“It’s not a question of right or wrong. You just don’t bother other people’s property, understand? Go on. Go bury them back and then get your butt back here and inside. We’re leaving.”
“Okay, Dad.” Steven shrugged, turned to scamper back to the enclosure. Frank noticed for the first time that the fence was a high one. Higher than was needed to keep snakes and lizards in and the prowling coyote out. High enough to keep strangers from climbing over to disturb the inhabitants. Or to keep anyone from climbing out. The four posts that held the chain link taut were oversized and sunk deep.
His head jerked around to see the attendant emerge from the office. He wore the smile he’d first used to greet his customers. One gloved hand held Frank’s credit card and the unsigned receipt. Steven was out of sight behind the enclosure. Trying to look casual and relaxed, Frank moved to the front of the motor home. The old man changed direction to meet him without breaking stride.
“Here you go, sir. Eighteen even. Guess she wasn’t quite empty.”
“Not quite.” Do I sound normal? he wondered. Though his thoughts were in turmoil, his fingers were steady as he signed for the gas. Just let us get out of here, he thought wildly. Just let us get away from this place and, I swear to God, I won’t stop until we’re on the Strip.
The old man’s back faced the enclosure. Frank tried not to stare past him, tried not to locate Steven. He wondered if Alicia was in her seat, staring down at him. He didn’t look to find out for fear she’d notice the strain on his face. He signed very carefully, not wanting to tear the fragile paper and have to start over again.
“Here we are.” He handed back the pen and clipboard. The oldster didn’t so much as glance at it.
“Thanks.”
“Guess we’ll be on our way.” He turned to go.
“Don’t forget your card.”
“Right.” Frank grabbed at the plastic, shoved it back in a pocket without bothering to replace it in his wallet. There was still no sign of his son.
“Something the matter, sir?” The old man hitched up the coveralls.
“No.” An awkward moment of silence passed. “Just looking for my little boy. You know kids. Always underfoot until you’re ready to go someplace.”
“Yeah, I know kids.”
“You have children?”
“Naw. Never been married. Never appealed to me. I’d just rather bang ’em and leave ’em, y’know?” He opened his mouth and laughed, an unpleasant sound, like cats fighting inside a garbage can.
“Right, sure.” Frank forced a smile. It turned to one of relief as Steven reappeared. “Here he is. Go on, kiddo. Get inside.”
The boy just nodded. He glanced quickly at the old man, who grinned down at him. Then he was safely back inside the motor home.
“Thanks again.” Frank didn’t extend his hand to shake the old man’s because he wasn’t sure he’d get it back. “Have a nice day,” he finished lamely.
“I’ll sure try to.” Gloved hands plunged into coverall pockets. “Drive careful, now. Don’t take any wrong turns, and watch out for hitchhikers. All kinds of unpleasant folks try to get picked up along this stretch of highway.”
“We’ll be careful. We’re driving straight through. I wouldn’t pick anybody up. I’ve got a family to watch out for.”
“That’s right. You’ve got a family to watch out for.” With a final nod, the attendant turned and strolled back toward the station office. Relieved, Frank turned to reenter the motor home.
What the dickens was wrong with him? He’d been watching too much TV, especially the kind of gruesome R-rated horror videos his son and friends were beginning to favor. The station’s isolation, the soiled handkerchief, the emblem of the deer on the hat, with the four dismembered legs, all had other, more plausible explanations than the one that had made evil connections between them in his thoughts. Been out in the sun too long, he told himself. Alicia and the kids were right, after all. What they needed were not stimulating encounters but air-conditioning, neon, television, and prepared food.
So what about the bones?
Yeah, what about them? What did he know about bones? They could have come from anything. Or they might have been plastic fakes planted there as a gag. That would fit the attendant’s sense of humor. Buy some from a medical supply house and bury them near the enclosure to scare prying kids like Steven. Furthermore, if anything illegal was somehow involved, that didn’t mean the old man had a part in it. It made no sense. Anyone wanting to dispose of a body and who’d take the time to dismember the bones wouldn’t bury the incriminating results only a few inches deep.
As he reached the entrance to the motor home, he spared a last look for the subject of his musings—and paused. There was something moving at the back of the old man’s pants, up near the beltline. He squinted. The bright sunlight made it difficult to concentrate. A tuft of black attached to a wire or stick protruded from a corner of the coveralls. Funny he hadn’t noticed it before, but he’d been looking the old man in the eyes, not staring at his backside. Despite the fact it was still blazing hot outside, a chill ran through him.
The twitching black tuft looked just like the tip of a tail.
You have been out in the sun too long, he admonished himself.
Alicia greeted him as he slid back into the driver’s seat. “Everything all right, dear? You were out there a long time.”
“Fine,” he muttered as he fumbled with the ignition key. “Everything’s fine.”
The engine grumbled. Come on, dammit, he thought tensely. Catch, you steel bastard! Don’t you die on me here.
With the third wrench on the key the big engine came to life. Frank let it idle for a minute, then put it in drive. The motor home exited smoothly from the station. As soon as they were clear, he leaned slightly forward so he could see the whole image presented by the rearview mirror on Alicia’s side. Nothing stirred behind them. The station and its attendant trailer home appeared as still and lifeless as they had when he’d first pulled in.
He turned onto the on ramp, flooring the accelerator. The motor home picked up speed like a runaway juggernaut, roaring onto the deserted sanctuary of the slow lane.
Alicia didn’t speak until her husband set the cruise control. “Frank, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. Is something wrong?”
“No, nothing’s wrong. Everything’s fine.”
“You’re lying. I can always tell when you’re lying.”
He clung to the wheel, didn’t look around at her. “Tell you later. It’s no big deal, okay? We’re on our way again and everything’s fine. Just don’t press me about it right now.”
Maybe she saw the tension in his face. Certainly she heard it in his voice. “All right. You’ll tell me about it when you’re ready.”
“Right.”
He ought to have been able to relax then but could not. The landscape was beginning to bother him as much as his memories. For one thing it seemed darker than it should have been outside. There wasn’t a cloud in sight and the external thermometer hadn’t fallen a degree, but suddenly it didn’t look as bright as it had before they’d pulled into the strange little gas station. The interstate was unchanged, but the desert didn’t seem right anymore.
