And No One Knows Where

By: Jill Hargan and Kenda

~ ~ ~

­­­­­­And No One Knows Where is rated R for the occasional use of strong language.  And No One Knows Where is the third story in the Dances With Rattlesnake series.

~ ~ ~

Prologue

Gotta hide!  Gotta run and hide!  They’re after me!  Gotta get ta’ the Pow-Wow cave!  Hurry! Faster faster! Run faster! They’re gettin’ closer! Run run run!

John DeSoto veered off the dirt path.  Branches whipped his face and tangled in his shirt.  He shoved them aside with his bare arms, ignoring the stinging scratches.  He had to run and hide.  He had to find the Pow-Wow cave before they caught him.

He paused to look left, then right, his mouth gulping in air. His heart beat so hard he thought it would pop right out of his chest. They were getting closer.  He could hear their running footsteps somewhere behind him. 

He thought of the Pow-Wow cave again, and the story he’d heard so many times about how Chris and Jennifer had hidden there when that bad man was after them.  The bad man hurt Uncle Johnny, but Chris and Jenny had been okay, because Uncle Johnny told them to run to the Pow-Wow cave. 

John scampered around a bush, hurdled a log, and raced through a tangle of vines.  He had to be like Katori – He Who Dances With Rattlesnakes. He had to be brave.  He couldn’t be afraid.

Run run!  They’re getting closer.  Run faster!  Hide! Hide!  Gotta hide!

“John!  John, supper’s ready!  John!”

“John!  Hey, John, where are you?  John!”

It’s a trick! Gotta hide!  Gotta find the Pow-Wow cave!  Gotta be brave like Katori.

“John Walker DeSoto, get over here!”

The boy skidded to a halt.  His shoulders slumped with defeat; he slowly turned around as his sister and brother caught up to him.

“Why didn’t you stop when you heard us calling you?” Chris demanded.

Between pants for air, the boy said, “I was runnin’ away.”

“Running away from what?” Jennifer asked. She grabbed John’s left arm and hustled him toward the dirt path that led back to their campsite.

“The bad men.”

Chris looked around.  “What bad men?”

“The ones that’re after me.”

“There’s no one after you.”

The boy rolled his eyes. “I know that Chris.  It’s pretend. I was playin’ pretend.”

“Oh. Well, the next time you play pretend, don’t go off the path.  Remember, Mom and Dad told you not to go off the path unless someone was with you.”

“I was lookin’ for the Pow-Wow cave.”

Jennifer sighed with exasperation.  She’d been reading a book while working on her tan, when her mother told her to find John and tell him supper was ready.  Something that should have taken no more than five minutes, had taken twenty.  Jennifer had been about to head back to camp to tell her parents she couldn’t locate John, when she’d run across Chris returning from a solitary hike – something he’d done a lot of since they’d arrived here – so she enlisted his help.

Jennifer took John’s hand and hurried him down the trail. “The Pow-Wow cave isn’t here. It’s hundreds of miles away in the San Gabriel Mountains.”

“Jenny, I know that. I already said it was just pretend.”

“Well, it’s not gonna be “just pretend” when Dad gives you a spanking for disobeying.”

“Jenny!” John howled in protest. “Don’t tell.”

“Yeah, Jen, come on, don’t tell,” Chris said.  As far as he was concerned, no kid should be punished when on vacation, especially not an energetic little boy whose only crime was having an active imagination. 

“I should, you know.  He wasn’t supposed to go off the path.”

Chris looked down at his little brother. “You won’t go off the path again, will ya’, squirt?”

John gave a solemn shake of his head. 

“See,” Chris said to his sister. “He won’t do it again. Besides, how many times did we do things we weren’t supposed to when we were his age?”

Jennifer was forced to concede to Chris’s point, although she still didn’t appreciate having her sun bathing interrupted by a wayward little brother.  She thought a moment, then proposed, “Okay, I won’t say anything about it to Mom and Dad, if you tell me what you’re doing on those long hikes you take.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“You must be doing something,” Jennifer insisted, dropping John’s hand and allowing him to run on ahead of them.

“Just…just thinking.”

“Thinking about what? How you’re gonna be a big-shot college man in a few weeks?”

Chris gave his sister a weak smile. “Yeah…yeah, that’s what I’m thinking about.”  The young man broke eye contact with his sister and called, “John! Hey, John, wait up!”

The little boy turned around.  He grinned while ordering, “Don’t call me John.  Call me Katori.”

“Okay, Katori,” Chris agreed.

Jennifer elbowed her older brother in the ribs.  “Don’t do that,” she ordered, as John scampered ahead of them again.

“Do what?”

“Call him Katori.”

“Why not?  It doesn’t hurt anything, and besides,” Chris smiled, “I don’t think Uncle Johnny will mind.”

“He might if he has to spend twenty minutes looking for a kid who’s trying to find a cave that doesn’t exist here.”

“Knowing Uncle Johnny, he wouldn’t care.  He’s probably the one who put John up to it.”

That comment finally got a smile out of Jennifer. “You’re right. He probably was.”

Ten minutes later, the DeSoto children were gathered around a picnic table with their parents and Johnny Gage, eating a supper of grilled fish, potatoes, and sweet corn.  No mention was made of John DeSoto’s transgression, and later that night, while they were all sitting around the campfire roasting marshmallows, it didn’t surprise Chris or Jennifer when John asked Uncle Johnny to tell the story of He Who Dances With Rattlesnakes, even though he’d heard it dozens of times in the past.

Chapter 1

The month of August was the height of tourist season for Huntington Beach. With temperatures reaching the mid 90's, the Orange County beaches started filling shortly after breakfast and stayed crowded until long after dark. Then the long stretch of fire rings would all be ablaze, ready for roasting hot dogs, marshmallows and even vats of corn on the cob, boiled in sea water.

Nineteen-year-old Shawn Reynolds was a native of the coastal city. He and his buddy, Danny Wyatt, used to spend every spare minute down here waiting for the perfect wave. Life had been good in those high school years. Surfing, girls, beer - school had always run last in their priorities, but both Shawn and Danny had squeaked by with good enough grades to keep their parents off their backs. Sometime in his senior year though, Shawn had discovered the wonders of cocaine, and school lost whatever interest it had once held for him. Being the friend that he was, Shawn had shared his new hobby with his best friend. Three months from graduation, Shawn dropped out of school. It didn't take long for Danny to follow. Shawn smiled at the memory. Danny always followed him.

Shawn was perched on the low block wall that separated the expanse of sand from the asphalt pathway used by bikers and skaters. Danny sat beside him, playing an air drum to the rhythm coming through his Walkman. Shawn was bored. The surf was good today, but what had once been his all consuming passion, now held no allure. He let his eyes rove over the hordes of sunburned, overweight idiots who spread out over the sand and his mouth turned up in a sneer. He nudged Danny to get his friend's attention.

"Huh?" The thin, sun bleached blond, who still suffered with acne, looked startled. "Whatsup?"

"Nuthin'," Shawn complained. He shook his head, his long brown hair, pulled back in a ponytail, swayed with the motion. "That's the whole problem. I'm tired of this beat place. Let's go somewhere."

Danny held out his empty hands and raised his eyebrows. "No bread, man. No wheels either."

"I got some money," Shawn replied.

It was true. Though his parents felt he was wasting his life, they had never found the heart to cut off his more than generous allowance. He never lacked for spending money. But a car was another matter. Shawn's gaze moved from the beach to the parking lot. Rows and rows of cars, and most would never be visited by their owners until late in the night. If they were lucky, they could have a lot of fun before the vehicle was ever reported stolen.

Shawn let a smile spread across his face. "C'mon," he told his friend. "This'll be radical."

The teens wandered casually through the parking lot. It didn't take long for them to find a carelessly unlocked door. Shawn regarded the fairly new, dark blue Nissan, spied the keys left in the ignition, and shook his head in disgust. Some people were so stupid. He could just imagine the owners, loaded down with blankets, towels, coolers, boogie boards and kids, rushing off to stake a place in the sand and leaving the keys to their car for anyone to take.

He slipped into the driver's seat. Even if the keys hadn't been there it wouldn't have been a big problem. Shawn and Danny had been hot wiring cars and taking them for joy rides for the last few years and so far had never been caught. This way was just quicker. In no time at all they left the state beach and were cruising down Pacific Coast Highway.

They made a short run through a Jack in the Box and loaded up on burgers, rings and Cokes.

"Where we gonna go, man?" Danny asked as he crammed onion rings into his mouth. "We been everywhere around here."

Shawn shrugged. "We gotta go someplace new." He chomped down on his cheeseburger and thought for a few moments. Then he got an idea. "Hey, I got it! Man, this'll be totally awesome."

"What?" Danny asked, his eyes eager to know.

"We're goin' to Vegas."

He slammed on the accelerator to catch the left turn arrow onto Brookhurst and headed north to the freeway.

Chapter 2

 When John Gage opened his eyes to the darkness of the tent, he realized two things had caused him to wake up. First was the rhythmic patter of rain on the canvas. He listened a moment to the light sound, knowing there was no cause for alarm, even though he could hear a low rumble of distant thunder. Nightly summer storms came and went quickly here, but their camp was set up on high ground, and there was no need to worry about flash floods. The morning would find them warm and dry and ready to make the trip home.

The second reason for his wakefulness brought an affectionate smile to the dark haired man's face. Sometime during the night, five-year-old John DeSoto had climbed into Johnny's sleeping bag and was now snuggled up against his favorite uncle's chest. Johnny scooted over slightly, trying to make more room for the child on the cot. This piece of camping equipment had been a birthday gift from Roy's children two years ago, and though at the time, Johnny had protested that real campers didn't need such luxuries, it hadn't taken long for him to admit that his nearly thirty eight year old body welcomed the relief from the cold, rocky ground. It now went with him on all but his most primitive camp outs.

Roy, on the other hand, made no bones about the fact that he had always been less than enthusiastic when it came to roughing it, and now, as a captain, deserved some of the privileges that came with his new rank. The DeSotos had rented a pickup truck with a moderate sized camper mounted on its bed for this trip and right now, Roy and Joanne were spending an evening alone in the vehicle while Johnny and the kids made use of the “bachelor tent,” as eighteen-year-old Chris had dubbed it. The eldest DeSoto son and Johnny had been the sole occupants until tonight, when Johnny had offered Roy and Joanne a night to themselves. Chris had broken into a knowing grin, while fifteen year old Jennifer had made a "grown ups are gross" face, but both teens had agreed. The youngest, John, while excited about sleeping in the tent with his "best buddy," had been a bit tentative about leaving his parents for the night, so Johnny wasn't surprised to find himself with a bunkmate.

Johnny closed his eyes, waiting for sleep to return. The last two weeks had been great, and he was glad he'd been able to convince Roy to go along with his plan. This past year and a half had brought a great number of changes, with more just over the horizon. In March of 1983, Roy had accepted his promotion to captain and had been assigned to Station 26. Shortly after that, Johnny himself had made a career change, though he'd gone in a different direction than his long time partner.

For some time, Dr. Kelly Brackett had been working to shift the responsibility of training paramedics from the hospitals to the Fire Department. The program had grown and developed so much over the last twelve years that the doctor felt the training belonged in the hands of the men who knew first hand what it was like in the field. The only thing that had held things up was finding the right person to spearhead the operation. When the Department offered Johnny the position of head instructor, he'd felt the honor keenly, mostly because he knew the recommendation had come straight from Dr. Brackett. Still, Johnny had waited to make his decision until he knew what Roy was going to do, and within a few days of Roy taking his promotion, Johnny had called the brass and accepted his own new position.

It had taken some getting used to. It was hard not to work on a daily basis with Roy, and even now, when Johnny was out in the field, sitting in a squad next to a trainee, he would find himself glancing over, half-expecting to find his long time friend and partner beside him.

But they'd made the adjustment, and Johnny's unspoken fear that not working together would change their friendship hadn't come to pass. The most recent “big” event in that friendship had been Chris’s graduation from high school, which took place two months earlier.

Johnny was sure some people would think he was crazy to let that event affect him. Chris wasn't even his son. But Johnny felt as close to Roy's kids as if they'd been his own, and watching Chris walk up to accept his diploma had been profoundly moving. Gone was the little boy with a gap-toothed grin Johnny had first met. In his place was a young man with a great deal of promise, but also a young man who was facing some hard decisions about his future.

Somewhere in the midst of Little League games, Scouting, swimming lessons, school and fun, Chris had developed into someone who knew what he wanted to do with his life - follow in his father's footsteps and become a fire department paramedic. Unfortunately that choice was at odds with his father's wishes. Roy had his heart set on all his kids going to college and getting the education he never had. Johnny knew Roy was proud of his profession, but he also knew Roy and Joanne had struggled for many years to make ends meet. Roy didn't want his children to go through that, and was certain an education was the answer.

For now, Chris was going along with his father. He had applied and been accepted into USC. His classes were due to start at the end of the month. If Johnny was the only one who noticed a lack of enthusiasm on Chris's part, the paramedic certainly wasn't going to mention it to Roy.

Another big landmark, though not quite so life changing, was that John was going to start school in the fall. To Johnny's way of thinking, this last little DeSoto, while not exactly planned, had been an added bonus in an already wonderful family. A bundle of energy almost from the moment he made his appearance, he had kept everyone hopping and brightened all their lives with his ever ready smile. It was hard to believe he was already five and a half years old. From kindergarten to college - life was marching along at a speed that was dizzying sometimes, and Johnny felt they all needed some time to just stop and be together.

It was amazing that it had all worked out. First, that Roy had even been agreeable to such a long, extended camping trip. Second, that Roy had been able to take his vacation at the right time when Johnny was between training classes. Third, that they had been able to arrange it all before the kids had to start school.

But they'd done it, and the last two weeks had been spent enjoying the natural splendor of The Grand Canyon, Zion's National Park and Bryce Canyon. Of course, the former partners had shared a few laughs over the name of the place, finding it fitting somehow, that the ever-annoying, by-the-book paramedic should share a name with a National Monument. Johnny had been quick to point out that the names weren't spelled the same and that was some comfort. Roy had merely laughed and shook his head.

They'd spent their days hiking, fishing, horseback riding, taking pictures, even stargazing at night, when the sky lit up with many more stars than the DeSoto children had ever seen, even during the more local camping trips Johnny had taken them on before. Johnny had enjoyed pointing out the constellations he knew, both the better known Greek and Roman ones, as well as the ones from his own Native American culture. Young John especially had been entranced by the stories Uncle Johnny told; legends passed down to him from his grandfather, Gray Wolf, when Johnny was a boy in Montana. Chris and Jenny had heard many of them before, but listened as attentively as if they were hearing them for the first time.

Johnny sighed happily, wishing it all wasn't coming to an end. But they had to head home in the morning. School, work and other responsibilities could only be put off so long, but they would have the memories forever, long after they'd all moved on with their lives.

John murmured something in his sleep and snuggled closer to his uncle. Johnny brushed his hand affectionately through the boy's auburn hair, heaved one more sleepy sigh and let himself drift off.

Chapter 3

The smell of bacon and coffee penetrated Roy's sleep fogged senses. Without opening his eyes, he snuggled closer to Joanne, nuzzling his nose into her hair.

"Hmmm," she murmured sleepily. "Didn't you wear yourself out last night?" The giggle that followed brought flashes of a young girl with dark pony tails, and Roy pulled his wife a little closer, letting his hands run over her bare shoulder and down her arm, grateful as always that she'd grown up into such a wonderful woman.

"I'm never too worn out," Roy stated emphatically, then propped himself up on one elbow and smiled slyly. With his other hand he started tracing circles on his wife's shoulder. "Not when I've got you to wake up to."

Joanne turned in his arms so she could look up at him, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "You didn't wake up because of me. You smelled the bacon."

"Jo-oo, how can you even think that?" Roy protested, but his stomach chose that moment to gurgle loudly, causing his wife to break into laughter.

She raised up to kiss him soundly, then patted his cheek. "Don't feel bad," she chuckled. "Your partner doesn't play fair."

Roy watched as Joanne got up off the small bed they shared in the camper and started pulling her clothes on.

"Johnny's not my partner anymore," he reminded her, though she knew very well that it had been nearly a year and a half since he and Johnny had worked together out of Station 51.

Joanne turned to face him while buttoning up her shirt. "You and Johnny will always be partners," she informed him with one of those "women know these things" kind of smiles.

Roy sighed and shook his head, gave in to the inevitable and sat up on the bed. He could hear the kids outside now and knew his and Joanne's alone time was over. They had a long drive ahead of them, and they needed to get an early start.

Joanne was already dressed, so she stepped outside to give Johnny a hand with breakfast while Roy quickly donned jeans and a t-shirt, then pulled on a long sleeved flannel shirt to ward off the morning chill.

As he stepped into his shoes, he realized he was going to be sorry to see this trip come to an end. As much as he groused about camping, he had actually enjoyed himself the past two weeks. He smiled, remembering how resistant he'd been when Johnny first broached the subject of such an extended trek into the wilderness. Sure, they'd taken the kids for a night or two up in the local mountains, enough to feel woodsy without being more than an hour away from home. But to actually pack up and travel out of state to camp, and then stay out of state camping for more than a few days; to head into an area Roy had never been to and so had no idea what to expect in the way of weather, facilities, or creature comforts; that was a whole different story.

But as time went on and first the kids, and then Joanne, started badgering him to go, he'd reluctantly agreed. Of course, it hadn't turned out to be the hardship he'd expected. Joanne's idea to rent the camper had gone a long way in making camping more enjoyable. Even though the small bed wasn't exactly the nice, comfy king sized he and Joanne shared at home, it was miles beyond sleeping bags on the ground, spending the nights picking rocks out from under his back and freezing his ass off. And of course, spending his nights with Joanne in comparative comfort rather than being sandwiched in a stuffy tent with Johnny and the kids, like he had been on previous trips, also helped keep Roy in a happy mood, and much more willing to enjoy himself.

And it had been nice to spend some time away from the hustle and bustle of home, where between Roy's work schedule, the kids' summer time activities, Joanne's volunteer work at church, the PTA, and the Fire Department's Women's Auxiliary, it sometimes felt like they were living in a whirlwind. This time he'd spent with his family, whether it was hiking a nature trail, wading in a creek fishing, or just sitting around the campfire listening to Johnny fascinate them all with the legends he'd learned at his grandfather's knee, had reminded Roy that life raced by at a dizzying pace, and it was too easy to forget what was really important.

His family was growing up and their lives were changing. Chris would be starting college in three weeks, something Roy had looked forward to for many years, but now regarded with mixed emotions. He knew his son wasn't the most eager of new freshmen, but Roy was confident Chris would do well. He was intelligent, a good student who excelled at whatever he put his mind to. All he needed was a little direction, and Roy hoped he'd been able to provide that; convincing Chris of the sense it made to get an education first, before he made any decisions that might take that option away from him - like joining the fire department. Roy felt the familiar irritation stirring that thinking about that prospect always produced, so he quickly shifted his thoughts onto something else - his second child.

Jennifer was fast becoming a young woman. No longer Roy's little princess, content with Barbies and tea parties and hugs from her daddy, or Uncle Johnny's Jenny Bean - though Roy suspected his daughter would always be Jenny Bean to Johnny. Jenny was not only growing into a beauty, she was a smart, self-assured fifteen-year-old, who looked to the future with a maturity beyond her years. She wanted to be a doctor, and the look on her face whenever she made that statement left no doubt in Roy's mind that his daughter would do exactly that.

When he looked at his two oldest children, Roy felt a mix of emotions. Besides the pride he felt in their accomplishments, he also experienced a degree of loneliness for the little boy and girl who used to clamor for him to pick them up when he got home from work, to swing them just a little higher, read them just one more story, and tickle them just once more before turning out the light.

But whenever he found himself dwelling too much on what he couldn't recapture, all he had to do was look at John. Roy felt a grin grow on his face at the thought of his youngest, and he remembered when Joanne had found out she was expecting again. Their happiness and joy had been tinged with just a touch of dismay at the prospect of starting over again when they'd thought they were long done with diapers and 2 a.m. feedings. But any misgivings had been quickly forgotten the moment the squirming little boy had been placed in Joanne's arms.

Roy chuckled to himself as he remembered that day. Five and a half years later, it seemed John had never stopped squirming. Sometimes Roy couldn't help but compare his two sons. Chris had been an active boy, but John left his brother far behind in that category. Roy's mother used the term "whirling dervish" to describe her last grandchild. Roy wasn't quite sure where that term had originated, but the image it conjured certainly seemed to fit John to perfection, and there were times Roy wondered if he wasn't too old to be raising this lively little boy. But whenever he complained about his son's abundance of energy, Johnny always laughed and told him to look on the bright side, that having John around the house would keep Roy and Joanne young.

Roy usually threw back a warning barb to Johnny about famous last words, but Johnny would just grin and shake his head and tell Roy that no, he'd probably passed the point in his life where he'd have to worry about that. It was always at that point that Roy would feel a pang of regret for what his former partner might have had if his wife and child hadn't been taken from him so violently all those years ago. But dwelling on the past would never bring Kim or Jessie back, and since Johnny had been able to move on and not let their deaths keep him from living a full, enjoyable life, Roy tried not to think about the tragedy overly much.

Thinking of Johnny nudged Roy's thoughts in another direction - another reason he was glad he'd allowed himself to be talked into this trip. It had been some time since he and Johnny had been able to spend more than an hour or two together. As much as they'd tried to assure themselves and each other that the changes in their careers wouldn't make any difference in their friendship, the truth was that things were different. They no longer had those long, twenty four hour shifts together; the time spent alone in the squad talking about anything and everything, the boring routine that in an instant could become a moment when one of them literally held the other's life in his hands. Spending a Saturday afternoon drinking a beer in Roy's backyard just wasn't quite the same. In fact, in the beginning, they didn't even have many of those Saturday afternoons.

The first couple of months they'd hardly seen each other at all. Roy was adjusting to his role as Captain, getting to know his men and his new station, trying to remember that he wasn't a paramedic any longer - something that wasn't so easy when his engine crew responded to a call with their squad. It wasn't so bad now, but at the start Roy had caught himself several times moving towards the victim or over to the squad as if going to grab equipment. He took a little good-natured ribbing about it, but had finally schooled himself to let his paramedics do their job while he concentrated on his.

Johnny, too, had a new job and new responsibilities to get used to. He was training paramedics now and had lessons to plan, reviews and evaluations to fill out, a mountain of paperwork he'd never imagined. Roy still chuckled when he recalled how frantic Johnny sounded on the phone during some of the infrequent calls they'd managed to squeeze in during the first training class. Roy knew his friend well enough to know that Johnny would want everything to go perfectly, and any snag in what he'd planned would amount to a near catastrophe.

Time and experience had settled them both. They were each comfortable in their new positions now, and life had resumed to a much more normal routine. Johnny came by for birthdays and other important family events, and Joanne had taken to inviting him over for dinner at least once during the week, depending on Roy's schedule, doing her part to be sure her two favorite men were able to keep in touch with each other. Johnny wasn't always able to make it, though he made a determined effort not to miss. Because of that, Roy could usually count on seeing Johnny at the house at least a couple of times a month. They did occasionally run across each other in the course of their jobs, but it certainly wasn't the same as working together on a nearly daily basis.

Roy finished tying his shoes and ran a comb quickly through his thinning hair. He didn't need a mirror to show him he was now sporting more than a few strands of gray there. Perhaps it was the same thing that was changing his hair color that was making him so introspective - the passing years.

He made an effort to chase those thoughts from his head. Grower older or not, Roy still wasn't the kind to dwell on things he had no control over. He pushed open the camper door, taking in the sight of his family milling around the weathered picnic table, setting up for breakfast. At one end of the table the Coleman stove was fired up, and Johnny was working over several burners. The aroma of bacon Roy had smelled earlier was stronger now and, he thought he could detect pancakes cooking as well. He took a deep breath of the crisp, fresh air. One of the few things he really liked about camping was how good food cooked outside tasted.

He closed the camper door and took the two short steps to the ground. He'd barely made it there before John launched himself into his father's arms, and Roy found himself the recipient of an enthusiastic hug.

"Daddy, you're up," the boy announced in case anyone had missed that fact. "We thought you were gonna sleep the whole day. We gotta get this show on the road."

"We do, huh?" Roy smiled, set John down and ruffled the boy's mop of auburn hair.

"Yep," he nodded. "But Uncle Johnny said we shouldn't bother you, cuz you prob'ly didn't get much sleep last night."

Roy heard Chris snort and there was a definite giggle from where Johnny's head was bent over the stove. Roy restrained himself from rolling his eyes. Instead, he focused on John and gave the five year old a big smile.

"That was really nice of you to let your ol' dad sleep. But don't worry. I had a very nice night."

This time there were outright guffaws from Chris and Johnny. John's little face looked puzzled as to why his brother and uncle were laughing, and Jennifer was busy pretending the two men weren't on the same planet as the rest of them. Joanne, however, came over and tapped the top of Chris's head with the roll of paper towels in her hand, then gave Johnny a mock scowl.

"You boys behave yourselves," she admonished.

Chris managed to rein in his laughter, with only a few suppressed chortles escaping.

"Sorry, Jo," Johnny apologized, trying his best to look sincere, but the effect was ruined by the grin he couldn't completely wipe off his face. "Breakfast is almost ready," he announced brightly, then nodded at a steaming mug on the table. "There's coffee, Roy."

Roy shook his head and smiled, recognizing his partner's attempt to change the subject. He walked to the table, John skipping along beside him. They both took a seat, and Roy picked up his coffee. He only had time for a few satisfying sips before Johnny and Joanne were serving up pancakes with boysenberry syrup, bacon, and a camping specialty of Johnny's creation, eggs scrambled with diced potatoes, onions and green peppers. It never ceased to amaze Roy that while Johnny had hardly ever made the effort to make much more than hamburgers or hot dogs while on duty at the station, he was actually a decent cook when he put his mind to it.

They ate in appreciative silence, as the sun rose above the canyon walls and the birds provided a noisy serenade.

"Chip and Dale's back, Daddy," John said softly, pointing a sticky finger toward the nearby stand of Ponderosa Pines that shaded their campsite.

Roy turned, and sure enough, there were the pair of chipmunks who'd been regular visitors to their camp since the first day they'd arrived. They were a bold pair, coming up within a few feet of the table every time a meal was served. Johnny and Roy both had reinforced the park rules about feeding the wildlife, much to John's disappointment, but that didn't deter the little creatures, who were waiting eagerly for a handout. Johnny said a lot of people probably disregarded the rules and fed them anyway, thinking they were too cute to ignore. But he'd also explained patiently to John, who really had wanted to share his lunch with them that first day, that doing so was actually harmful and that these were wild animals who needed to find their own food and not become dependant on humans, adding that though the chipmunks would probably eat anything they gave them, that didn't mean human food was good for them.

John had listened to Uncle Johnny and had promised to obey the rules, but Roy knew that didn't make it any easier for his little boy when the cheeky little beggars came scurrying up looking for a handout.

"I see 'em, son," Roy replied, tousling the top of John's hair. "Finish your breakfast and then they'll give up."

John signed as only a five year old can, signaling reluctant compliance. He turned back to his plate and shoved in another bite of pancake, but his eyes darted occasionally to the pair of chipmunks with longing. Roy smiled and wondered if when they got home, he'd be hit with a request for a hamster or guinea pig or some other small furry animal. Anything but a rat. He knew Joanne would never let a rat in the house.

They finished up breakfast fairly leisurely. Johnny and Chris were talking about how hard it would be to fight fires up here in the wilderness and Chris was speculating on what type of emergency medical services were available. The nearest town was a little place called Panguitch, and it didn't look big enough to have any large facilities. As their conversation drifted into whether or not the National Park Service might have a helicopter for Life Flights, Roy frowned slightly. He hadn't seen Chris so animated in the last several weeks. He certainly wasn't this excited when it came to discussing his upcoming school schedule. Roy glanced over at Joanne to see if his wife had noticed. She didn't seem to be paying any particular attention, as she and Jennifer had gotten up to start washing dishes.

He sighed and pushed back his plate, wondering why this was becoming such an issue in their lives. They'd always planned for Chris to go to college, just like they did Jennifer and when it came time, John. Why was it his very intelligent son couldn't see the logic of getting an education first? Roy's gaze shifted to Johnny, who was in the middle of some story, waving with his fork to make a point. His partner certainly wasn't helping dissuade Chris of the glories of firefighting.

Not wanting to let himself go down that path today and ruin the end of what had been a very enjoyable trip, Roy got up from the table and looked at his watch. It was already nearly eight o'clock. They should probably get packing if they wanted to make it to Las Vegas by lunch time.

"Okay, like John says, we need to get this show on the road." He smiled down at his son, who beamed back at him.

Johnny got up from the bench as well, draining his cup of coffee as he did so. "Right, Cap," he answered with a grinning salute in Roy's direction. He then glanced around, as if looking for someone. "Hey, where's my packing buddy?"

John jumped up and raised his hand excitedly. "Right here, Uncle Johnny. Remember?"

Johnny's eyes widened as if suddenly recognizing the boy. "Oh there you are. Well, come on, Little Pally. We're wasting daylight."

John got down from the table and ran towards the Rover, where Johnny had headed. He was interrupted only once, by Joanne, who stopped him long enough to wash the syrup off his hands and face. Then he raced to the car, where Johnny had the hatch open.

They stored the food and most of the bedding in the camper, but the heavy gear went into the Rover. Johnny had taken out the back seat, leaving a lot of room to carry tents, fishing gear, cooking equipment and other bulky items.

After two weeks and being in several different camp grounds, they’d become fairly adept at dismantling everything, and it didn't take long to get ready to roll. They took one last look around to be sure they had everything, and then loaded up their vehicles. With only the front seat, Johnny had room for just one passenger, and the kids had been taking turns riding with him. Jennifer started to get in, but John began jumping up and down, pulling at his sister's arm.

"It's my turn, Jenny, it's my turn."

"Calm down, John," Jenny retorted, pulling her arm away. "You rode with Uncle Johnny yesterday. Besides, what difference does it make? Go ride in the camper with Mom and Dad and Chris."

"No," the little boy protested. "I didn't ride with Uncle Johnny yesterday. That was Chris. It's my turn today," he stated with an emphatic stamp of his foot.

"Kids," Roy reproved with annoyance, as he turned from where he was checking to be sure the bikes were secure on the back of the camper. "If you fight about it, you'll both ride with us."

John's eyes filled with tears at the threatened injustice. He turned to his sister and lowered his voice, his way of trying to appear as if he wasn't arguing. "Please, Jenny," he pleaded. "You and Chris both got to ride with Uncle Johnny yesterday."

Jennifer blew out a long suffering breath and muttered something about little brothers, but she climbed out of the Rover to let John take her place.

"There, twirp," she said with obvious exasperation.

"Thanks, Jenny," John said, all smiles now and oblivious to the teen's sarcasm.

Johnny had stayed out of the argument until now, but he spoke up at last from the back, where he'd just closed the hatch.

"Hey, Jenny Bean?" Jennifer glanced up. "Thanks." He grinned and gave her a wink.

Jennifer rolled her eyes, but Roy could see she was happier since Johnny had acknowledged her mature behavior. She walked over to Roy and he managed to get an arm around her shoulder and kiss the top of her head. Jenny flashed him a smile and didn't pull away, as she did frequently, depending on the mood she was in at the moment. For a little while longer at least, she was still Roy's little girl. He took advantage of the brief respite from teenage aloofness and hugged her close, then held the driver’s seat forward so Jennifer could slip into the rear seat of the truck’s cab.

Chris walked over with the bag of garbage they were hauling down to the dumpsters at the ranger's station and climbed in after his sister. Roy returned the seat to its normal position. Joanne was already in the vehicle and she gave him a smile as he slid behind the wheel.

"Well, you made it through," she teased softly. "It wasn't all that bad, was it?"

Roy returned his wife's smile and shook his head. "Not at all."

 

­­­­­­~ ~ ~

Danny sat uncomfortably in the passenger seat of the Nissan. As he swiped his arm across his forehead, he knew not all the sweat there was due to the oppressive Las Vegas heat. He was worried about Shawn. He'd been inside the apartment far too long to just make a little cocaine buy. Danny didn't like the two guys they'd met up with after they'd been kicked out of the Tropicana. There was something about them that made Danny uneasy. But Shawn, indignant after being tossed out of three casinos already for being underage, was more than eager to have a little fun. He'd punched Danny's arm, none too gently, when he'd started to make noises about Danny not going along with their new "friends," and told him to stop being a dork.

Danny didn't want Shawn to think he was a dork. Shawn was his best friend, and it mattered what his friend thought of him. Danny didn't really care what these other two guys thought. They were older, probably in their late twenties, and even though they smiled and acted friendly, there was something in their eyes that gave Danny the creeps. When they pulled up in front of the run down apartment, Danny made no move to go with them. Shawn glared at him a moment, then shrugged and said he'd be back in a minute.

That minute had stretched into ten, and then twenty, and Danny started fidgeting when nearly forty-five minutes had passed without any sign of Shawn coming back out the door. He was thirsty, and hungry. It was long past lunch time. And he was afraid that Shawn, who never hesitated about walking into new situations, might have gotten in over his head this time.

Danny wasn't sure what to do if his friend never came outside. Of the two of them, Shawn had always been the leader, the one to make all the decisions. Danny had been more than happy to sit back and follow Shawn's lead. Friends since the third grade, Danny had never had a reason to question Shawn's leadership. Now, the teen didn't like the situation he found himself in. He was out of his element. Without Shawn, Danny wasn't sure what his next move should be. Sitting here in a stolen car, hundreds of miles from home, Danny had never felt more lost.

This trip to Las Vegas had been pretty much of a bust. The drive was long, the weather miserable. They hadn't met any girls, they'd been bounced from the casinos. Shawn said they shouldn't waste any of their money on a room, so they'd slept in the car last night. Then this morning, after grabbing Egg McMuffins and some orange juice, they'd tried the casinos again, only to be asked none too politely to leave the premises and not return.

Danny had been all for going home, but Shawn was determined not to leave until they'd had some fun. The blond teen wasn't against having a good time, but he was more comfortable on their home turf, with people they knew. Now, as he sat listening to the radio, he hardly heard the songs, as he waited anxiously for Shawn to open the door and come out.

Almost as if on cue, the ripped screen door opened and Shawn came sauntering out. He'd obviously scored. Danny could tell from the way he walked that Shawn was feeling good. Rather than feel put out that his friend had gotten high without him, Danny was merely relieved that Shawn was back, and now they could get out of this place and head for home.

Danny climbed out of the car as Shawn drew near, taking note of the lazy grin on his friend's face, and knew he'd better drive. He left the passenger door open for Shawn and then trotted around to the driver's side, glad Shawn had left the keys in the ignition so Danny could listen to tunes. At least he wouldn't have to fight his friend for them.

"Hey, man, what's the big hurry?" Shawn drawled as he slid bonelessly into the seat and closed the door.

"No hurry," Danny answered with a shrug of his bony shoulders. "Just wanna hit the road is all." He started the engine and pulled the Nissan onto the street.

They drove in silence for a time, then Shawn spoke up again. "Hey, man, don't be mad at me. They had some really good shit to sell, but they wanted to party first. I had to be polite."

Danny glanced at Shawn and seeing that stupid smile made him laugh. "I ain't mad, man. I was just gettin' bored."

"Sorry, dude. I told ya’ you shoulda’ come in with me. But hey, don't worry. I got some good stuff. We'll have our own party."

Danny smiled in anticipation, but he still would feel better if they got closer to home before they tuned out. He headed toward the freeway, hoping Shawn was too wasted to either notice or complain about it. He didn't get his wish.

"Hey, where ya’ goin'?" Shawn sat up straight and peered out the windshield.

"Just headin' home, man," Danny replied. "Figured we'd have our party at the beach."

Shawn shook his head in obvious disgust. "Dude, you have got to learn to relax," he stated. He watched the road for a time, then sat back and rummaged into his pocket. "You do what you want, but I ain't waitin'." He pulled out a joint and held it up for Danny's inspection.

"So? What's so big about some grass?" Danny asked. "Is that the good shit they sold you?" He laughed. "No wonder they wanted you to get stoned before you bought it."

Shawn glared for a moment, then his smile returned and he moved the joint under his nose, inhaling deeply. "This ain't just grass," he informed his friend. "This is special."

Danny's eyes darted between his friend and the road, wishing Shawn would at least wait until they were a little farther out of town before he lit up. They were still inside Vegas city limits, driving a stolen car. And while in Nevada, that probably wasn't a big deal, once they crossed the state line, they'd probably have to ditch this car and find another set of wheels. He didn't want to have to do that with Shawn blitzed out of his mind.

But his friend wasn't thinking straight and he lit up the joint, inhaling deeply. Danny just kept his eyes in front of him, hoping they didn't pass any cops.

Chapter 4

Johnny took a long drink, finishing the last of the Coke he'd fished out of the ice-filled cooler, then stuffed the empty can into the small trash bag hanging from the knob of the Rover's radio. It was quiet in the truck; quite a change from John's constant chatter. It had taken them over four hours to make it to Las Vegas, during which time Johnny had listened to the five year old's non-stop commentary on the passing scenery, the weather, his upcoming entry into kindergarten, and anything else that happened to pop into his mind. But after they'd stopped for a quick lunch in the desert city that looked so pretty at night, but was dreary and drab in the glaring noon sun, John had grown tired. His eyes started drooping and his yawns grew so frequent that Johnny had suggested that the boy hop into the back and take a snooze.

John had balked at first, determined to stay awake and be "Uncle Johnny's navigator." But eventually he'd given in and had crawled into the back seat, snuggled down with his pillow in a hollow he'd made between a couple of sleeping bags. He was asleep in less than five minutes.

That had been about an hour ago, and though Johnny wasn't complaining about the silence, he did miss his "best buddy's" company. While Johnny loved all three of Roy's children as fiercely as if they were his own, there was something about Roy's youngest that always brought a smile to Johnny's face. Maybe it was the child's unending enthusiasm for everything going on around him. Maybe it was the little bit of himself Johnny saw in the boy. Roy and Joanne always joked about how John took after his "uncle," with his engaging smile, boundless energy and ability to talk a mile a minute. Johnny laughed along with everyone else about the apparent genetic leap, but there was a grain of truth in the good natured teasing. Johnny was honest enough with himself to realize he would more than likely never have a son of his own, and John DeSoto, though no blood relation, was probably the closest Johnny would ever come to having that chip off the ol' block, as the saying went.

Johnny glanced over his shoulder. He could barely see the top of John's head amidst all the gear. It probably wasn't the safest place for the boy to be riding, but it was far more comfortable for him than trying to sleep up in the front seat. And Johnny, normally a good driver anyway despite the razzing he'd always gotten about Roy not letting him drive the squad, was always extra careful whenever Roy's kids were in the car with him.

He returned his gaze to the road. Though there wasn't much traffic, Johnny couldn't see the camper. It didn't worry him, knowing Roy was several miles ahead of him. John had needed to make a short pit stop not long after they'd left Las Vegas, and rather than subject the little boy to a lecture from his mother for not going when he had the chance, Johnny had just pulled off the side of the road briefly while John found a convenient boulder. Predictably, Roy called over the CB to see what had happened, but Johnny just made an excuse about needing something out of the back of the Rover and told Roy to keep going. In his mind a guy had very little choice in the matter when nature called. There was no sense getting his Little Pally in trouble.

Without John's running monologue, it was hard not to be bored with the scenery. The passing landscape was dry and barren, with only dirt, rocks, sage brush and Joshua trees stretching across the land until it disappeared into the blue of the distant hills. With his window open, the hot, dry wind squinted his eyes behind his sunglasses and whipped his dark shaggy hair into a wild frenzy.

Johnny had spent time out here over the years. In his younger days, he and his friend Drew Burke used to come out to the desert to ride their bikes, far from traffic and speed limits that kept them restrained in the more populated cities. A smile played on his lips as he remembered those carefree days, before Drew had married Pam and settled down. Even the tragedy of Drew's death, now nearly thirteen years in the past, couldn't dim the pleasure of those memories. The two of them had explored quite of bit of this barren land, and as a result, Johnny knew there were things out here most people never saw as they sped down the highway intent only on either getting to Las Vegas or coming home from there.

He also knew people lived out here, though even his appreciation for the wonders of the desert wouldn't have persuaded him to do so. He'd lived in dry, hot lands before, but even the reservation he'd lived on in his early childhood hadn't been this desolate. Hidden treasures or not, the land was still miserably hot and inhospitable, and Johnny had grown to prefer the cool lushness of the mountains to this harsh environment.

Needing a distraction from the monotony of his own thoughts, Johnny leaned forward to turn on the radio, hoping they were still close enough to Vegas that there would be something decent to listen to. He found a lot of static and one country western station that faded in and out so badly it wasn't worth keeping on. Giving up, he turned off the knob and settled for whistling to himself.

"Uncle Johnny?"

Johnny shot a glance over his shoulder and saw John's sleepy face peering at him from under a sleeping bag. He didn't know how the boy could stay burrowed in like that with how hot it was.

"I'm thirsty," John said, rubbing at his eyes with one fist. "Can I have som'pun to drink?"

Johnny glanced down at the cooler, knowing he'd drunk the last Coke. "We're all out, buddy. Can ya wait a little while? We'll probably stop before too long."

John heaved a little sigh. "But I'm really, really thirsty. How long's a little while?"

Johnny glanced at his watch, then at a passing road sign. They were still about thirty miles out of Baker, but there was an exit up ahead for the little town of Nipton. Johnny had been there once or twice. It wasn't much as far as towns go, but it would have a place where John could get a drink. And use the bathroom, Johnny added with a grin. The only drawback was that it was about ten miles off the road. Detouring there would add extra time.

"I don't know, John..." Johnny hesitated, still debating with himself.

"Please, Uncle Johnny."

And before Johnny knew he'd made a conscious decision, he found himself taking the exit. He shook his head. Roy always accused him of letting the kids wrap him around their fingers. Well, maybe that was true. But that wasn't always a bad thing.

"Okay, Little Pally, we'll go get you something to drink."

"Yay!" John's face beamed. "Thanks, Uncle Johnny. I think I woulda died of thirst."

Johnny tried hard not to laugh at the boy's exaggeration, knowing that to a five year old the half an hour drive to Baker might very well have caused him to "die of thirst." He pressed a little harder on the accelerator, hoping to cut down the time this errand of mercy would take. He didn't want Roy to start worrying.

While they drove along the two-lane road to Nipton, John stayed in the back of the Rover. He had made up some game he was playing that required him to hide, and Johnny didn't feel the need to make him climb up front. There wasn't any other traffic out here on this lonely road. Odds on running into anybody were remote.

Johnny wasn't sure when he realized something was wrong, but, he eventually grew aware that the Rover wasn't handling right. His brows drew together into a frown as he glanced down at the steering wheel a moment, then back at the road. He was definitely listing to one side, and now there was an audible thump-thump as he slowed his speed.

"Aw, damn," he swore softly, conscious of John in the back in hearing range. Feels like a flat tire. He pulled to the side of the road and killed the engine.

"Whatsa matter?" John asked.

"Don't know yet," Johnny answered. "Maybe a flat tire." He opened the door. "Stay inside, buddy," he instructed, then climbed out into the full heat of the day. He kicked up some dust as he walked around to the passenger side of the truck and confirmed his suspicions. The back right tire was completely flat.

Shit! He ran a hand through his hair and heaved a disgusted sigh at the prospect of the sweaty, dirty job ahead of him. Better let Roy know. He opened the door and slid into the passenger seat, picking up the CB mic.

"Hey, Pally, this is Junior, ya’ wanna come in?"

They'd had a good laugh over picking their handles for the trip. It had been more than twelve years since they'd first started working together. Too many years for Johnny to be considered a junior anything. But the names had stuck, and though Roy rarely called him that anymore, it was the first thing they'd both thought of when they were installing the radio in the Rover.

There was a moment of static before Roy's voice filtered over the speaker.

"Go ahead, Junior. What's up?"

"Looks like I got a flat. I'm gonna have to change the tire."

"You need some help? We can come back."

"Naw, don't do that." Definitely don't do that, Pally, since we're not on the right road. "By the time you get turned around and come all the way back, I'll probably be done. I just didn't want ya’ to worry."

"You sure?"

Johnny smiled at the familiar concern in Roy's voice.

"Positive. Why don't you guys wait up for us in Baker. Grab a cold drink or something. We shouldn't be too far behind you." Farther than you think, but what's ten or fifteen more minutes between friends? "And you know John wanted to see the big thermometer."

Roy's laugh came over the radio. They'd made the mistake of telling the boy about the world's tallest thermometer on the way up. John had gotten so excited about seeing it, the only way they'd gotten out of stopping at the small town, whose only other claim to fame was being the "Gateway to Death Valley," was to promise they'd do so on the trip home.

"Okay then," Roy answered. "We'll see ya’ in Baker." There was a slight pause before Roy spoke again, and by the question, Johnny knew it was from Joanne. "Is John behaving himself?"

"He sure is, seeing as how he just woke up.  It's been awfully quite around here the last hour." Johnny chuckled. "Tell Joanne he's fine," he assured his friends with a grin.

Roy laughed again, then signed off. Johnny replaced the mic in its cradle, then climbed back out of the car. The first thing he had to do was to get the spare off the hood.

Chapter 5

­­­­­­ Shawn leaned far out the passenger side window, reveling in the wind as it whipped at his face, his long brown hair a wild, wind blown corona around his face. He felt like he was flying, but it wasn't enough. He wanted to go faster - he needed to go faster.

"Pedal to the metal, dude!" he cried above the wind, frowning when he didn't feel any change in their speed. He glanced inside the car, saw Danny's anxious face, his knuckles pasty white against the steering wheel. His frown turned into a scowl. "Whatsa’ matter, dickhead? You're drivin' like my old lady."

Danny bit his lower lip and pressed marginally harder on the accelerator. He wasn't normally a worrier, but nothing about this trip to Vegas had turned out normal. And now Shawn, the one Danny always depended on to lead the way and get them out of trouble, wasn't acting like himself at all. Danny didn't know what exactly had been in the grass his friend had smoked, but he knew it had to have been something potent.

"Faster, man, faster," Shawn urged, his entire upper body now out the window. "Speed of light, speed of light!"

"We're trying to stay low, man," Danny replied, not knowing if his friend could hear him. "The cops see you and they'll pull us over for sure."

"Fuck the cops!" Shawn yelled at the top of his lungs and then laughed crazily.

"Shawn!" Danny insisted, reaching over and tugging on the boy's shirt. "Sit down, man!"

Shawn pulled himself in and turned an enraged face at Danny. The blond teen swallowed hard as he faced a stranger instead of his childhood friend. But just when Danny thought Shawn was going to tear into him, the other boy broke into a strange sounding giggle. He pointed to a white Cadillac in the lane ahead of them.

"Pass her, dude, pass her. She's slowin' us down!"

"She's fine, Shawn, she's goin' plenty fast."

"Pass the fuckin' car, man!" Shawn suddenly reached his left foot over and pressed down on top of Danny's, pushing the accelerator to the floor. The Nissan surged forward.

Panicked, Danny kept one hand on the wheel while he used his other to try and shove Shawn away from him, at the same time trying to lift up with his foot to get his friend's leg back where it belonged. Somehow he managed to keep the wildly veering car on the road until Shawn shifted back over to the passenger side, grinning widely.

"You're crazy, man!" Danny shouted, his heart thumping wildly in his chest. "You're fuckin' crazy!"

Shawn just laughed again; that crazy, manic laugh that was scaring Danny more than he'd ever been in his life. He shook his head and ran a trembling hand through his hair.

"What was in that shit you smoked?" he asked.

Shawn's laugh subsided a bit, though he still wore a wide grin. "Just some pixie dust, man. You should try it. It'll make you fly."

Danny gripped the steering wheel, hoping to hell Shawn didn't mean the joints he'd gotten had been laced with angel dust. Neither of them had ever done anything that hard before and Danny wasn't sure he ever wanted to. Not if Shawn was an example of how the stuff made you act.

He breathed out a shaky sigh, but then nearly choked when his eyes caught site of black and white squad car in the rear view mirror.

"Shit!" he exclaimed. "Shit... oh, shit!"

Shawn turned around and laughed at the site of the Highway Patrol cruising behind them. "Bring on the pigs!" he crowed, and moved toward the window, but someone had a death grip on his shirt.

Danny held tight to his friend, his mind working frantically. So far the policeman didn't seem to be interested in them, but he couldn't take the chance that Shawn might do something stupid to draw attention to them. He eyes darted back and forth between the road ahead and the mirror, wondering if the cop was close enough to see their license plate.

And then he spotted it. There was an exit. Without another thought, he turned on the blinker and moved the car over and took the road off the freeway. He had no idea where he was headed, and he didn't care at the moment. All that mattered was that the cop didn't follow them off.

~ ~ ~

A dust cloud billowed behind the old station wagon as it traveled south toward Nipton over a little used desert road.  The wagon was a 1955 Chevrolet Bel Air, and might have been considered a “classic” if it was in the type of pristine shape that would have made it popular at car shows.  But it wasn’t in that type of shape, because car shows and classic automobiles meant little to the driver, who preferred the solitude of his tiny home on a patch of sandy ground twelve miles from Nipton, and three miles from any neighbors.

Dirt and grime clung to the wagon’s chrome making it dull and gray, rather than the shiny silver it had been when the vehicle was new.  The exterior paint, known as wintergreen mint, was perpetually coated with a fine layer of sand.  The driver supposed he should run the vehicle through a car wash, but Nipton didn’t have one of those fancy automatic car washes with the overhead spray and massive scrub brushes, and Rudy Whitmore rarely traveled anywhere else.

The only air conditioning the Bel Air contained was 4-60.  In other words, roll down all four windows and drive sixty miles an hour.  Rudy smiled at his joke as hot wind blew strands of salt and pepper hair out of his braids.  In many ways, so much of life was a joke.  Who would have guessed that during the past decade, it would become fashionable to brag about your Native American heritage instead of denying it, and even more fashionable to make money off of it?

Rudolph Valentino Whitmore was born to a white father and an Indian mother on June 2nd of 1922.  His mother’s heritage was rarely discussed in their home. It wasn’t until Rudy was sixteen that he questioned his father about the part of himself he knew so little of, and was told, “Life is easier when you do your best to fit in, son. Remember that.  It might not be right that you have to hide who you are, but a long time ago your mother and I agreed that we wanted you and your brother and sisters to have all the opportunities due you.  We want you to be happy.  I love your mom, and your mom loves me. That’s all that matters.”

Rudy had nodded, then ran off to play football with his friends at the park down the street.  His casual acceptance of what his father told him didn’t mean that, in the coming days, Rudy didn’t think about what he’d learned.   The reason his parents had moved to Los Angeles from Banning shortly before Rudy was born now made sense.  Their mixed marriage wouldn’t be questioned nearly as much, or noticed nearly as much, in a large city, as it would be in the small all-white town Rudy’s father had grown up in.  Of course, that was never voiced to Rudy or his siblings.  His father often joked and said it was his mother’s infatuation with movie stars that had brought them to L.A., where Bill Whitmore worked as a security guard at Warner Brothers.

Rudy’s name was evidence of his mother’s love of “talking picture shows” as she referred to movies until the day she died in 1957.  His sister, Mary Pickford Whitmore, had been further evidence of Helen Whitmore’s infatuation with Hollywood stars. 

Unlike Rudy’s mother, his father wasn’t a movie buff, and never seemed impressed when he met someone like Clark Gable, Bettie Davis, Errol Flynn or Greta Garbo. Instead, it was politics Bill Whitmore followed.  Rudy’s brother, born just twelve months and five days after him, was christened Woodrow Wilson Whitmore, for the president Bill had proudly served for in the trenches of France during World War I.  Following Woody in birth order had been Mary, born in March of 1926.

When Rudy’s mother was carrying the fourth and final Whitmore child in 1933, Rudy’s dad insisted it was his turn again to name a baby, which meant the whole family knew the child would be named for some politician or another.  Rudy’s dad had predicted for months that his wife was carrying another boy, and shortly before the baby’s birth, revealed the child would be called Franklin Roosevelt.  Even Dad thought it was funny when the baby turned out to be a girl and Mom insisted she was not naming a little girl Franklin, no matter how much Dad admired the popular president. Dad swiftly amended the name to Eleanor Roosevelt Whitmore, and with the birth of little Ellie, their family was complete.

Rudy remembered his boyhood with fondness.  The Depression had forced his parents to live on a tight budget, but fortunately, Americans were still attending movies. Rudy’s dad didn’t lose his job like so many other fathers did during that time period, and even made extra money working security at fancy private parties for stars who liked Bill’s efficient no-nonsense manner at Warner Brothers front gate.

Boyhood gave way to young adulthood, which brought nothing but bad times Rudy would rather not remember.  Throughout childhood he, Woody, and Mary had been inseparable - playmates, confidants, some occasional teasing, arguments, and hurt feelings, but most important, best friends.  Then Mary became ill and died of leukemia in April of 1941 at the young age of fifteen.  Woody was gone from them forever in 1943, when a Japanese destroyer torpedoed the Navy battleship he was serving on in the South Pacific.  All hands were lost.  The deaths of Mary and Woody were heartaches Rudy’s mother never fully recovered from, and when Rudy’s father died in 1955, she went to live in Chicago with the newlywed Eleanor and her husband, where she remained until her own death two years later.

Rudy pushed aside the strands of hair tangling in his eyes. The face of a young woman came to his mind, as it did on occasion even yet, four decades after she’d sent him a Dear John letter while he was headed home on a hospital ship after being liberated from a German P.O.W. camp. 

Carol Evans had been Rudy’s one and only, but apparently, she hadn’t felt the same about him, nor had absence made the heart grow fonder.  Maybe she was the reason he’d chosen to settle far away from Los Angeles, where Carol lived with her husband, and buy his small home outside Nipton with the help of the G.I. bill and his income from working in the Hammerton Copper Mine. Or maybe it had been the deaths of Mary and Woody, and then Eleanor moving to the Midwest as a young bride of eighteen, that had made him feel L.A. held nothing more for him. Or maybe it was simply because he couldn’t stand to see the tears in his mother’s eyes, or the way depression became her constant companion after the war.  Losing Mary and Woody changed her personality, and as a result, changed Rudy’s father’s personality too.  No longer was Bill Whitmore a happy-go-lucky guy who made you laugh the minute he walked in the door.  Instead, the burden of two deceased children and a wife with deteriorating mental health caused his shoulders to stoop at an early age, and worry lines to permanently crease his forehead.  As far as Rudy was concerned, his father’s death was brought on by one sorrow after another, more than it was brought on by the heart attack that took his life.

Rudy’s thoughts returned to the present.  His brow furrowed as the Bel Air’s steering wheel vibrated beneath his hands.  The car swerved on its own accord.  Rudy fought to bring it back to its own lane, then guided it toward the shoulder. The dashboard warning lights flicked on and then off as the engine died and the car coasted to a stop.

Rudy sighed.  He possessed a lot of skills, but auto mechanics wasn’t one of them.  He took the key out of the ignition, pushed opened the heavy driver’s side door, and climbed out.  Rudy squinted as the mid-day sun assaulted his eyes. He looked north and south, but there was no sign of an on-coming car.  Not that he expected there to be. He doubted more than a dozen vehicles used this road in a day’s time. 

Rudy shoved his key ring in the front pocket of his faded jeans.  He walked around the Bel Air, locking all four doors.  He lifted the rear window, laid the tailgate down, and poked his head inside the cargo hold.  He grabbed an old blue blanket and covered his wares, then grabbed the Thermos jug of water he never left home without. The Bel Air had proven to be too unreliable in recent years for Rudy to travel on desert roads without fresh water.  He left behind a small paper bag, along with the gallon milk jug that was also filled with water that he used when the car overheated.  Whatever was wrong with the Bel Air today, it didn’t involve something as simple as adding water to the radiator.

 The last thing Rudy did was pick up the cowboy hat he wasn’t particularly fond of, but that seemed to please the tourists, and shoved it on his head.  For now, it would help shield him from the strong summer sun.

Rudy shut the tailgate’s window, then slammed the gate shut and locked it.  With his Thermos jug in his left hand, and his right thumb available for hitch hiking, he started walking toward Nipton. 

­­­­­­~ ~ ~

Danny gripped the Nissan’s steering wheel, his eyes darting to the rearview mirror every few seconds.  Seeing that CHP on I-15 had unnerved him.  He just wanted to get home, but at the moment, he had no idea where they were.  The desolate road he’d gotten onto after multiple turns was running through the desert, that much Danny could tell, but he saw no signs that indicated where they might be.

“We gotta dump this car, man.”

Danny looked at his friend.  “What?”

“This car. We gotta dump it.  We gotta find another set a’ wheels to get home in.”

“That’ll only mean the cops will be lookin’ for the new car we stole.”

“Nah.  By the time someone reports it and they get on it, we’ll be long gone.”

Danny wasn’t sure if Shawn was right or not, and either way, he didn’t care. He wanted to return the Nissan to the parking lot they’d taken it from, and wipe this trip from his mind.  Shawn had other ideas, though.  He sat up and pointed.

“Look!”

Danny’s heart hammered in his chest. He frantically scanned the road for the cops he was sure Shawn had spotted.

“A…at what?”

“That car up there!” Shawn smacked his friend’s chest with the back of his left hand. “There’s our wheels, Danny boy.”

Danny leaned forward, peering through the windshield at the old station wagon while wrinkling his nose.

“It doesn’t look like it’ll get us too far.”

“Pull over anyway.”

“Shawn, at least the Nissan doesn’t stick out.  That thing...the cops’ll notice that thing the second they see it.”

“Who’s gonna report a piece a’ junk like that stolen?”

“The guy who owns it.”

“Pull over.”

“Shawn--”

“I said pull over.”

Danny hesitated, but then did as Shawn ordered.  His friend had an explosive temper that was often made worse when he was under the influence of drugs.

Danny eased the Nissan to the side of the road, stopping it behind the Bel Air.  Shawn jumped out.  He ran to the driver’s side door with a wobbly gait.  When he found it locked, he punched his left fist through the window, and kept punching until all the glass was gone except a few jagged chards.  Danny’s mouth dropped open. His friend didn’t appear to notice the blood pouring from his hand, or the pain he had to be feeling from the numerous cuts made by the shattered glass.

Danny exited the Nissan and cautiously approached Shawn.  His friend was in the old station wagon now, scrunched beneath the steering column and trying to hot-wire the vehicle.  When Shawn couldn’t get it started he pounded the dashboard with his uninjured hand.

“Fuck!”

“Come on, Shawn, let’s get outta here.”

“Stupid car.”

“It’s not a good one to steal anyway. I told you it’d stand out.”

“But it was here for the goddamn taking!”

“So we’ll find another one,” Danny placated his furious friend. He didn’t want to encourage another car theft, and he sure didn’t want to participate in one, but right now Danny thought the dumbest thing they could be doing was standing out in the open by this broken down car, with a stolen vehicle parked behind it.  “Come on.  Come on, Shawn, let’s go.”

Danny guided his friend to the Nissan.  He grabbed a beach towel from the stack that rested on the back seat and tossed it to Shawn.

“Here, wrap your hand in this.”

“Whatcha’ talkin’ about, dude?”

“Your hand.  It’s bleeding. Wrap it up in the towel.”

Shawn looked at this bloody hand. A slow silly smile spread across his face. “Hey, you’re right.  I’m bleedin’, man.”

Danny shook his head as Shawn fumbled to get the towel wrapped around his injured hand.  He started the Nissan and eased it back onto the road.  He’d driven for less than a minute when he saw a road sign that read Nipton – 5 miles.  Danny had never heard of Nipton, but he hoped once he got there he’d be able to figure out what direction he needed to travel in so he’d be headed back to L.A.

They covered another mile when Shawn pointed with the index finger on his uninjured hand.

“Look over there. A redskin tryin’ to hitch a ride.”

Danny’s eyes darted to the side of the road.  “No way we’re picking him up.”

“I never said we were.  He’s probably the dude who owns that old piece a’ broken down shit I busted up my hand on.”

Danny wanted to say, “That was your own stupid fault,” but he kept his mouth shut. 

Shawn grabbed the steering wheel and jerked it to the right.

“Hey!  Whatta’ ya’ think you’re doing?”

Shawn laughed.  “Makin’ the Indian dance.”

Danny wrestled the wheel away from Shawn and got the car back on the road. Thankfully, the old man had good reflexes and jumped out of the way.

Shawn stuck his right hand out the window and thrust his middle finger in the air.

“Sucker!”

Danny sighed and rolled his eyes.  He wished Shawn would get it through his head that they shouldn’t draw attention to themselves, rather than the other way around.

Danny kept both hands on the steering wheel in an effort to maintain control if Shawn grabbed it again.  He continued on the road to Nipton, hoping they’d be headed home before Shawn had a chance to cause more trouble.

Chapter 6

­­­­­­ Johnny swiped his arm across his forehead. Changing a tire wasn't his most favorite thing to do under the best of circumstances. Now, stuck in the middle of the desert, with the temperature probably pushing triple digits, he was definitely not having fun. One thing for sure though, by the time he was finished, he would certainly be ready for a cold drink along with John.

He glanced up toward the Rover's windows, listening. He'd asked John to stay inside the truck, mostly so Johnny wouldn’t have to worry about where the boy might wander off while he was busy with the tire. He could hear John softly talking to himself as he played in his makeshift hideout in the back. Johnny smiled knowingly. For the last few days of their camp out, the little boy had been fixated on what he considered Chris and Jenny's high adventure in the Pow Wow cave. Roy and Joanne weren't very happy with their youngest's seeming obsession with it, but Johnny didn't think it necessarily was a bad thing. Of course, he wasn't an expert on parenting, but he didn't see the harm in John's pretending. Johnny supposed it would be hard for Roy and Joanne to look on the very real danger their children had been in all those years ago with any kind of humor or amusement, but to his way of thinking, it was actually a rather healthy way for John to deal with a story he'd heard since he was old enough to remember.

The whiz of a passing car caused Johnny to pause in his musings and glance up. He was barely in time to see the back end of a dark colored car zoom by at a speed that obviously exceeded the legal limit, which out here in the desert was 75 miles per hour. Johnny shook his head at the recklessness with which people drove sometimes. His surprise at seeing another car on this lonely road was matched only by his irritation that the driver hadn't even given him a second thought, had passed by without so much as slowing down. It was a good thing he wasn't having any serious car trouble.

Dismissing the thoughtless motorist from his mind, Johnny set the tire iron in place and worked at the lug nuts. They were not giving way easily, and he cursed under his breath at the mechanic who'd used a hydraulic wrench to put them on. Yeah, sure, they held better, but how the hell was anybody but Superman supposed to take them off? He took a deep breath, gripped the iron tightly with both hands and twisted with all he was worth, grunting at the effort it took. He was rewarded by the slight movement of the stubborn nut. Encouraged, he kept at it, and finally he was able to spin the nut off and set it into the upturned hubcap beside him.

He paused a moment to catch his breath and swipe his arm across his face again.

One down, only five more to go.

He picked up the iron again and attached it to the next nut.

"Need some help?"

Johnny actually dropped the tire iron in his startled surprise, as he looked up and saw two long haired teens standing a few feet beside him. The shorter of the two, grinned widely.

"Hey, man, didn't mean to scare ya’."

Johnny shook his head and stood up. "That's okay. I just wasn't expecting anybody on this road." He glanced around for their car and spotted a dark blue sedan about thirty yards away. It was parked the wrong way on the side of the road, facing the Rover, and Johnny realized it was the same car he'd seen pass him by earlier. They must have turned around and come back. That's why he hadn't heard them. They'd parked out of his hearing and walked up.

"You sure you don't need any help?"

Johnny let his eyes move from one boy to the other. In spite of the first's apparent friendliness, the second boy looked nervous, almost apprehensive. Johnny forced himself not to frown as his gaze traveled once more to the car, far enough away that they were able to basically sneak up on him. He smiled amiably enough and shook his head.

"Nah, I've got it. Thanks for stopping though."

"Sure thing, man, no sweat." The second boy, the blond, tugged at his friend's arm. "Let's go, dude, he's got it covered."

"Sure... okay... sure." The first boy walked backwards a few feet, then turned and sauntered in the direction of their car. But when they'd gone about half way there, he stopped and turned. "Hey, man, we'll just hang around... be sure you're not stuck." He flashed a smile again.

Johnny lifted his hand to wave at them. "Okay, thanks," he called back, watching them through squinted eyes until they'd reached their car. They didn't get inside. Instead, they leaned up against the grill, watching him.

Johnny kept an eye on them as he squatted down and went back to work. Hopefully he was just being paranoid. Perhaps they really did just want to help. But there had been something lurking behind the first boy's eyes - something Johnny couldn't put his finger on, but it had unsettled him. And the other one. He was definitely on edge about something.

Trying not to appear suspicious, Johnny worked at the remaining nuts. He felt tense, like a wire stretched too tight. His attention moved constantly between the boys and the tire in front of him. It occurred to him that they were merely waiting for him to finish changing the flat and then they would steal the truck. Out here there would be no one to stop them, and a very long time before Johnny could get to a place to report the theft. They'd be long gone by then.

And then, in a stillness that suddenly seemed too quiet, Johnny could faintly hear John's voice again, and a stab of fear shot through his heart. He wasn't alone. If something happened and these boys wanted to play rough, he had John to consider.

He chewed on his bottom lip, his mind working frantically. He wasn't even sure there was anything wrong, but he was uneasy enough not to want to take any chances with John's safety. He shot a surreptitious glance at the area around them. The Rover was angled a bit, not quite parallel to the road, and there was a small ditch that ran alongside the pavement, probably for drainage during the occasional flash floods that struck the area. John wasn't very big. If he was quiet enough and didn't get scared...

Johnny made up his mind. He stood up casually, and opened the Rover's passenger door, leaning in and making it appear as if he were searching for something. The door would effectively block the teens' view of what was going on inside. His eyes rested briefly on the CB sitting in the dash. It was tempting to pick it up and call Roy, but once more, with John here, Johnny couldn't take the chance that the boys would see him using the radio, or that when Roy answered, the boys would hear it. Roy was too far away at the moment to be of much help if these boys were pushed into doing something violent.

"John." Johnny's voice was quiet, barely above a whisper, but intense. He had to make sure the boy knew he was being very serious, yet his was reluctant to scare him. "We've got a little trouble, John, and I need you to help."

John's auburn head poked up from under the sleeping bag. His eyes were wide, and his face serious. "Is it those two guys?" he asked in a whisper that matched Johnny's, and Johnny realized that John must have heard the entire conversation he'd had with the teens. "Are they bad guys?"

Johnny continued searching the floor of the Rover for the non-existent tool he was looking for. "I'm not sure, buddy, but they may be. I think they may want the Rover, and if they do, we're gonna let them have it."

"Uncle Johnny..."

"No," Johnny interrupted firmly. "We're not gonna fight them. We'll let the police find them later."

He heard a resigned sigh from John, and couldn't help but smile at the child's spunk. But this was more than just a game of pretend, and he was going to be asking a lot of the five year old. Johnny chanced a quick glance at the two teens. They were still there, though one of the them - the darker haired - was pacing in front of their car now. Johnny knew he probably didn't have much time. He was going to have to work this just right.

"John, when I move the seat, I want you to sneak down out of the car. Don't stand up until you're out of the car. I don't want those boys to see you. You understand?"

John nodded once. Johnny shifted and pushed the Rover's seat forward, trying to make it look like he was searching through his gear. John was quick and wiggled forward so that he had enough room to change direction. Then he slid out of the truck.

Johnny stood up straight, holding John in front of him so his legs couldn't be seen under the door. He turned the boy so that he could see the ditch running alongside the highway.

"Okay," Johnny whispered, "here's the most important part. Do you think you can make it to the ditch without anybody seeing you?

John peered at hot, sandy ground, then glanced up at Johnny and nodded vigorously.

Good deal." He squeezed the boy's shoulder, a gesture of both comfort and encouragement. "Once you get there, run as far as you can and then wait for me to come get you. I need you to hide until I tell you it's safe, okay?"

"I know, Uncle Johnny," John whispered firmly. "Just like Jenny and Chris and the Pow Wow cave."

Johnny didn't have to time to debate whether or not it was a good thing this was still mostly a game to John. Leaving the Rover's door open to help conceal them, Johnny moved John down toward the end of the truck, then squatted down at the tire, his hand on John's shoulder bringing the boy down beside him. He glanced in the teens' direction, but the open door was blocking the view both ways. There was no way to go close it now. Johnny could only hope they didn't choose this moment to get curious about what he was doing.

Praying that the angle was enough to cover John's movements, Johnny squeezed the boy's shoulder once more. "Remember, you can't let those boys see you. You understand?" John nodded so seriously for such a little boy, that Johnny suddenly felt the need to lighten things up. "Don't go gettin' too friendly with any snakes," he added with a smile, hoping to keep John from being too scared. He grinned at the wink John attempted to give him in return

"I won't, Katori," the boy whispered back.

Johnny swallowed the lump of pride he felt in Roy's son, rested his hand for an instant on top John's mop of hair, then nodded.

John was off like a shot. He ran bent over, trying to be as small as possible. The few yards that he had to cover suddenly seemed like miles to Johnny. He held his breath, his heart pounding fiercely in his chest, as he waited for John to reach his goal. Any moment, he expected the two boys to start shouting, or running this way, but it didn't happen. John reached the ditch and disappeared down into it.

Johnny let out a relieved breath. At best, nothing would go wrong and he would only feel a little foolish. If the worst happened, John would be safe. With a determined effort to finish as quickly as he could, Johnny went back to changing the tire.

~ ~ ~

Shawn kicked impatiently at a rock in front of him.

"This is takin' too long, man. Too damn long."

Danny watched his friend, his apprehension growing. He hadn't wanted to do this. He'd argued with Shawn that it was too risky to take a car from somebody who could see them - identify them later. But Shawn wasn't exactly in the mood to be reasonable, especially after his frustration at not being able to start the ancient station wagon. Then, only a few miles down the empty highway, he saw the jeep looking thing stopped on the shoulder, and he'd crowed with delight, demanding Danny pull over. Even though the owner was right there changing the tire. And even though Danny pleaded with him to just wait. Once they got to Barstow, they could probably find new wheels no problem. Or they could just dump the Nissan and hitch a ride on into San Bernardino, where cars would be theirs for the taking.

But Shawn was determined to take this one. And a life time of habits were hard to break. That, added with the fear Danny had of his friend's state of mind, and Danny pulled over, keeping their distance as Shawn instructed him.

Shawn had been all helpful smiles at first, and Danny had hoped that this would go without any hitches. But the longer it took for the skinny dude to get the damn tire changed, the more restless Shawn got. And now he was getting irritable. Danny didn't know how long it would take for the dust to get out of Shawn's system, but he was afraid it hadn't been long enough and that his friend might do something stupid.

"Why don't we just go," Danny suggested. "This dork's gonna be here forever."

Shawn just scowled harder. The guy had opened up his car a while ago and hadn't closed the door yet. It made it hard to see him or what kind of progress he'd made.

"We're not goin' anywhere," he stated determinedly. "We take this car." He started walking towards the Rover.

Danny watched him go, for an instant considered just getting back in the Nissan and splitting. But Shawn was his friend - had been for as long as he could remember. Danny couldn't just leave him. With great reluctance, he pushed himself off the front of the car and followed.

Chapter 7

Johnny finished with the last bolt, giving the lug nut one extra turn for good measure before he tossed the tire iron aside and heaved a relieved sigh. He'd never been so glad to see a job done. He'd been on tenterhooks since he'd sent John off to hide, his view of the teens blocked by the Rover's door, unable to see where John had ended up, not knowing if at any moment he was going to be held up, beaten up, or just end up feeling like a paranoid fool. It was the uncertainty that was eating at him, and part of him just wanted whatever was going to happen to happen. Not that he really wanted to lose the Rover - or have two punks beat the hell out him for that matter. If he were given a choice, he'd take looking like an idiot any day.

He grabbed the flat from where he'd propped it against the truck and at last stood up, meaning to roll the tire back to the front of the Rover where he would stow in on the hood in place of the spare. His back protested the time he'd spent crouched down and one hand automatically moved to rub the abused muscles, but he stopped in mid motion as he saw, standing by the open door, the tall, blond boy.

The teen's eyes still held the uneasiness Johnny had seen there before, but he spoke with a brash assurance.

"Guess you handled it like you said," the boy observed.

"Yep, I did," Johnny nodded, wondering where the other youth had gone. He didn't see the brown haired boy anywhere, and a sinking feeling in Johnny's stomach told him that wasn't a good thing. He tried to act unconcerned as he bent down to get the tire, letting his eyes move behind him as he did so. What he saw made him stop, that knot in his gut turning to lead.

The boy was standing there, the discarded tire iron in his hand, a smile on his face that held only menace. Johnny straightened up slowly, the tire forgotten.

"What's going on here, guys?" he asked calmly, though his heart was beating wildly.

"What's it look like, man?" the teen holding the tire iron asked sarcastically. "We need some new wheels." He laughed loudly. "And we like yours."

Johnny let his eyes move between the two boys. The blond wasn't laughing, but he was watching his friend warily. Johnny allowed himself a moment to study the brown haired teen, and his years as a paramedic told him the kid was on something. And from the expression on the blond's face, it was something his buddy didn't like.

Although it went against his nature to just give up, what he'd told John was the truth. He had no intentions of trying to fight these two by himself. He might be impulsive, but contrary to what Chet had insisted all these years, Johnny wasn't stupid. Besides, he had John to consider. If he put up a struggle and something happened to him, there'd be no one here to take care of John. Reluctantly, Johnny held up his hands in a gesture of surrender.

"Keys are in it, man. I won't argue with ya."

The boy snorted in derision. "You bet your ass you won't." He moved closer, the tire iron raised to waist level.

"Shawn," the blond boy hissed. "Let's just go, man."

"Shut up, chicken shit," the shorter teen snarled back. "We go when I say we go."

This wasn't looking very good at all. Johnny had hoped they'd just take the truck and leave, but something was telling him it wasn't going to be that easy. He briefly considered running, not sure if he could outdistance these two younger boys, but willing to give it his best shot. But he squashed that thought immediately. The last thing he wanted was for either of these two to start racing around the landscape chasing him. John was out there, barely out of sight, and would be too easily spotted. No, Johnny had to stay put. He had to keep the boys’ attention on himself. But maybe, it wouldn't hurt to put a little distance between them, just to stay out of easy reach. He took a cautious step backward. It was the wrong thing to do.

As if Johnny’s movement was the cue he'd been waiting for, Shawn lunged forward, the heavy iron bar raised high and already swinging down. Johnny had no time to do more than lift his arms to try and shield his head as he instinctively turned his body and tried to move away from his attacker. As a result the blow struck his left forearm instead of his skull. That small bit of luck probably saved his life, but Johnny wasn't sure at the moment if he could truly appreciate that fact as he bent over and cradled his throbbing arm, his teeth clenched against the excruciating pain. He had no doubt both the radius and ulna had cracked under the force of the blow.

It took a moment for his senses to clear enough to realize the boys were yelling at each other. He wondered briefly if he could get lucky enough that they would be so busy fighting, they would forget him entirely. But today was not his lucky day it seemed.

The more the blond shouted at his friend, the more enraged Shawn became. Johnny watched through pain watered eyes as the boy angrily raised the iron bar again, this time in both hands. Though, at first, he seemed to threaten his friend, in an instant he whirled. With an incoherent shout, the boy came at Johnny again.

Shit! This kid wants to kill me!

That realization came in an instant and was the last cognizant thought Johnny had. Fear-induced adrenalin surged through him, giving him enough strength to ignore his broken arm for the moment. He lowered his shoulder and managed to meet his attacker half way, feeling a small degree of satisfaction at the soft grunt the kid gave as Johnny plowed into the boy's chest. His elation was short lived, however, as Shawn stumbled backwards, and Johnny's momentum carried him forward. It took him a moment to regain his balance. Shawn, much younger and pumped up with angel dust, needed no recovery time. He took a quick step to the side to move away from Johnny, then turned and began venting his rage.

After that, the only thing Johnny was aware of was pain as the tire iron connected with his side, sending him staggering, unable to hold back a cry as metal met ribs. He hunched over protectively, but that gave him no relief. Shawn, as if gaining momentum from his first two strikes, began raining blows onto the injured man, apparently uncaring where the bar landed. Johnny felt the painful assault on his back and shoulders. He couldn't stop it and he couldn't escape from it, and it was only instinct that kept him turning away from his assailant, trying to absorb the force of the attack with the more solid parts of his body. He stayed on his feet until Shawn managed to hit him directly on his right kneecap, sending a searing jolt of agony through Johnny's entire leg.

With a strangled cry, he fell to the ground. The impact to his injured arm and ribs took his breath away, graying his vision, but self-preservation kicked in as his brain shut down. He curled in on himself, trying to present the smallest target possible. His breath was coming in short, rapid pants, each intake of air cutting into his lungs like knives. Blood was rushing in his ears and sweat was pouring down his face.

He was barely conscious of anything besides how much he hurt, but on the edges of his awareness he could hear more shouting. It seemed muted, and he couldn't make out the words. His mind wasn't processing things right, and the voices here and now were mixing with other, even more distant voices.

Dadee, Dadee! Jessie's sweet baby voice calling to him.

I'm gonna kill you, Gage. Goddamn, fuckin' bastard! I'm gonna kill you! Even in his pain, Johnny flinched at the vividness with which he could hear Kent Stone's crazed voice as he swung his bat of hate and death.

Where is she? Where's the girl goddammit! Where's the girl? The guy in the San Gabriel Mountains.  The one they called the Kankakee Killer. Was Jenny okay? Jennifer, where are you?

And then one screaming voice, loud enough to chase the phantoms away.

"You're dead, dude! You're fuckin' dead!"

Johnny had one final thought. John! They can't know where he is. God, don't let them find John.

And then his world exploded into a flash of agony, brilliant blue and white light, and then - utter darkness, where there were no voices at all.

­­­­­­~ ~ ~

Danny was living in a nightmare. Nothing was real anymore. He stared at the still form on the ground, who only a few moments ago had been standing here talking to them, but was now lying unmoving, a dark pool of blood forming around his head.

"You killed him, man," Danny whispered, his voice filled with horror. "Jesus, Shawn... you killed him."

Shawn stood beside the fallen man, still clutching the bloody tire iron. His long brown hair was hanging in his face and his chest was heaving. He didn't say anything, but stood silent for a long time. Then, almost casually, he tossed the metal bar aside and turned toward the truck.

"C'mon," he said calmly. "Let's get going."

Danny watched his friend walk away, but was unable to move himself. He felt rooted to the spot, unable to come to grips yet with what he'd just witnessed. It was bad enough when Shawn had started hitting the man. Danny had screamed at his friend to stop after the first few blows and it was obvious the man wouldn't be following them, or getting help any time soon.

But Shawn had ignored him, intent only on pummeling the man harder and harder, as if the weaker the man got, the more Shawn wanted to hurt him. Finally, after taking more abuse than Danny though possible, the man went down in the dirt.

Now - now it would be enough. Now they could get in the truck and leave like they should have done a long time ago. But Shawn hadn't been satisfied. He'd lifted that bar high above his head, ready to smash the helpless man's skull. And what sent chills even now through Danny's bones was that he knew Shawn would have done it. If Danny hadn't been able to finally get himself to move, to act, Shawn would have kept pounding away until the man's head was a bloody pulp.

Not that it was much better now. Danny's eyes were still glued to that pale face and the blood that was seeping from the side of his head to drip down over his ear and cheek. He shivered as his mind replayed the sequence of events from the time he'd raced forward and grabbed Shawn's arm.

"You can't do that, man. You'll kill him."

And for moment, as Shawn turned his wild eyes toward his friend, Danny had feared Shawn was going to start on him. Instead though, the brown haired demon, who used to be Danny's best friend, pulled his arm out of Danny's grasp and shrugged his shoulders.

"So what, man. At least he can't I.D. us."

Danny had never understood the term speechless before, but now he did. It took him a full minute before he could find his voice, and even then, it didn't sound like his own.

"Quite kiddin' around, dude," he tried to laugh. The sound that came out was a pathetic gurgle. "You can't kill him."

And then Shawn's face grew red with rage, telling Danny that the dust still had his friend in its grip.

"And why the fuck not?" Shawn demanded, his voice trembling with his anger. "I can do what ever I damn well please. And nobody can stop me! Not you," he jabbed a finger forcefully at Danny's chest, "not my old man, not the cops." He jerked his head towards the hapless truck owner. "And sure as hell not that piece of shit on the ground over there."

"But... but, Shawn... I mean, they can fry ya’ for that."

And then Shawn laughed and slapped Danny on the shoulder. "You're always lookin' out for me, dude. And I appreciate it." He hefted the tire iron and then nodded once. "Okay, man. I won't kill him." He met Danny's eyes. "Cool?"

Danny breathed out a shaky sigh. "Yeah, man. That's cool. Let's get going."

Shawn had smiled broadly, and then without warning, had turned and swung the iron, letting the bar come in contact with the left side of the man's head with a dull thud. Then that same smiling face turned back to Danny.

"See? I only knocked him out."

But Danny wasn't so sure. Especially since the man had gone limp and silent after the blow. And then blood had started dripping down his face to collect on the ground. And now, all Shawn had to say was to get in the car and get going.

"C'mon," he repeated, as he climbed into the passenger side of the truck.

Danny stood for a moment more, then he finally tore his gaze away from the grisly sight and somehow dragged his feet towards the truck. He wasn't sure he was going to be able to drive, but he knew Shawn still wasn't in any condition to get behind the wheel. And the only thing Danny wanted at this moment was to get as far away from here as possible - to go home.

Chapter 8

The DeSotos spotted the Baker water tower twenty minutes after Roy had spoken to Johnny.  The phrase “Gateway to Death Valley” was inscribed on the tower, which was the only claim to fame this sweltering little desert town could make, other than its gargantuan thermometer. 

“Gateway to hell is more like it,” Chris mumbled from the narrow seat behind Roy.

Jennifer droned, “No kidding,” without looking up from the book she was reading. She and Chris had to sit sideways so their knees weren’t jammed into the back of their parents’ seats.  Not for the first time since leaving for home that morning, Jennifer wished she hadn’t given into John.  At least in the Land Rover, she could ride facing forward. 

Before setting off on this vacation, Jennifer and her older brother had tried to convince their dad to rent a truck the camper dealer referred to as an ‘extended cab’.  It had four doors, and a full sized passenger seat.  But Dad said there was no need to spend the extra money, and that they’d make do with what he jokingly referred to as a “jump seat,” whatever the heck that was.  

It’s fine for you and mom, Jennifer thought while scowling at the back of her father’s head.  You don’t have to ride back here turned sideways with your knees pressed into metal.  When Uncle Johnny gets here, I’m switching places with John.  I don’t care how much the little twerp whines.

“Dibs on riding with Uncle Johnny.”

Chris turned from staring out at Baker’s bleak main street.  “No way. I’m riding with him.”

“You rode with him yesterday.”

“So did you.”

“Yeah, but you rode with him last, so it’s my turn.”

“Jen, I’m riding with him.”

Jennifer smirked. Ever since Chris had graduated from high school in June, he acted as if his word was law. 

“Uh huh.  I am.”

“Look, I need ta’ talk to him.”

“About what?”

Jennifer saw Chris’s eyes flick to the rearview mirror, where he met a questioning gaze from their father.  There was a long hesitation on Chris’s part, then, “Nothing. Forget it.  Ride with him if you want to.  See what I care.”

Jennifer considered goading her brother further, but something in his tone told her it was best to let the subject drop. Besides, she was getting her way.  She’d be able to ride the rest of the way home in something far more comfortable than this cramped half-seat.

The teenager slipped a bookmark into her novel and set the book on the seat as her father swung the truck into the Bun Boy Restaurant parking lot.  A bathroom break and a cold soda would both be welcome. Maybe even an order of fries to go along with the soda if they had to wait very long for Uncle Johnny.  Evidently, Chris was thinking the same thing.

“Do we have time for a burger and fries?”

Their mother half turned in her seat. “You just ate two hours ago.”

“Yeah, so it’s time to eat again,” Chris teased. “Don’t worry, Mom.  I’ll pay for my own.”

“And I wanna Coke and fries,” Jennifer said.  “I’ll buy mine too.”

“I guess if you pay for it, you can have it,” their mother agreed.

Jennifer’s father held up one hand, while putting the idling vehicle in ‘park’ with the other.

“Hold on a minute. Let me see how close Johnny is.  We might not have time for more than a bathroom break and some drinks to go.”

“What’s the hurry?” Chris asked.

“The hurry is that I have to be at work tomorrow morning, and we have to get this camper unloaded and returned before the day is over.  I don’t plan on crawling in bed at midnight just so you two can eat a second lunch.”

Jennifer rolled her eyes.  “Dad, don’t cha’ think you’re exaggerating just a bit?”

The girl saw her father’s smile as he picked up the CB’s mic. “Maybe, but since I’m the driver, I make the rules.”

“You make the rules even when you’re not driving.”

“No he doesn’t,” Chris quipped. “Mom does.”

Jennifer and her mother chuckled, while her father shot Chris a dirty look that everyone knew didn’t mean anything. Especially because it was easy to tell he was holding back a chuckle of his own.

“Junior, this is Pally.  Come in.”

Jennifer glanced to her right, her eyes settling on the world’s tallest thermometer.  Or so the “Guinness Book of World Records” stated.  The girl remembered when Chris had been fascinated by the book, and always seemed to have his nose in it.  He’d probably been ten, or eleven at the most. For a couple of years all he did was quote facts from that stupid book, and then the subsequent volumes he bought or received as gifts.  It was Chris who had told John that Baker had the tallest thermometer in the world.  Jennifer supposed it was only a matter of time before John would have his nose buried in those old Guinness paperbacks of Chris’s, and she’d have to suffer through another boy quoting facts and figures she couldn’t care less about.

Hopefully, I’ll be away at college by the time John’s reading those dumb books.

The girl paid scant attention to her father’s repeated attempts to raise John Gage on the CB.  Her eyes rose up the 134-foot thermometer.  The fat red mercury line stopped on 120. 

Thank God Dad has the air conditioner on high.  Chris and I would be melting back here if he didn’t.

Jennifer’s eyes focused back on her parents when her mom asked her dad, “Why isn’t he answering?”

“He might be in a dead zone.  Or maybe he had to stop somewhere so John could go to the bathroom.  I’ll try again in a few minutes.”

Jennifer leaned forward, hoping her mother would get the hint that she wanted out of the vehicle, but when all Mom did was remain seated in the same position, the girl sighed and leaned back.  On and off for the next ten minutes, Jennifer’s father tried to make contact with Uncle Johnny.  He finally hung up the mic and leaned back in his own seat with a puzzled look.

Jennifer heard the worry in her mother’s tone.

“You don’t think he’s had trouble of some kind, do you?” 

“I doubt it,” the teenager’s father assured. “Maybe John accidentally turned the CB off and Johnny doesn’t realize it. You know how often we had to tell him to leave it alone when he was riding with us.”

“But what if Johnny had trouble with the tire? Maybe he couldn’t get it changed for some reason. Or maybe his spare was flat.”

“Then someone’s stopped to help him.  He might have had to get a ride to a service station.”

Jennifer could tell her mother didn’t like the thought of Uncle Johnny accepting a ride from a stranger with John in tow.  She knew her father picked up on that as well, because he said, “Don’t worry.  No matter what’s happened, Johnny’ll take good care of John.”

The teen knew that was true. Maybe better than anyone else in the vehicle, she knew what lengths John Gage would go to in order to take care of one of Roy DeSoto’s children.  Therefore, Jennifer wasn’t worried, and Chris didn’t appear to be, either.  Like her, he seemed anxious to get out of the truck.  Fortunately, their father decided that was the best course of action for the time being.

“Let’s go into the restaurant for a little while.  Use the bathroom, get something to drink.  Chris and Jen can order that food they were talking about.  I’ll come back out in a few minutes and try to get in touch with Johnny again. I wouldn’t be surprised if he pulls in behind us before I get a chance to do that.”

“Does he know to meet us here?”

Jennifer’s father chuckled. “He knows John wants to see the biggest thermometer in the world, and since this is the place where it’s at, I’d say he knows where to meet us.”

Jennifer looked up and down the flat length of highway.

“It’s not like he can miss us, Mom. This camper’s pretty noticeable, and any place this town has where a person can get something to drink and use a bathroom is on this road. No one in their right mind would wanna go off it.”

“I guess that’s true,” the girl’s mother agreed as she opened the passenger door.

The heat from the black top rose through the soles of Jennifer’s tennis shoes.  The sun scorched her blond head as she and Chris hurried for the restaurant, with their parents a few paces behind them.

After everyone had visited the restrooms, Jennifer’s dad led the family to a table by a window that faced the parking lot.  As Jennifer and Chris ate the cheeseburgers and French fries they’d ordered, their father kept watching the highway, waiting to spot a white Land Rover that never arrived.

Chapter 9

Gotta hide!  Gotta run and hide!  Uncle Johnny says I gotta run and hide!

With those thoughts urging him on, John DeSoto had scrambled out of the Land Rover and down into the sandy ditch. He didn’t rise from his crouched position as he ran north, away from the Rover and the car those two bad guys were driving.  The boy was proud of himself for thinking to run away from the car, rather than toward it.  Uncle Johnny hadn’t told him which way to go. John had decided that all by himself.

The boy kept an eye out for snakes, just like Uncle Johnny had told him to do, but he wasn’t afraid of what might happen if he did see any.  He was Katori now – He Who Dances With Rattlesnakes. No dumb old snake could hurt him.

I gotta hide just like Chris and Jenny did.  I gotta find a good place to hide.

John paused and looked around.  The barren landscape was wide open.  He didn’t see any caves like the Pow-Wow cave his brother and sister had hidden in when that bad man had tried to kidnap Jennifer.  All he saw were rows of squat sagebrush sprouting from the ground, and an occasional Joshua tree reaching for the sky.  Neither the sagebrush nor the Joshua trees would make good places to hide behind, not even for a skinny five and a half year old boy. 

John considered climbing the side of the ditch to see how far he’d run from the Land Rover, but then he remembered Uncle Johnny telling him that he couldn’t let those bad boys see him. 

The youngster looked around again.  He pretended he was Katori, and that he had to find a place to hide from Custer’s scouts.  Last summer John’s family had gone with Uncle Johnny to visit the place where Uncle Johnny grew up - White Rock, Montana.  John had met Gray Eagle there - Uncle Johnny’s grandpa.  It was Gray Eagle who had told John all about General George Armstrong Custer, and how he’d led the cavalry on raids that killed lots and lots of Indians, even women and little children, who had no way of defending themselves.        

John had played Katori a lot since that visit, spending hours hiding from Custer’s scouts in his backyard.  His mother laughed and said he’d be the only child in his kindergarten class who could tell his teacher about Custer’s Last Stand.   John didn’t think it was funny.  He thought it was good stuff to learn.  If he hadn’t heard the stories from Gray Eagle, he wouldn’t know how to move swiftly and quietly like a young warrior needed to.  It would be better if he had moccasins on, rather than Nike tennis shoes, but he didn’t have any moccasins, so he’d have to pretend his tennis shoes were made of soft tan deer hide, instead of being blue and red with thick rubber soles and made from canvas.

The boy squinted and brought a hand up to shade his brow.  As he looked out over the hot, desolate landscape again, Uncle Johnny’s words echoed in his head.

“Once you get there, run as far as you can and then wait for me to come get you. I need you to hide until I tell you it's safe, okay?”

“Okay, Uncle Johnny,” the boy whispered with firm conviction.  If Chris and Jennifer could hide, then so could he.  They got to have all the fun. Finally, it was John’s turn to have some fun, and to be treated like a big kid along with it, instead of like the little brother Chris teased and Jenny bossed around.

Nobody’s gonna boss me now, ‘cause I’m Katori, and Uncle Johnny’s countin’ on me to hide real good.

The boy started running again, ignoring the heat that made him thirsty and turned his face bright red.  When he finally spotted a concrete culvert up ahead, he smiled.  He dropped to his knees, paying no attention to the three quarters of a mile he’d put between himself and the Land Rover.  John crawled into the culvert that had been built for drainage during flash floods. It was cool and dark in here, with just enough sunlight filtering in from the rounded openings for John to see that the culvert was free of snakes and scorpions. It was a great place to hide and wait for Uncle Johnny to come.

John’s labored breathing slowly abated as he lay on his back and stared at the concrete above his head.  He searched until his right hand found a small pointed rock.  He sat up and drew pictures on the rounded concrete walls with the rock, just like he imagined Indians might have done on cave walls hundreds of years ago. 

When John grew bored with his game and Uncle Johnny still hadn’t come, he lay back down.  As he was lulled toward sleep by the cool, quiet space, he mumbled, “Uncle Johnny, I sure hope those bad guys go away soon, ‘cause I really want somethin’ to drink now.”

­­­­­­~ ~ ~

Rudy unscrewed the top of the Thermos jug, put the jug to his lips, and tipped it up.  He was still four miles from Nipton, and hadn’t seen any vehicles other than that little foreign thingy driven by those damn kids who had run him off the road and shot him the middle finger.

Stupid punks.  No one raises kids to have an ounce of respect these days.  Don’t know what the hell this county’ll be like when these spoiled brats are runnin’ our government.  Hope I don’t live long enough to see it.

The man took another long drink, screwed the cap back on the one-gallon jug, and carried it by its white plastic handle.  He started walking again, not concerned that it was the hottest part of the day and he was traveling on a desolate desert road.  Thirty-seven years of back breaking physical labor had made him strong, both physically and mentally.  After retiring from the mine two years earlier, Rudy hadn’t allowed his body to go soft by sitting around watching TV like a lot of men did.  He didn’t even own a television.  He’d had an old black and white Zenith console some years back that he could get only two stations on because of the remote area he lived in.  When it quit working he hadn’t tried to fix it, and he’d eventually hauled it to a junkyard.  

The last time he’d watched TV, all Rudy had seen on the news was a bunch of long haired hippies shouting and waving their fists while cursing the president, and burning the flag, and spitting on nineteen year old soldiers whose only crime was being drafted to fight in an unpopular war.  Then Walter Cronkite would announce how many young men had died in Vietnam that day, and Rudy would think of all the young men he’d seen die on the battlefields of Europe. After that, no matter how hard he tried not to, Rudy would think of Woody and his watery grave somewhere in the South Pacific, and then he couldn’t stand to watch TV any more, until the next evening when he’d be drawn to the news again. 

Rudy had grown disheartened as, night after night, he heard college students defiling the country he’d been proud to fight for.  He couldn’t understand the generation called the “Baby Boomers,” and when the only picture he could get one evening was a small black dot in the center of the screen, Rudy decided it was a blessing.  If drug use, and boys who looked like girls, and girls who looked like boys, and young people who no longer felt honored to serve their country, or who even wanted to hold down a job, was all that was left, then Rudy didn’t want to know about it. 

Based on how he’d been treated by those kids who had tried to kill him with their car and called him a sucker, Rudy knew nothing much had changed in the years since he’d gotten rid of his TV.  Well, that was fine. The world could just keep turning without him.  His little home was simple and without the kind of fancy things he’d seen in Eleanor’s house the one and only time he’d visited her five years earlier - like that machine that washed dishes, or the square box she called a microwave that warmed food faster than Rudy could get a plate out of the cabinet to put it on - but he was happy.

Well...maybe happy wasn’t the word, but content…he was content.  A little lonely now and again, but not lonely enough to seek out any kind of permanent companionship.  Dreams of marriage and children had died the day he’d received Carol’s Dear John letter.  Maybe that was foolish. Maybe there had been another woman out there somewhere for him, if he’d only been willing to find her.  But after a few years of living alone here in the desert and working twelve hour days in the mine, Rudy got used to coming and going as he pleased while answering to no one, and had decided it wasn’t such a bad way to live.  If you never got close to people, you didn’t grieve when death took them, and you didn’t lay awake at night wondering why you weren’t good enough for the girl who’d captured your heart when you were fifteen, and who you’d thought you’d spend the rest of your life with.

Rudy’s cowboy boots left imprints in the dust as he kept a steady pace that was neither too slow nor too fast.  He had no concerns of collapsing from heatstroke. He was used to spending a lot of time in the desert rock hounding for the jewelry he made and then sold to the merchants in Nipton. Although that income supplemented what Rudy got from his monthly pension check and left him free from any financial concerns, it was a racket, plain and simple. Rudy couldn’t deny that. 

Dale and Gwen Taylor, the couple who owned the Nipton Hotel, and Bob Satterson, the guy who owned the Nipton Trading Post, loved to advertise that a “real Native American named Cloud Jumper who lived out in the middle of the desert just like his ancestors had for hundreds of years,” made the jewelry they sold.  Well, if Rudy’d had any ancestors who’d lived in a desert, he wasn’t aware of it, and like his father had advised all those years ago, Rudy had spent most of his adult life not mentioning his Native American heritage to anyone.  Not that some people probably hadn’t guessed by looking at him.  Or at the very least, wondered what other blood flowed through his veins besides Caucasian, but for the most part, no one had ever asked.  As Rudy had gotten older, he realized his years of isolated living had given him a “stand-offish” air, or so his buddy, Farley Hutton, often said. But Rudy would say in return, “You don’t know shit, Hutton,” and that would be the end of the subject until Farley brought it up again just to see if he could get a rise out of Rudy. But hell, Farley was as nuts as Rudy was, if you defined nuts by a couple of old codgers who both lived alone and marched to the beat of a drum only they could hear.  Farley’d been married when Rudy first met him, but one day Vera ran off with the milkman, and even twenty years later, Farley still said the dumbest thing he’d ever done was to have his milk delivered. 

“If I’da’ just made Vera go to the store and buy our milk there, it never woulda’ happened, Rudy.  She’d still be here with me. But no, I fell for it hook, line, and sinker when she said, ‘Farley, it’ll be so much easier for me if the milk is delivered.’ Damn conniving witch of woman.”

Rudy thought it was time for Farley to let that particular heartache go, but then he’d think of Carol and realize he had no right to judge his friend, while figuring they both must be a couple of romantic old fools.

The man stopped and removed his handkerchief from his back pocket. He lifted his hat and wiped his brow with the cloth, then put the hat back on his head.  He folded the handkerchief, returned it to his pocket, and started walking again.  He figured he’d go see the Taylors first and let them know why he’d been delayed, then walk across the street to the Trading Post.  He’d tell Big Bob why he was running late, then have something cold to drink while resting for a few minutes at one of the tables. After that, he’d head down the street to Palmer’s Garage and get Kip Palmer to give him a ride out to the Bel Air.  Kip had been after him for years to get rid of the wagon, and Rudy supposed he’d have to hear about how unreliable the old car was during the entire trip.

“One a’ these days I’m gonna refuse to work on that car any more, Rudy.  It’s so old that it’s hell to get parts for.”

“I know.”

“So it’s probably time to junk her and get a new one.”

“I know.”

“I’ve got a couple of decent used cars behind the garage. I’ll make you a good deal on any one of ‘em.”

“I know.”

“So you’re gonna get rid of that ole’ piece a’ junk?”

“Nope.”

“But you just said--”

“I never said anything but ‘I know,’ ” and that’s when Rudy would turn to stare out the window of the tow truck, and Kip would scowl and mutter something that sounded like, “Stubborn redskin,” but could have just as easily been, “Stubborn old man.”

Rudy chuckled at the thought of Kip calling him a “stubborn redskin” if that was in fact what the man said, and then at the thought of the Taylors and Big Bob always making sure to address him as Cloud Jumper if customers were present, even though they knew his name was Rudy Whitmore. Trouble was, as Big Bob had said when Rudy first showed him his jewelry a couple of years ago, Rudy Whitmore didn’t sound Indian. 

“Something more…you know…ethnic, would be awful good for business, Rudy.”

Rudy’s hair had been short then, and he hadn’t been wearing a cowboy hat, boots, or a big turquoise belt buckle.  Farley had ridden to town with him that day, and was sitting behind him at a table drinking a cold beer while he waited for Rudy to conduct his business.

“It’ll be a couple of years yet before I can collect Social Security, so I’m just lookin’ to make a little money to get me through each month until my pension check comes.  I’m not lookin’ to be someone I’m not.”

“But you are part Ind…Native American, right?”

“A rose by any other name is still a rose.”

“Huh?”

“That means you can say I’m part Indian if you wanna.  I’m not gonna get all hot and bothered about it.  I am who I am.”

“So you are?”

“Indian?”

“Yeah.”

Rudy had nodded. “On my mother’s side, but my dad thought it was best if we didn’t advertise it. Back when I was growin’ up, mixed marriages weren’t accepted.”

“That might be so, but it’s the 1980s, Rudy.  It’s fashionable to be a Native American these days.”

“Fashionable?”

“Sure. You’re one of the last repressed people the liberals can get sympathy for.”

“I’m not repressed, and I don’t want anyone’s sympathy.”

“You wanna sell some of this stuff, don’t you?”

“It’d help me out a bit if I could.  I don’t need anything fancy, but like everyone else, I got bills to pay.  It’s not cheap seein’ a doctor these days, and the electric company keeps raisin’ their rates.”

“Know what you mean.  So see, you gotta play the part.”

“What part?”

“The part of a Native American.  Grow your hair. Maybe braid it.  Get yourself a hat.”

“A hat? What kind of hat?”

“A cowboy hat.”

“But I thought I was supposed to look like an Indian, not a cowboy.”

“Trust me, you will look like an Indian.  And your name…are you sure Rudy is you real name?”

“Believe me, that’s the one thing I am sure of,” Rudy said, while thinking that the last thing he’d ever do is reveal to Big Bob that his birth certificate read Rudolph Valentino Whitmore, especially not with Farley sitting just a few feet away.  Farley would tease the daylights out of him, and wouldn’t let the subject drop until Rudy finally threatened to knock his teeth down his throat.

“Well, it won’t work for marketing purposes.”

“Marketing purposes?”

“Rudy, you’ve gotta get yourself a TV. Marketing. Selling. We need you to look the part so this stuff sells well. Tourists will be a lot more apt to buy jewelry made by a Native American named…say…Running Deer, rather than just some guy named Rudy Whitmore.”

“Cloud Jumper.”

Both Big Bob and Rudy turned to look at Farley, who had a smug smile on his face.

“What?”

“Call yourself Cloud Jumper like you did in the war.”

Rudy scowled.  What little he’d told Farley about the war had been private.  He didn’t appreciate those memories being brought up in front of Bob.

“Cloud Jumper?” Bob questioned.

Rudy shrugged. “I was a paratrooper.  We all had nicknames. A frien…a guy I knew back then saddled me with it.”

That giant man with the massive stomach stroked his chin. “Mmmm. Cloud Jumper.  I like it.”

“Well I don’t.”

“Then come up with something better, and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

In the days that followed, Rudy couldn’t come up with something better, because he actually thought the whole thing was stupid. But image was everything, as Big Bob kept reminding him, so pretty soon Rudy started letting his hair grow, and didn’t object when first Bob, and then Dale and Gwen, began referring to him as Cloud Jumper. 

Sometimes a man had to do what a man had to do in order to go on living the independent life he was accustomed to.  Above all else, Rudy wanted to take care of himself well into old age, and selling the jewelry, and now more recently the baskets and rag rugs he wove, allowed him to do that.  After meeting those three worthless boys of Eleanor’s a few years back, God knew Rudy would put a bullet in his head before he’d be dependant on any of the “Chicago relatives” as he’d come to think of them.  He loved his little sister, though Rudy admitted to no one but himself that the love came from their connection to their parents and deceased siblings, more than it came from any genuine feeling.  Realistically, he hardly knew Eleanor. She’d been a little girl of nine when he’d gone off to war in July of ‘42, and he hadn’t stuck around L.A. for long when he’d returned from overseas in August of ‘45.  No, it was better this way.  Pretending to be somebody he wasn’t was a heck of a lot easier to swallow than the prospect of living with Eleanor someday because he didn’t have the means to support himself.

Searing waves of heat rose from the road, shimmering back and forth.  Rudy brushed his thoughts aside and squinted.  A car stood in the distance.  The man estimated it was a half a mile from him, three quarters of a mile at most.  The vehicle appeared to be stopped, which could mean a break down, but then again, it could simply mean the driver was looking at a map.

Rudy picked up his pace.  He didn’t want the driver to turn around for some reason and head back to Nipton without seeing him. 

The old man estimated he’d covered a quarter of a mile when he first noticed something huddled on the same side of the road where the car was parked.  Whatever it was, it didn’t seem to be moving, and was resting twenty-five to thirty yards in front of the vehicle.

Driver probably hit a coyote and backed up to see what it was.  Maybe it did some damage to the car. 

Given Rudy’s inability to repair the Bel Air, he didn’t figure he’d be much help to the person in the car, but if nothing else, he could share his water and assure the person that when he reached Nipton, he’d send Kip out with the tow truck. 

Damn tourists.  They come out here and do something stupid, and in the end only make more work for the rest of us.  I wanna get my own car fixed, not wait around while Kip has to mess with this one for some city slicker who’ll pay him twice what I can to get the job done quick.

Rudy’s eyes had left the lump on the side of the road while he engaged in his internal rant.  When he shifted his attention to the coyote again, his footsteps faltered. 

What the...

Rudy started running, his cowboy boots pinching his toes.  He stopped when he came to the man and hovered over him. He started to bend down, then stood, then began to bend again, then stood and ran to the car.  He paid no attention to the make or model.  He was just looking for a driver, but there was no driver.

He hit him!  The driver hit him and ran off.

Rudy looked around, but didn’t see anyone running through the desert, or down the road ahead of him.  None of it made sense. Why had the injured man been walking out here anyway?  Maybe this guy had been the driver, and had exited his vehicle for some reason, only to be hit by a passing car. Maybe those boys hit him. The same ones who ran Rudy off the road.

The boys! Rudy stood back and observed the car.  This was the car they were driving!

Rudy studied the injured man.  There was so much blood.  More blood than Rudy thought there would have been if the man had bounced off the hood of a car.  This looked like a vicious attack. As though someone had wanted to beat the man to death.

What’d they do to him?  Why’d they hurt him?

Because he didn’t own a television, and because he didn’t own a radio, either, nor had he purchased a newspaper since 1968, Rudy was too out of touch with society to know what a car jacking was, or to deduce that the boys may have been driving a stolen vehicle that they were anxious to dump and replace with something the police weren’t yet looking for.  All he knew was that the man on the side of the road was hurt, and he, Rudolph Valentino Whitmore, was expected to offer help.

But I…I can’t help him. I…it won’t work out.  I know it won’t.  He’s better off without me.  Chap…Chappie died because of me, and Farley…Farley lost his leg because of me, and all the others…they… I can’t help him.  I…this is why I don’t wanna take care of anyone.  It’s bad enough that Farley needs my help sometimes. Don’t want anybody else depending on me.  It just...it just never works out right. 

Rudy swallowed hard, and then hesitantly approached the man from the rear.  He was curled on his left side, as though he’d been trying to protect himself when he fell.  Rudy kept as much distance between himself and the man as possible, craning his neck to see over the man’s shoulder.  The man’s face was covered with blood, and his eyes were closed. When Rudy couldn’t see any visible signs that the man was taking in air, he almost felt relief.

He’s dead. He’s already dead. There’s nothing I can do for him anyway.  He’s dead.  Poor guy, he’s dead. 

Rudy looked around. The man was dead.  There was no reason to get involved.  If he went into Nipton and had Kip or Big Bob notify the police, then the cops would want to ask him all kinds of questions he couldn’t answer.  He couldn’t identify the boys, and he didn’t know who this man was, and he hadn’t witnessed what happened to the man, nor even who had done it.  Maybe it hadn’t been the boys at all.  Maybe it had been someone else.  The cops would come out to his place and bother him, and he didn’t like to be bothered.  He didn’t like anyone disturbing his routine, or expecting him to be home at a certain time.  All he asked was to be left alone.  He was Cloud Jumper when he was in Nipton.  He even shook hands with the tourists if Big Bob asked him to, but otherwise, he was just Rudy Whitmore, an old man who had a life time of regrets behind him, and now just wanted to be left alone to live out what years he had remaining.

Rudy didn’t look at the body as he backed away.  He made a wide arc around the man and headed north – away from Nipton, and back toward the Bel Air.

On To Part 2|Back to Emergency Home Page