at the screen. “Looks like some kind of chart,” he said.
“Ear-tag records. Fall roundup’s due soon. Every cow, steer, and calf we own carries color-coded and numbered ear tags. Gives us an accurate head count according to age and sex and lets us keep track of genealogy lines and production from different matings.”
“So that’s what you use the computer for.”
“That and a lot of other things, like keeping tabs on supplies and running models to see what kind of feed conversion we can expect if we bring in different stock. What’d you think I used it for? Playing video games?”
“No. Don’t get your dander up.”
“It’s not up. I just want you to understand, since you’re working for us now, that Lonnie and me don’t run some half-assed Western movie ranch. We may be small and hardscrabble but we’re as modern as we can get. We have to be to survive.”
“I didn’t think any differently. Okay?”
“Okay.” A small smile let him know she wasn’t really angry. “I’ll put supper on soon. Be ready in a couple of hours, maybe less.”
“That’ll give me enough time to take care of a few things in town. How late does that Western shop on Main stay open?”
“Seven.”
“Good.” He started out.
“Jim?”
“Yes, Dacy?”
She looked at him steadily for a little time; but whatever it was she meant to say remained unspoken. “Never mind. Just be back by seven-thirty if you want your supper hot. We don’t wait meals for anybody on this ranch.”
His first stop in town was the Ramirez mobile home. Jaime Orozco showed no surprise when Messenger told him he’d hired on temporarily at the Burgess ranch, and his reasons for doing so. Orozco seemed to approve, despite saying, “I hope you know what you’re doing, my friend.”
“So do I. I’m willing to take the risk as long as Dacy and Lonnie are.” He paused. “You knew about what happened at Mackey’s before I got here, didn’t you.”
Orozco nodded. “Ben Espinosa enjoys the sound of his own voice. Sometimes what he says is worth listening to.”
“He’s doing nothing about finding those two men. And won’t unless they’re identified by somebody else and I file charges against them.”
“I know.”
“I don’t suppose you have any idea who drives a white pickup with a broken antenna?”
“No. But if the owner lives in this county, someone will know him. Or soon find out who he is.”
“Will you ask your friends? Pass the word?”
“It has already been done.”
“Thank you, Señor Orozco.”
“De nada. If it wasn’t for this leg...” Orozco thumped it with his knuckles, then shrugged and said solemnly, “A man does what he can in the cause of justice.”
“If he’s a good man.”
“Yes, amigo. If he is a good man.”
In the western apparel shop he bought two more pairs of jeans and two khaki shirts. Dacy had said she would take care of his laundry, but he couldn’t expect her to wash and rewash the same sweaty change of work clothes. Then he drove to the High Desert Lodge.
Mrs. Padgett had pale, shiny eyes that made him think of fat cells floating in blobs of cream. They turned avid as soon as he told her he was checking out. “Of course, Mr. Messenger,” she said. “I’ll have your bill ready in a jiffy.”
“Fine.”
“Going down to Vegas, are you?”
“No.”
“Back home then. You are leaving Beulah?”
“Not exactly.”
“Not exactly? I’m afraid I don’t—”
“I’ve taken a job at the Burgess ranch. Hired hand.”
“You... Dacy Burgess hired you?” Her mouth hung open as if it were hinged. The avid eyes crawled over his face like insects. “You’re going to live out there at her place?”
“That’s right. For the next ten days, at least,” Messenger said. There was a small, malicious pleasure in telling her, watching her reaction, knowing what she’d do as soon as he walked out the door.
“But... why? Why would a man like you, a city man, want to work as a ranch hand?”
“Why do you think, Mrs. Padgett?”
“I can’t imagine...”
“Sure you can. I’ll bet you have a very good imagination.”
Her trap was open again; she snapped it closed. Quickly, without looking at him again, she punched up his bill on her computer and ran his American Express card through the machine. She was eager to be rid of him now. But no more eager than he was to be rid of her.
He drove straight back to the ranch. It took him less than thirty minutes, but when he passed through the gate his headlights picked out an unfamiliar station wagon already parked at an angle near the house. Mrs. Padgett hadn’t let him down. She’d been on the phone the instant he left her.
Messenger pulled up next to the wagon. He was just opening his door when John T. Roebuck, with Dacy and Lonnie following, stormed out of the house to confront him.
17
The intensity of John T.’s emotions surprised him; he’d expected anger but not raw, seething fury. Roebuck got right up in his face, stretching on the balls of his feet so that his nose was an inch or so below Messenger’s. His breath, hot and moist, stank of sour-mash bourbon and Mexican cheroots. The black eyes under their craggy brows caught the outspill of light from the house; it made them look as if fires burned in their depths. They reminded Messenger of the eyes of the diamondback rattler in the pit at Mackey’s. But he stood his ground, met them with a lidless stare of his own.