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"Get your skinny injun ass in here, boy."
At the sound of that harsh rumble of thunder every cold and calculating eye in the packed room snapped to Benny. Shoes so shiny black he could see his reflection in them drew back into a thin corridor between all those hungry cops.
Taking a deep, unfulfilling breath, he limped between them, feeling like the main attraction at a Roman Banquet. Benny stopped at the open door. He glared at the big man lounging on the bed and wondered when the axe would fall.
"What do you want, fat man?" He didn't say it loudly, nor with anger, but with all the force of Wolf behind each word. Men and women breathing down his neck edged back, the hair on their heads prickling.
Ron's old lady was as different from the man as Abbot from Costello. He glanced at her and suppressed a desire to hiccup. She was the general behind the king. Like all real women, the true power behind the man. Millie was short and bony. 'Ron must think he had to eat for both of them.' (Geez-is, will you please be quiet, Grampa.) But their eyes were much the same. Hard, no-nonsense eyes glittered at Benny through a veil of tears.
Iron hair and iron soul. The woman reminded Benny way too much of Mrs. Ritter, his old high school history teacher. Benny shivered. Buttocks quaked at the thought of that four-foot long 2-by-6 old lady Ritter used to carry around. Yo, she never used it. She didn't have to. She was mean enough to terrify pit bulls and coal cracker's kids into holy repentance.
"Mama?" Ron gave Millie a hopeful smile. "We got us a house guest. Is that OK with you?"
Hankie daubing the faded blue eyes, she nodded. "I guess so, honey." She leaned over Ron and gave him a thorough kissing. Millie laughed at Ron's sputtering. "You hush, Ron Donnelly. We're all adults here. Who cares who sees? Except maybe you," she said in a dry, amused voice.
A slow grin crept over Ron's face. To his embarrassment and everyone's amusement he blushed.
A lanky, hard man loomed up to tower over Benny. He wore his sergeant's marks with pride. Narrowed amber eyes glanced over Benny's long hair and bare feet. The leather jacket and muddy clothing brought a smile of open contempt to the lean features. Damn, but that eye patch. Where had they seen it before? A wad of chew worked its way around his slow, methodical jaws. Where?
Ron cleared his throat. The folds of loose flesh under his chin quivered.
"Hey, Ron."
"Hey yourself, JL."
"Ron, me and Annie, we examined the scene of the accident. We, ah, went on down the store and talked to Harv." Sweeping down at the arrogant kid beside him, the eyes grew reptilian. The redskin stank like B.O. and bog. "Looked to us like you was forced off the road during a high-speed -"
"You don't say."
Wondering at the bland tones in Ron's voice, JL stared down a darkening, shifting Benny.
"This here kid, Ron, I seen his picture, down at-"
Two Swords reached out and un-gently popped JL in the back.
The chew plummeted to the depths of JL's stomach. Gagging, a hand clapped over his mouth, Sergeant Lyndon rushed to the bathroom, cold sweat burning his eyes over his greenish face.
"Two Swords?"
He spun, but She was too fast.
Two Swords bellowed in agony. The Eagle-Woman held on, her fingernails pinching hard into the Guardian's right ear lobe. Benny frowned and scratched his head. For a moment he could have sworn he heard some poor jerk scream for mercy.
"The doctor's wanting Ron to stay over night, Benny. Don't you worry, though. I have plenty of room at the house." Her bird bright eyes peered at Benny. "It's an old Victorian mansion. Been in the family, Ron's, for ages. Since the children are all grown up and moved, I just rattle around in it." She stopped her nervous chatter to glance over Benny again. They made their way out of the bright lights of the hospital and into the night and a deserted parking lot. The woman fell into an uneasy silence.
Passing through dark areas between patches of light, Millie edged away from Benny. Her eyes kept moving back to the dirty eye patch, the worn leather jacket, and the run-down engineer boots. At every chink of keys against the chain on the wallet her ears cringed.
Benny walked Millie to her car and took the keys from her hand. She uttered a faint, small gasp. Weary and beaten, his hand shook. Benny hunched his shoulders against a stiff, knife-edged wind that swept papers across the lot and rattled beer cans in the gutters.
To give Millie a chance to save face, Benny said, "I . . . I better follow on my ride. If that's ok with you, ma'am." The
Uohali Red Sun was parked a few stalls down from her canary yellow Buick. Leave now, before that bean pole Lyndon gets to those wanted posters. Leave while you can, leave quietly.
Millie sighed in relief. Then her face turned a bright pink with embarrassment. Benny felt something in his heart twist. Unable to meet her eyes, he picked at the dried mud on his jacket.
"Don't want to get your car all messed up," he said in a low, unhappy mutter, and turned to go. The wet boots rubbed at blisters already breaking on his feet. He'd find a place to sleep. A restroom, or, if he were lucky, maybe a barn somewhere. About now anywhere out of the wind would do.
Her voice was soft and almost shy. "Benny?" He turned back, looking away from the woman. "Benny, thank you, son, for saving that ornery old man." Her arms went around him and Millie's voice broke as she clung to Benny.
Heart filled with pride, Benny looked down at the iron gray head. "Dohi:yi, Miz Donnelly. I wasn't doin' nothing at the time anyway. Y'know?"
She laughed and shooed him away.
"Go on now. A hot bath and a good breakfast is waiting you at my place."
Benny ran to the Uohali. Relief burst from him a hoarse Rez song and he threw a leg over the saddle. A splinter of pain shot through his spine. Wincing, he stilled. Benny growled a curse and kicked the starter down. He followed Millie out of the lot, through the small downtown area, and away from Moyock.
As mansions went, it wasn't all that big. Just a nice old Victorian house set about a thousand feet back from the road with a few turrets and bay windows. His mom would like it here. Not much in the way of lawns, but the gardens were massive. Mom thought lawns were for lazy snobs and stuck-up creeps. Behind the house was a small stable. At the homey sounds of hungry livestock, Benny's ears perked up. A wave of homesickness rolled over him. A cow bawled, demanding her over-full udder be taken care of, and now.
Beef!
"Shut it," Benny hissed at the wolf in his stomach.
The wolf subsided with a few low growls.
Man, this was great. Like Uncle Charlie's, just up the valley from Mom. Well, almost, anyway. Uncle Charlie had black walnuts and stuff like that planted around the house and pasture, not pecans.
"Nice," he told Millie, the boots clumping across the broad porch and into a large and immaculate kitchen. A chunk of mud dropped off his boot. Benny slipped in it, smearing a black and tan stain into the creamy white of the tiles of the floor. Benny grimaced.
"Sorry about-"
"It's quite all right, Benny." Millie flashed him a smile that was too perfect, too controlled. His face darkened even more. What the freek did it matter that one old lady didn't like or trust him. Christ on a crutch. But somehow it did.
Millie rummaged through the broom closet for a dustpan. Benny reached for the pan.
With a smile that was this time genuine, less frightened, Millie shook the brush at Benny and he backed away.
"You want to help, go on out on porch and take those boots off, young man." He nodded. "Wait," she called after him, "Get your saddle bags and climb in the tub."
Benny shuffled his feet on the shiny silver-gray of the porch. He mumbled something.
Millie snapped, "What?"
He glanced at her bright, all seeing eyes, then dropped his gaze back to his reflection in the floorboards. And saw muddy tracks leading toward Millie.
"Sorry," he blurted and dived off the porch.
Man, but that thing was wide enough to hold family reunions. Twenty feet if it was an inch, and it wrapped around the house, like some of the older, better resorts up home in the Pocono Mountains. Suddenly hit by a feeling of being trapped, he frowned. Benny tried to downplay the nausea of it.
"You, ah, you don't teach, do you?"
A warm smile creased her face. "Why, yes, Benny, I do. Or did. I'm retired now."
He winced openly. "Oh." Geez, no. He was doomed. Only one thing could make it worse, and that was if she taught -
"History, in fact," Millie added.
Benny trembled. Only one person had ever terrified him in life, though he knew the old bat loved him, and that had been Mrs. Ritter. Deja vou all over again. He had to get out, had to escape.
When Millie took his arm he knew he was dog meat.
"Benny? What ever is the matter?"
He backed away.
Realization dawned. She smiled. Of course. The skimpy conditions of his saddle bags. The poor boy was wearing all the clothing he owned.
"Benny?" Millie offered him a soothing smile. In firm tones, she said, "You wait right here. No, I mean it now," she said as Benny started an awkward shuffle towards the motorcycle. "If you think my Ron is a tough old bird, well, you haven't seen anything, yet. Understand, young man?" She threw Benny a stern look that was softened by the twinkle in her eyes.
A grin tugged at Benny's lips.
Millie dashed through the kitchen and up the circular stairs to the bathroom closet.
Only slightly out of breath by the time she got back to her guest, she held up a blanket and tossed it to him.
Benny was impressed. The old lady must jog or something.
"You get out of those wet clothes, young man, and let me have them. I've a perfectly good washer and dryer in the pantry."
He nodded. Millie returned to the kitchen. Benny could hear her singing while pots and pans rattled. Mud, yo. He stared in distaste at the caked filth on his clothing.
Life . . . does that to you.
Not that he really cared if he was dirty or not. He wasn't a freekin pansy. But for the ladies, a man should look and smell his best, ist?
His head snapped up.
"Yo, yeah." He snapped his fingers. "The pond." Benny dashed around the house. Yeah, that old reflecting pond, just sitting there, waiting to be used.
He eyed his clothing. No use clogging up the old lady's washer, not with this mess. Like that time, his first time . . . Benny's face grew red. Came home with a crotch load of body buddies. Mom made him strip and washed them off with icy well water. Brr.
"A real wonder you didn't just shrivel up and croak, d'ue. But you had your memories to keep you warm." He chuckled. A sweet, familiar ache filled his groin.
"Yo baby. Friggin Chillin McAvoy." Not the best thing to remember about his childhood, but that pro had taken his virginity and had def'netly been pivotal in his life. Damn, they did it right on Dad's old motorcycle, too.
Then Chillin had sold his 'debt' from that day to Leda Melancowski, who in turn sold him to old man Ryan and Crazy Gracy Hylnn and her nutty Project. Got to roll with the punches, baby, you got to roll with the punches, yo.
Benny sighed. The dirt on his clothing would clean off better out here, but what about the crud in his mind? How do you clean that? Die? At this point it was the only way his pride would allow.
Towering over Benny, Two Swords growled and shook his head.
"One of these days, kid," he rumbled in his deep, blunt voice. "We're gonna show you how wrong you are. And," he added softly, "I just hope we ain't to late help you help yourself, little bro."
Whistling an old Rez tune, Benny hopped over the plank fence that separated yard from meadow. Horses charged up, snorting and demanding to know who invaded their domain. One small broomtail colt nicked softly and smacked his lips.
"It's cool, dude," he told the colt and grinned. "I ain't some stallion come to steal your mama from you. Word, my man."
He reached out, the colt lipped tentatively at the outstretched fingers. Finding no treat, the colt snorted in disgust and raced away. A yearling colt glared at Benny. He offered a mock challenge. He was the oldest male in the stables, and he planned to stay on top. At least as long as the mares allowed him to.
Benny laughed. He eased the boots off of blistered feet and emptied the pockets of the jeans of wallet, bandanna, and knife. Those he stowed in a boot, and the brass buckled
Uohali belt joined them.
Holding his nose, he leaped into the waters and came up shouting at the cold. From the safety of a stand of cattails a pair of mallards watched with sour eyes.
Benny stripped in the water, scrubbing the tee shirt and jeans. The socks looked like a lost cause. In disgust he balled them and tossed them at the boots. The rest, when done, joined them. To take care of the worse of the stink, Benny swam a few laps around the pond. Coming too close to the cattails for the drake's comfort, the mallard quacked a warning. For a moment Benny studied the drake. He smiled, nodding to himself.
The drake's cry of warning was cut off as powerful arms jerked him under.
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