Skorpio Page 19

  The woman looked at him and blinked revealing a brown eye and a white eye. "I live here," she said.

  "Where's your home?" Summer said.

  The old woman gestured vaguely to the southeast. "Over there."

  "Do you need a ride?" Beadles said.

  "I would like you to help me find my son."

  We don't have time for this.

  "If he's missing, let's notify the police. They can do a better job finding him than we can. We're sort of busy."

  Summer shot him a warning glance.

  "What does he look like?" she said.

  The old woman reached upward. "He's very tall. Very strong. What woman wouldn't want him?"

  Beadles suspected she might be a little crazy. How had she come to this desolate place? There was no shade for miles in any direction. He sighed deeply.

  "Do you want to come with us? If you stay out here you may die of dehydration."

  The old woman shook her head. "No. This is my home. I know how to survive in the desert."

  Summer reached into the jeep, into her backpack for her phone. "I'm going to call 911. We can't leave her out here."

  Beadles shrugged. He didn't know what else to do. Summer looked at her phone in consternation. It was one of those smart phones from which you could buy stocks or watch movies.

  "I'm not getting a signal. Really? Really, Verizon? We're only a hundred miles from Kayenta!"

  Beadles looked at Summer. "We're going to have to take her with us."

  He opened the rear passenger side door. Summer put her hand on the old woman's arm and tried to steer her to the Jeep but the old woman shrugged free with a surprisingly forceful gesture.

  "I am waiting here for my son."

  "What' if he doesn't come?" Summer said.

  "He will come."

  "Do you have anything to drink?" Summer said. The wicker basket had a wicker lid. Summer removed the lid and looked inside. A series of leather pouches, bones and what appeared to be a collection of rattles from rattlesnakes. Instinctively she shrank back.

  "Eyuck."

  "Well we can't kidnap her," Beadles said looking in the Jeep for a plastic water bottle. He pulled one from its yoke, placed it in the wicker basket, took the cover from Summer and replaced it.

  "If we have any luck we'll be in and out in a day and we can pick her up on the way back if she's still here."

  Summer turned to the old woman. "Ma'am, what's your name?"

  The old woman looked at her with a hint of panic. "My name?" she said like someone waking from a coma.

  Summer bent down to look the old woman in the eye and the amulet fell out of her shirt. The old woman stared at it. Fast as a rattlesnake the old woman's hand shot out and gripped the amulet. Summer's forehead bumped the old woman's. Her mis-matched eyes stared with a frightening intensity. The white eye looked like a Comanche moon. Summer felt a twinge of vertigo.

  "Where did you get this" she said so softly only Summer could hear.

  "An elder of my tribe gave it to me. A medicine man."

  "You are one of us," she hissed.

  "One of who?" Summer said.

  "The Azuma."

  "Where is Shipapu?" Summer said with equal intensity.

  The old woman gestured east. "Look for the rock."

  Beadles tapped his watch. "Summer."

  With a glance back at the old woman Summer got in the Jeep.

  ***

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  "Navajo Casinos"

  Beadles was silent, worrying about the old woman. But what could they do? Force her into the vehicle?

  "Don't worry," Summer said. "She'll survive."

  "How can you be so sure?"

  "Because I grew up around people like her. I have it too. Survivability."

  "Good," Beadles said. "Maybe some of it will rub off on me."

  Summer put her hand on the back of his neck. "It already has."

  "So what are you gonna do if this pans out?"

  Summer gave him a look and withdrew a little. "When I was a little girl I wanted to be a doctor. Crazy, huh? I never liked school. The only classes I liked were gym and English lit. Wouldn't get me into college never mind medical school."

  "You're young," Beadles said. "You have plenty of time to do whatever."

  Summer looked out the window. "Yeah right." The land morphed from pancake flat to rumpled sheets. Strange rock formations appeared in the distance distorted by heat rising from the desert floor. Like the ground was a stage with trapdoors.

  "Seriously. You're a bright woman. I know a couple of scholarships you could snag, with your background."

  "What?" Summer said. "You mean that I'm an Indian?"

  Beadles grinned. "Don't knock it. It worked for me."

  "For awhile."

  "What did the old woman tell you? I couldn't hear."

  "She said," Summer said slowly, "that I was one of them. The Azuma."

  Beadles' knuckles tightened on the steering wheel as energy zinged through his nerves. He'd never been spiritual but he couldn't help but think that he was fated to do this. Summer was confirmation. Never before had he encountered anyone who claimed Azuma blood. Most Indians had never heard of them.

  What was so terrible that Cerveros had killed himself?

  "She was Azuma?" he said.

  "Yes."

  "Do you know about the Azuma?"

  "I know they were feared by all other tribes. That their leader was a great medicine man and a giant, and that the Spanish wiped them out."

  "Yes, hard to believe, but at that time during the 16th century, there were literally dozens if not hundreds of tribes competing for scarce resources on the Colorado plateau. The Four Corners area. Used to be you could just go down there and put a limb in each state and snap a picture. That was before the Navajo realized they could charge admission. Now the whole thing's surrounded by a chain link fence and you enter through a turnstile."

  "Can't blame the red man for cashing in," Summer said. "I would if I could figure how."

  "Isn't there a tribal council doling out goodies from gambling revenue?"

  Summer shook her head. "Ain't seen a dime. Lo the noble Red Man is just as crooked as a Chicago ward-heeler once he gets in the high clover, y'know?"

  "Are there many Navajo casinos?"

  Summer shrugged. "Twin Rivers. Fire Rock. I went to Twin Rivers. They offered me a job. They said I could be a cocktail waitress or they would train me to deal blackjack."

  "What's wrong with that?"

  "Nothing, I suppose. I've considered it, but I can't go there right now. I went there with Vince and it's one of the places he'd look for me."

  Beadles realized that unless Vince had outstanding warrants, he was likely to walk on the Gregorio shooting. Self-defense. Beadles knew the type. Big, sure of themselves, think they're smarter than they really are, and forever condemned to fuck up bad. Beadles saw the disgust on the sheriff's face. Vince looked like someone begging to be busted. That greaser look might fly in Vegas but out here it was an invitation for scrutiny. With any luck he'd have outstanding warrants. Guys like him left a trail.

  "Dig around in that cardboard box behind the seat, wouldja?" Beadles said, "and grab me another one of those peanut butter cracker deals." He'd laid down the two rear seats and the entire back of the jeep was crammed with equipment and water containers, including a small two-man tent, sleeping bag, air mattress, and a tool box filled with picks, trowels, brushes and bottles for delicate work.

  Summer turned around. That butt again. He couldn't help but stare. He wanted to reach out and touch it. She shifted things around, grunting.

  "You really pack tight!"

  "You betcha!" he said, slapping her butt.

  She found the crackers, removed them from their plastic wrapper and handed them to Beadles. He was famished. He crammed the entire cracker into his mouth and masticated. The food zigged when it should have zagged. Beadles started coughing and couldn't stop. He was coughi
ng so hard he couldn't keep his eyes open to see where he was going so he brought the Jeep to a halt, put it into neutral and sat there leaning over the wheel coughing his lungs up.

  Summer pounded him on the back with the flat of her hand. Beadles wondered if it ever did any good or was just an old wive's tale. With a massive hiccup he got himself under control, both hands draped on the wheel breathing heavy.

  Suddenly Summer was in his face holding on to his ears. "Were you really choking or just playing?"

  "I was choking! Thanks for helping."

  "Listen," she said, staring into his eyes with intensity, "Don't start coughing on me. I had an uncle died of emphysema. I care what happens to you."

  She kissed him hard. Right on his cracker barrel mouth. He reacted as any man would. He thought about maggots and rat pie to make the boner go away. It worked. "Grab me a bottled water, wouldja?" he said.

  Summer let go and turned. She wiggled around and freed the ice chest lid. Her butt went still. They drove for ten seconds like this.

  "What?" Beadles said.

  "Someone's following us."

  ***

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  "Over the Edge"

  With a hollow feeling in his gut Beadles looked in the rearview. It took him a minute to find the minute smudge marring the endless blue horizon.

  "Maybe it's a dust devil," he said.

  Summer crawled back into the front seat, opened the bottled water, handed it to Beadles, and looked over the back of her seat on her knees. "You got binoculars?"

  "In the khaki duffel," Beadles said stopping the car. He opened the door and got out. He put on a gimme cap from the inside door pocket, pulled the brim low over his eyes. The smudge moved around but did not appear to grow. Distances were deceiving out here with heat distortion from the ground. The clear air enabled you to see much further than you could in most cities.

  Summer found the binocs, got out and climbed up on the old Jeep's hood, from there to the roof. She stood on the roof, feet braced against the package siderails, and trained the binocs to the west. She looked in silence.

  "Shit!" she said, leaping from the roof to the ground. She handed the binocs to Beadles. "It's Vince!"

  Beadles put the binocs to his eyes. "No way. He was in custody. They're not gonna cut someone loose on a manslaughter charge that quickly!" He adjusted the knobs to bring the image into focus. A cloud of beige dust formed a nimbus around a broad black grill. It was the Humvee.

  Beadles got behind the wheel and slammed the door. "Get in!"

  Summer joined him. Beadles put the vehicle into gear, accelerating rapidly, eyes roaming the horizon for shelter, shade, some redoubt, some place they could hide. The fact that Vince was now on their trail could only mean he'd escaped custody. And if he'd escaped custody it was because there was more at stake than the manslaughter charge. It meant Conway was most likely dead.

  Beadles' heart whirred like a hamster on a wheel. Why had he so stupidly neglected to bring a gun? Was it because most of his colleagues and friends were anti-gun? Did he, in his hubris, think this was going to be a stroll to the bank? The sheriff had been the only law within a hundred miles.

  Beadles glanced at Summer. She gripped the passenger bar on the 'A' pillar with both hands, white-knuckled. She looked at him.

  "You got a gun?" she said.

  Beadles gritted his teeth. "No."

  "I do," she said reaching into her pocket and pulling out a small black automatic.

  Beadles almost laughed. It looked like a toy. You could fire the whole clip into Vince and it wouldn't stop him. That's what his gun-savvy friends said, speaking of stopping power and the importance of a large grain bullet.

  He realized he was letting fear get the best of him. The automatic may not be a howitzer, but it was still a lethal weapon. Hit him in the eye or the nuts to slow him down, put it to his ear and pump in the rest.

  Beadles barked mirthlessly at his Dirty Harry reverie.

  "What?" Summer said.

  "We're going to have a showdown!" Beadles said with a hint of hysteria. "Shootout at the Double V Corral!"

  Summer punched him on the arm. Hard. "Keep your eyes on the road!"

  "What road?"

  "Look," she said pointing right. "Over there--see those rocks?"

  Beadles turned the car southeast. All he saw was a dark knobby ridge hovering over a beige furze. He looked in the rearview. The black rectangle was bigger. Beadles stepped on the gas. The old Jeep shook like a wet dog as it flew at seventy across the rough surface of the desert. The black shapes ahead firmed into a series of overlapping buttes. They approached some sort of canyonland.

  Summer jacked a shell into the chamber.

  "What are you doing?" Beadles said.

  "I'm going to try and shoot out his tires if he gets close enough."

  Like TV or a video game. Beadles could hardly believe it. A month previously he'd been a respected tenured professor on the verge of his greatest career triumph--cataloging the Azuma Collection. And here he was fleeing across the desert.

  After two days in the desert sun my skin began to turn red.

  "What?" Summer said.

  The Jeep hit a gully-whumper. Beadles' body lurched up and down in a split second, shoulder strap cutting into his body.

  "What?" Beadles said.

  "What were you singing?"

  Beadles giggled. "'Horse With No Name.' I can't get it out of my head."

  "You can't sing," Summer said.

  The big Humvee ineluctably closed the distance until it was within a quarter mile. The only thing that prevented it from overtaking the less powerful Jeep was that the big Hummer jounced and rocked on its suspension wildly, often affecting its direction.

  Beadles gripped the wheel in both hands frantically searching for a place to hide. He saw the yawning gap opening before them and yanked the wheel so hard the Jeep nearly tipped over. He succeeded in altering their course and avoided flying into a vast chasm that had snuck up on them.

  Vince adjusted course away from the gap. They raced east adjacent to a canyon whose bottom Beadles couldn't see from the driver's seat. Even five feet would be enough to stop them but he had a feeling it was deeper than that.

  "What is it?" he said.

  Summer looked out the window. "I don't know! I've never seen it before."

  Sand raced across the desert at ankle level. The wind picked up and howled eerily through the open windows. Through the pitted windshield Beadles saw a great haze rising and pushing forward.

  The sand storm would not reach them quickly enough. Vince would be on them within minutes. There had to be something. A road down into the canyon. Beadles desperately searched ahead for salvation. There was no sign of civilization--no tire tracks, no wires. The wind brought sand to windshield level. They closed the windows and turned on the AC.

  Summer twisted in her seat. "Here he comes," she said tensely. She lowered the window and leaned out with the pistol in her left hand. Beadles noticed she was left-handed for the first time.

  The tiny pops disappeared immediately in the wind like little firecrackers. Vince surged forward until he was almost at their rear bumper. Summer fired some shots. Vince pulled out to the left and accelerated. Beadles steered right so that he was now racing along ten feet from the edge of the chasm.

  With a metallic bang Vince steered his vehicle savagely into Beadles' front fender. The old Jeep bucked and Beadles lose control of the wheel. He pulled his foot off the accelerator and jammed the brake but it was too late.

  The Jeep rolled over the edge of the chasm.

  ***

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  "The Canyon"

  The world became a series of blurs and bone-jarring jolts. Beadles and Summer spun like kittens in a dryer, only their seatbelts preventing them from hurtling out the doors like depth charges. They tumbled forever accompanied by sickening impacts and the sound of breaking glass. The view through the windshield was of sand and
sky all mixed together. Beadles feared he might throw up before they came to a stop. Astonishingly the Jeep landed on its wheels but the fenders were stove in and a dense gray cloud issued from beneath the wrinkled hood. The engine died.

  Beadles was sick to his stomach. A gash on his forehead leaked blood into his eyes. He wiped the blood away with his hands, then with a napkin from the center console as the wind whipped through the broken side windows peppering them with sand. He inhaled deeply and let it out slowly through his nostrils trying to damp down his rising gorge. In out. In out. He had it under control. He wasn't going to puke. He looked over at Summer. She slumped in her seat with her head against the glass frame.

  Time stopped as he reached for her. God let her live he thought, stunned by the very idea of prayer. How long had it been? He touched her shoulder. She opened her eyes and looked at him.

  "Are you all right?" he said.

  Summer put her hand to her head. She had a nasty goose egg over her right ear. "I think so," she said, testing herself. She released the seatbelt.

  Thank God.

  Beadles released his own seatbelt and tried to open the door. It was crimped shut. "Try your door," he said.

  Summer opened the passenger door and stepped hesitantly out, hanging onto the door frame. Beadles eased himself across the console and out the door. He ached all over. Even his hair ached. They hugged one another hardly believing they were alive. Beadles looked up.

  The top of the chasm was hidden by the blowing sands like a model's tawny hair whipped by a fan. Hair that went on and on and on. He couldn't see the rim and Vince could not see them. He put a hand up to shade his eyes. Where were his sunglasses? He found them wedged against the gas pedal and put them on. It was better but the flying sand still peppered his exposed skin and got in his mouth. The wind was picking up.

  "We'd better get back in until this blows over," he said, leading the way. The passenger window behind Summer had been shattered. Glass lay all over the back of the car, water bottles, ice chests, boxes, tool kits mixed in a jumble. Water leaked from the upended ice chest. Beadles struggled with the boxes and blankets trying to return the ice chest to an upright position, feeling bruised up and down his arms and legs.