And No One Knows Where

By: Jill Hargan and Kenda

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­­­­­­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.

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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.

Chapter 10

The DeSotos had been at the Bun Boy for about forty minutes; enough time for metal left out in the blistering heat to have grown hot enough to burn tender and unsuspecting flesh. Roy learned this the hard way as he reached for the camper's door handle, then pulled his hand back quickly with a soft hiss.

"Damn it," he swore as he shook his hand at the wrist for a moment, then reached into the front pocket of his jeans for a handkerchief. He was already sweating, though he'd left the air conditioned restaurant only moments before. He felt sorry for Johnny and the unenviable job of changing a tire out in this heat. Maybe that's why it was taking so long. But Roy knew that was a specious excuse, born out of his own worry. No matter what the weather, Johnny should have had that tire changed in fifteen or twenty minutes.

As Roy used his handkerchief to gingerly open the door to the truck, he let his eyes once more scan the highway. Cars whizzed by in both directions, but there was still no sign of Johnny's white Rover. Roy's eyes narrowed with concern as he reached across the steering wheel and grabbed the CB mic. As hot as it was outside, the interior of the truck was worse, and Roy decided it would be better to stand outside.

"Junior, this is Pally. Come in." He waited a moment, then repeated his call. "Junior, this is Pally, come in. Johnny, are you there?"

There was still only dead air. Roy stood for a time, chewing his lower lip, this thoughts churning.

Come on, Johnny, pick up the radio.

But there was still only silence on the other end. And it was that silence that was bothering Roy more than the amount of time that had elapsed, or the fact that there was no sign of the Rover coming down the highway. No matter what kind of problems Johnny might have encountered, whether he'd run into trouble with the spare, or merely run into traffic, Roy knew his partner well enough to know Johnny would have called. Johnny would be aware that both Roy and Joanne would worry about their son's whereabouts and he would be sure and let them know what was going on. Even if John had turned off the radio as Joanne had suggested, Roy was certain that Johnny wouldn't have gone this long without at least checking in.

Roy's fingers tapped absently at the mic in his hand, his gaze fixed on the southbound freeway. When, after another few minutes, Johnny still hadn't appeared, the captain made up his mind. He tossed the mic back into the cab and shut and locked the door. Then he made his way back into the restaurant, feeling the air conditioning hit his face like a cool wave.

He walked toward the table where his family was sitting. Judging by the empty plates and glasses, Chris and Jennifer had finished their burgers and fries and were working on their second round of Cokes. There was a newly filled iced tea at Roy's place and he picked it up and took a grateful drink as he sat down.

He felt Joanne's hand squeeze his and he saw the question in her eyes. He set his glass down and shook his head.

"Dad?"

Roy glanced up at his oldest son's question and saw both Chris and Jen waiting expectantly for his news.

"I couldn't raise him," he said, trying not to sound overly concerned.

"But, what could have..."

"Probably nothing, Jen," Roy interrupted his daughter's question, not wanting to hear the worry that was just starting to creep into the fifteen year old's voice. "Something must be wrong with the radio," he went on. "But just in case they had some trouble, I'm going to go back and take a look... see if I can find them."

Joanne grabbed up her purse and scooted back her chair. "It'll just take a minute to get the bill paid..."

Roy reached over to place a restraining hand on his wife's arm. "You and Jen stay put," he told her. "I'm just taking Chris with me." Joanne's eyes held unspoken questions, but Jenny wasn't as silent in her protests.

"But Dad, we wanna help..."

"You will be helping," he cut in with an understanding smile to soften her disappointment. "Somebody needs to be here in case John and Johnny show up. That's probably what's going to happen anyway, and then you guys can all sit here and be cool while Chris and me are out there driving around in the heat."

He let his smile widen, trying to keep things light. Jennifer relaxed and sat back in her chair with an air of resignation. But Roy could tell by the look on his wife's face that Joanne's concerns hadn't been assuaged. They'd been married long enough that Joanne would know why Roy was taking Chris with him; that he wanted to be prepared for all the possible scenarios - if Johnny were sick or injured and they needed someone to drive Johnny's car, or in the worst case, to drive the camper back for them if Roy needed to stay at an accident scene. He knew all those things would be going through Joanne's mind just as they were going through his, but there wasn't much he could do right now to reassure her.

He took one last swig of his iced tea, then motioned to Chris. "C'mon, let's get going." Roy reached into his back pocket, fished out his wallet and tossed two twenties on the table. "That'll pay for the kids' food and the drinks, and whatever else you two might want to order while you're waiting." He put a hand on Chris's shoulder and winked at Jennifer. "Guess you two weaseled your second lunch out of your ol' dad anyway."

Both teens laughed and even Joanne managed a smile. Satisfied that he was leaving them in lighter spirits, Roy leaned down to give Joanne a quick kiss. He then steered Chris ahead of him and they headed outside, back into the oppressive heat. As if the temperature had melted the smile off his face, Roy's countenance grew serious. He wished he could believe what he'd tried so hard to convince his family; that Johnny would pull up as soon as Roy and Chris headed out. But he'd had a bad feeling about the whole situation for quite some time now, and it only grew stronger as he climbed into the hot, stuffy cab of the camper and started the engine, turning on the air conditioner as well.

"Dad?"

Roy glanced over at the passenger side of the truck. Chris's face was apprehensive.

"You think something happened to them." It wasn't a question, and Roy knew he hadn't fooled his oldest son.

Roy's mouth tightened and he shook his head. "I don't know what to think," he admitted. He put the truck into gear and headed out of the parking lot. "I just know Johnny was only a few miles behind us. It wouldn't take him this long to change a tire, and it's a straight shot down the freeway. There's no way he could have gotten lost." He checked traffic and turned onto the northbound entrance to Interstate 15. In a few moments they merged onto the highway and were traveling back the way they'd just come.

­­­­­­~ ~ ~

John came awake with a start. With his heart beating rapidly in his chest, the boy sat up and looked around in a panic, trying to figure out where he was and why he was all alone. The ground under him was hard and rough on his hands. He was hot, and he was thirsty. His tongue was thick in his mouth, and his head felt heavy.

"Mommy... Mommy, where are you?" he croaked, his voice sounding small to his ears.

And then he remembered. He remembered the bad boys who wanted to steal Uncle Johnny's Rover, and Uncle Johnny telling him to find a place to hide until it was safe. John sniffed back the tears that had threatened and managed a smile as he remembered that this was his hiding place, his Pow Wow cave. Uncle Johnny would be so proud that he'd done what he'd been told, that he'd been able to take care of himself in a dangerous situation.

Just like Katori, he reminded himself, trying hard to push his fear farther away.

That thought calmed him somewhat, but after a few moments of sitting in the silent, dimly lit tunnel, the little boy grew fidgety. He was still thirsty; very thirsty, and he didn't like how quiet it was.

Leaning forward, John peered at the bright circles of light that shone at either end of the culvert. He didn't know how long he'd been asleep, but it still seemed to be day time. Hopefully he hadn't slept while Uncle Johnny came by looking for him.

Suddenly afraid again, this time that he'd been left here alone, John crawled toward one end of the concrete tunnel. He slowed when he came to the end.

What if those bad boys are still out there? What if they hurt Uncle Johnny? I can't let them see me. I promised Uncle Johnny I wouldn't let them see me.

But he was hot and wanted a drink of water so bad. And he didn't know what to do. Very cautiously, he peeked his head out of the culvert, his eyes squinting in the brightness for a moment before he ducked back out of sight.

Nobody was there. The bad boys weren't there. They didn't see me. I wonder where Uncle Johnny is. I wonder when he's coming to get me.

John sniffled once more and ran his arm across his nose. He was trying his hardest not to cry. He knew Katori wouldn't cry. Katori would be brave.

His mind replayed the beloved story; so well known from many re-tellings. He'd done just what Jenny and Chris had done. He'd found a place to be safe, just like his brother and sister had all those many years ago when that very bad man was trying to hurt Jenny.

John's young brow furrowed in concern as he remembered what had happened next. Uncle Johnny had been hurt by the bad man; hurt too much to come and get Chris and Jenny from the Pow Wow cave. John's big brother and sister had waited and waited, but Uncle Johnny hadn't come for them.

"And then Chris told Jenny they had to be brave," John recited in a whisper. "They had to be like Katori and go back to help Uncle Johnny."

John darted another glance toward the daylight and sucked in his lower lip between his teeth. He wasn't sure what he should do. Should he leave the safety of his hideout and go back to the cars? Would Uncle Johnny want him to come back and try and help him? Or would he be mad that John hadn't stayed where he was and waited for him to come find him?

He didn't want to go outside. He didn't want to let those boys see him.

But what if Uncle Johnny's hurt? What if he needs me to get help like Chris did on Cody?

That was one of his favorite parts of the story and he'd spent many an afternoon pretending he was Chris riding down the dangerous mountain trail at breakneck speed, holding onto Cody's back for dear life. That had always seemed so exciting. But sitting here all alone in this tunnel under the road wasn't exciting at all. It was scary. Chris had been older than John was. Chris had been eleven, and to five and a half year old John, that suddenly seemed very old in comparison.

John swallowed hard and rubbed the heel of his hand at his suddenly tear-filled eyes. He wished he was home. He wished he was in his very own backyard still pretending he was Chris. He wished he really was Katori so he would know what to do. And he wished with all his heart that Uncle Johnny would show up and find him and tell him everything was okay.

But what if Uncle Johnny can't come get me? What if those bad boys hurt him? He was worried about it. I know he was. He didn't want me to be scared, but I could see his face was worried. What if he's hurt like he was before. He had to be in the hospital a long time and Mom and Dad thought he might die, and Gray Wolf and Grandpa Chayton came and Apani and everybody.

Once more John managed to sniff his tears away as a new resolve came over him. He had to do it. He had to be brave enough to help Uncle Johnny -- just like Chris had. He could do it. It didn't matter that he was only five. Like Katori had learned, you didn't have to be the biggest or the smartest; or in John's case, the oldest. And even though he wasn't as old as Chris had been when he rode Cody down the mountain, John was determined that he was going to go back and see what had happened to Uncle Johnny.

With only a slight hesitation, John crawled out of the culvert and into the glaring sunlight. As hot as he'd been inside the concrete tunnel, outside was worse. Trying hard not to think about how much he wanted a drink of water, John picked his way back up the ditch. He stopped when he was eye level with the road. He didn't want anyone to see him who wasn't supposed to.

He glanced up and down the empty road. There were no cars driving on it. He raised his head a bit higher and looked in the direction he'd come from. He was far away, and all he could see was a small, dark shape that looked like it might be a car. He couldn't see any white shapes that would be the Land Rover, but he didn't know if that meant the boys had stolen the truck or Uncle Johnny had driven it away.

John chewed on his lower lip. He didn't want to go that way if the boys were still there. Uncertainty made him look in the other direction, and then suddenly he lifted his head even higher. Far away - even farther away than the blue car - was another shape. And this one was light colored. Even though he couldn't be sure of the color, John's anxious mind soon convinced itself that it was indeed white, and that it was a car. And not just any car, but the missing Land Rover.

Certain that Johnny had managed to drive away from the boys, John stood up and began walking toward the car with renewed energy.

 Chapter 11

Rudy hadn’t walked as far as the Bel Air.  When his head cleared a bit and he’d gotten over the shock of seeing the dead man, he realized the futility in returning to his broken-down vehicle.  He wouldn’t be able to get it running again, meaning the most he could do was sit in it and wait for someone to come along who could give him a ride into Nipton.  But that would take Rudy right back to the reason he was headed this way to begin with.  They’d pass by the dead man, and whomever Rudy hitched a ride with would surely want to stop, and then the police would get involved, and then they’d look at Rudy with suspicion and ask him a lot of questions he had no answers to, just like they did that time the mine caved in and so many of his friends had died.  They’d tried to insinuate Rudy was at fault.  They’d tried to blame him for reasons Rudy was still uncertain of…maybe because his half-breed status and his isolated lifestyle made him an easy scapegoat.  If it hadn’t been for Farley sticking up for him, Rudy might be in prison right now.  It didn’t help to remember how hard he’d tried to rescue his co-workers, and how Farley was the only one he’d managed to save.  He’d never gotten any credit for his efforts, and after that, his trust in small town cops was non-existent.  It had happened a long time ago now, but Rudy hadn’t forgotten the humiliation of being interrogated about his friends’ deaths, when he already felt like an overwhelming failure for not being able to reach them in time.

Rudy pushed the old memories aside. He’d headed west when he’d reached the patch of dirt road Farley lived on.  Farley’s place was two miles off Nipton Road.  Farley didn’t have any better mechanical skills than Rudy, but he had a new Ford pickup truck and a thick tow chain.

Rudy sipped water from the Thermos as he trudged along stirring up dust.  A rattlesnake lazily crossed the road twelve feet in front of him, wanting to seek shade far more than he wanted to rear up and let Rudy know to keep his distance.  When Farley’s house came into view, Rudy was relieved to see the Ford parked in the driveway. Ten minutes later, he stepped onto the concrete porch that ran the length of the square stucco home that wasn’t much different in size and shape than his own.  One thing that was different, however, was the window air-conditioner in the living room.

Rudy knocked on the closed door.  When he didn’t get an answer, he knocked again, and then again, until finally he used his fist to pound on the wood.

“Hold yer horses!” Farley shouted from the other side.  “Geez, ain’t ya’ got no respect for a man with one leg ya’ gosh darn peas-for-brains idiot…oh, Rudy. It’s you.”

“Yeah, it’s me.” Rudy pushed past his friend into the cool room.  “If you’d shut that damn thing off you’d be able to hear me when I knock on your door.”

“No I wouldn’t, ‘cause if I shut it off I’d be layin’ here dead from a heat stroke.”

“Would not.”

“Would too.”

“Would not.”

“I said I would, and since it’s my house, I’ve got the final say-so.”

Rudy shrugged. “Guess ya’ do, but it’s a waste of money in my opinion.”

“And just what do I got to spend my money on other than a few luxuries I enjoy, like that thar air conditioner?  Ya’ don’t see any women lined up at my door, do ya’?”

“No. But then, no woman in her right mind would be lined up waitin’ for you.”

“Speak for yerself. You look like something the cat drug in.  A blind cat, that is.”  Without asking Rudy if wanted something cold to drink, Farley walked to the kitchen and pulled out a pitcher of lemonade.  He got three ice cubes from the freezer, dropped them into a glass, and poured the lemonade over them while they cracked and hissed.  He walked the few feet back to the living room and thrust the glass at his friend.  “Here, drink this.”

Rudy took the glass. “Thanks.”   He drained it in five swallows and handed it back to Farley.

“Want more?”

“Naw, I’ve had enough. But if ya’ don’t mind, I’ll fill this Thermos back up at the sink.”

“Be my guest.”

Rudy followed Farley to the small kitchen. He turned the tap onto ‘Cold,’ unscrewed the cap on his Thermos, and shoved it beneath the stream of water.  When he was done he stepped aside so Farley could put the glass he was still carrying into the sink.  The TV was on the living room; tuned to some soap opera Rudy knew nothing about because even when he had owned a TV, he sure didn’t watch that kind of crap.  A card table sat in front of Farley’s favorite easy chair with a half put together jigsaw puzzle on top of it. Rudy pointed at the box top on the floor depicting a 1922 Model-T Roadster.

“You’ve already put that one together.”

“Huh?”

“That puzzle. You’ve already put it together.”

“So?  Maybe I wanna put it together again.”

“I gave you two new puzzles for Christmas.”

“I know.  And when I’m ready to work on ‘em I will, but for now, I wanna work on this one.  What’s it to ya’?”

“Nothin’, I guess.  If you wanna put together a puzzle you’ve put together at least three times before, then that’s your business.”  Rudy’s eyes flicked to the TV screen. A commercial for fabric softener had a woman looking far too happy about doing the laundry piled at her feet. “I hate to interrupt your afternoon. I can see you’ve got a lot of excitement goin’ on around this place.”

“Hey, keep the criticisms to yourself, friend. I happen to think huntin’ around a desert for rocks is a pretty stupid way to pass the time too, ya’ know.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. Sorry.  Listen, I need ride back to the Bel Air.”

“Where is it?”

“A few miles from here on Nipton Road.”

“She break down again?”

“Yeah.”

“Gonna buy yerself a new car now?”

“Nope.”

“That’s what I thought you’d say.  Want me to tow you to Palmer’s?”

“Nope.  Just wanna tow home.”

“But how ya’ goin’ fix it? You might as well let me tow it ta’ Kip’s.  If we take it to yer place, you’ll end up payin’ him ta’ tow it to the garage.”

“That’s okay.  For now, I want it at home.”

“But that just don’t make no sense, Rudy.  I can take her to Kip’s just as easily as I can take her to your--”

Rudy knew Farley was right, but he wanted to avoid Nipton at all costs today.  Besides, if he had Farley tow the Bel Air to Nipton, they’d pass the dead man.  If they went to Rudy’s house instead, they’d be headed north and then west, away from Nipton.

“I just wanna get her home. I’m hot, I’m tired, and my feet hurt like hell in these damn cowboy boots. They mighta’ been made for ridin’ horses, but they sure weren’t made for walking very far.  Besides, I don’t wanna listen to Kip jaw at me today about it bein’ time for a new car.”

The grizzled old man shrugged. He’d known Rudy for a lot of years and was well aware of how stubborn the man could be.  “Have it your way,” Farley said, as he crossed the room to shut the TV off.

Farley’s limp wasn’t pronounced, but if you watched him closely, you could detect it.  Rudy’s eyes wandered to a corner of the living room where the crutches stood that Farley used when he didn’t have his prosthesis on.

Rudy followed his friend out of the front door. Farley walked to the shed that sat a few feet in front of his truck. He got his tow chain from it and hoisted it into the truck’s bed.  Rudy climbed into the passenger side of the Ford, while Farley got behind the wheel.  Farley shot his friend a sideways glance.

“Mind if I turn the air-conditioning on in here, Mr. Tightwad?”

“Waste of money, but she’s your truck, so do whatever makes ya’ happy.”

“You damn well better believe I will.”

Farley turned the air conditioning on full blast with no other intention but to annoy Rudy.  On any other day that might have worked, but on this day Rudy paid little attention to the cold air blowing in his face.  He was anxious to reach the Bel Air and be headed for home before Nipton Road was littered with cops asking questions Rudy had no answers to.

­­­­­­~ ~ ~

"Why the hell doesn’t this goddam jeep have any air conditioning?" Shawn shouted, banging his hand on the dashboard loud enough to make Danny flinch.

"I dunno, man," the blond behind the wheel of the stolen Land Rover answered sullenly. "You’re the one who was so damn hot to get this car you..."

Danny bit back the rest of the words, not wanting to push Shawn, but they played out in his head anyway.

You killed a guy. You cracked his head open and killed him. Just to get a fucking car.

It had been nearly an hour since they’d switched cars out on that empty road in the middle of nowhere. An hour since they’d left that poor sucker bleeding into the dirt. If he hadn’t been dead when they drove off, he sure as hell was now. Danny knew anybody left out in this heat would quickly be buzzard food. But Danny didn’t want to think about that too much. And he certainly didn’t want to remind Shawn of what he’d done. The Angel Dust had made his friend’s temper dangerous and unpredictable, and it wasn’t improving as he came down off his high. The last thing Danny wanted or needed was for Shawn to let that anger loose on him.

Fortunately Shawn wasn’t paying close enough attention to have picked up on Danny’s blunder. He was fiddling with the radio, trying to find a station he liked. When they'd first gotten back on the interstate, the only sound they could pick up was the frequent chatter on the CB. For a while it had been mildly entertaining, and Shawn had laughed over some of the more stupid sounding names people used on the airwaves.

But while most of the operators were long haul truckers talking about cops and weather, there was one man's voice they picked up frequently enough to start to give Danny the creeps. He kept calling for somebody named Junior, whose real name must be Johnny since he occasionally used that too. Danny knew there were all kinds of reasons for somebody not to answer. He could be out of range, he could be pulled off the side of the road sleeping, he could even have turned his radio off. But there was also the possibility that he could be lying dead on a deserted road where his buddy might never find him. That specter loomed over Danny's shoulder and with more and more certainty, that by the time Shawn finally shut the damn thing off and tried the commercial radio again, Danny's hands were shaking on the steering wheel.

They were close enough to Barstow now that they were even picking up a couple of the more powerful signals from L.A. Shawn eventually found one he liked and he settled back in his seat, his feet propped up on the open window.

Danny breathed a quiet, but relieved sigh. Hopefully Shawn was over the worst of his high. They were coming into the more populated areas and any irrational behavior would be much more noticeable.

"We need gas," he announced evenly. "We’re gonna have to stop in Barstow."

Shawn didn’t answer. He had his eyes closed and was silently singing along with Corey Hart about wearing his sunglasses at night.

Danny wasn’t sure if Shawn hadn’t heard him or if he was ignoring him. So he tried again.

"I think maybe we oughta dump this thing and pick up a different set of wheels. There should be plenty to choose from in Barstow."

Still all he heard from the passenger side was the soft thumping of Shawn’s hands on his thighs as he kept the rhythm of the music. Danny had just about decided he wasn’t going to get an answer when Shawn turned to give him a disdainful look.

"Barstow’s a beat town," he announced. "We’ll switch cars in San Berdoo."

Danny bit back a sharp retort about how stupid that was. This truck was too distinct. He really wouldn’t feel safe until they were in a nice, low-key sedan that wouldn’t stick out in the mass of traffic they were sure to hit as they came through San Bernardino and into Orange County. It made more sense to get rid of it as soon as they could. But Danny didn’t want to antagonize Shawn. It was too easy to give into a lifetime of habit and follow his friend’s lead.

"Okay, dude, if you say so. But we still need gas."

Shawn nodded and closed his eyes again, intent on the new song on the radio. After a moment he spoke without opening his eyes. "Just pick a place outta the way. Don’t go right into downtown."

Heaving another sigh, Danny started looking for exits that would take them to an outlying gas station. He kept hoping that focusing on the green freeway signs would keep the image of the dead man's bloody face out of his mind, but he wasn’t very successful.

­­­­­­~ ~ ~

The sun baked down on the barren landscape, where the full heat of the day drove even the hearty desert creatures to seek shelter until the fierce temperatures lessened with the coming of the late afternoon. One small lizard darted under the arm of the man on the ground, seeking the meager shade it provided.

Lying in the dirt, Johnny was hardly aware of the heat beating down on him, drying his sun reddened skin and drawing the moisture from his battered body. Drifting in a hazy limbo, he wasn't even fully conscious. But he was aware of the pain. He wasn't lucid enough to localize the sensation, but it had become the only thing he was sure of - the only thing he could hang on to.

There were other things here in the gray mist that he existed in. Faces. And voices. Some were from long ago and some came from the present. But they swirled and merged in his mind, and he couldn't separate them - couldn't bring them into focus. And it hurt too bad to try. Whenever he tried to think - tried to concentrate on anything except the fog - the pain would increase until it became a thing unbearable and he had to retreat into the mist, waiting for it to lessen.

Only one time did he manage to recognize one image - one face. Recognition came with such a burst of urgency that he very nearly managed to drag himself all the way out of the haze that enveloped him. Almost. He was never able to open his eyes, but he did face the pain long enough to say the name.

"John."

It was so soft, so quiet in the vast emptiness, that it was merely a puff of a breeze in the sand that encrusted his parched and blistered lips.

­­­­­­ Chapter 12

John hadn’t expected it to be so hot.  If he’d known that the sun was going to burn the top of his head and back of his neck, he would have stayed in his hiding place.  At least it had been cooler in there than out here in the open.

The boy tried not to think about how much he wanted a drink as he walked toward the vehicle.  The bright sunlight distorted the road, making it seem like it was wiggling when it really wasn’t.  John squinted, but he couldn’t tell if the Land Rover was moving toward him.  He lifted an arm and waved.  When he attempted to shout, “Uncle Johnny!” the sound came out in a harsh croak, and John’s dry throat made him cough.

John ran a few steps, then walked, then ran.  He kept this pattern going despite the way the exertion burned his face bright red. 

Gotta get to Uncle Johnny.  Gotta get to him ‘fore he turns around and drives away. I musta’ hid so good that he couldn’t find me.  Maybe he’s walkin’ around looking for me, or waiting in the Rover for me.

“Uncle Johnny!  Uncle Johnny!”

John’s shouts weren’t any stronger than they had been earlier, but his actions brought him some comfort.  At least he was doing everything he could to get Uncle Johnny’s attention.

The harsh sunlight made it difficult for the boy to see the vehicle in any great detail until he was almost upon it.  Until then, it had just been a square shape on the side of the road.  But now, as John got close enough to see it clearly, his stomach suddenly hurt and tears rushed to his eyes.  This car wasn’t white like Uncle Johnny’s, it was a pasty pale green like the walls of the dentist’s office.  And it wasn’t a truck like Uncle Johnny’s Land Rover, but a…

John circled the vehicle, not sure at first what it was.  It kind of looked like the station wagon Ryan Murphy’s mom drove, only hers was clean, and new, and didn’t have a broken window.

John had been taught better than to nose around a strange vehicle, but as he looked up and down the desolate road and still saw no sign of the Land Rover, he wondered if the boys had taken it from Uncle Johnny, and if Uncle Johnny had borrowed this car from someone.  Maybe he’d find some of their things inside.  If he did, then John would know Uncle Johnny would be back soon, and that he should wait here.

John lifted the hem of his dusty shirt and used it to wipe the tears from his face. He walked around the car, trying each door, only to find all the doors locked.  Glass crunched beneath his tennis shoes as he approached the driver’s door.  Being careful of what few shards of glass remained in the window’s frame, John stood on his tiptoes, reached his right hand in, and lifted the depressed lock.  He pulled on the door handle and smiled with triumph when the door opened. 

The door was heavier than any car door John had ever opened before.  He planted his feet on the road and strained to pull with his arms until he had it open all the way. He climbed in the front seat, leaned out of the car, grabbed the door handle, and pulled the door closed with a grunt.  His feet dangled above the floor.  He looked around at the red interior.  Everything looked old – like it belonged in another time and place.

Curiosity got the best of John as he turned knobs and pressed buttons. Besides, it felt good to be protected from the sweltering sun, even though the vehicle was only a little cooler than outside.

The boy turned around and sat up on his knees.  He looked into the big back seat. 

“Wow!  Mom and Dad need to get a car like this.  Jenny would never yell at me about bein’ on her side again.”

John threw his left leg over the front seat, dangled there a moment, and then dropped onto the back seat like he was dropping onto a mattress at home.  He scrambled to his knees and looked into the long cargo hold.  He reached over and lifted a section of the blue blanket that covered the area.  His tears started again when he saw nothing but woven baskets, a neatly folded pile of rugs, and some cardboard boxes filled with bracelets and necklaces made with sparkling rocks.  There were no sleeping bags, or cots, or fishing rods  - nothing familiar to John at all.

The boy sank to the seat crying.  As his chest heaved he sobbed, “Mommy…Daddy?  Chris…Jenny?  Uncle Johnny….somebody.  Somebody come…c-c-come an’ get me.  Somebody ple-ple-please come an’ get me.”

John didn’t care any longer that Katori would do something a lot braver than sit in a car and cry if he were in John’s situation.  John didn’t want to be Katori any more.  He wanted to go back to being John DeSoto, and he wanted his dad to drive up in the camper and take him home.

“Dad?”  The boy looked out the windows.  “Daddy?”

No amount of pleas for his family or Johnny Gage brought any rescuers to young John’s aid.  Crying only made him thirstier, and when his stomach growled the boy cried harder.  It was bad enough being thirsty, hot, and scared.  Now he was hungry too.

When John’s tears finally stopped to the point they became an occasional ragged sob, heat and thirst drove him to his knees again. He rolled down the window on his right, then scooted across the seat on his knees and rolled down the one on his left.  He peered over the seat next, surveying the cargo hold.  Maybe there was lemonade in a container back here like Mrs. Murphy had put in her station wagon that day a few weeks ago when she’d taken John, Ryan, and Jordan Thomas on a picnic for Ryan’s birthday.

Johnny didn’t spot any lemonade, but when he lifted a far corner of the blanket, he did see a gallon milk jug filled with water.  He reached for it with a little shriek of delight and had to use both hands to hoist it to the backseat.  He unscrewed the cap and tipped the jug to his parched lips.  It was really heavy, and he spilled water all over his shirt, but John didn’t care.  The tepid water felt good as it soaked through to his chest. 

The boy drank and drank, thinking of how his mom yelled at Chris whenever she caught him drinking from the milk jug at home, and how she’d yelled at John the one time he’d tried it.  Right now, John wouldn’t even blink if his mom came along and spanked him for drinking out of this jug, like she said she’d do if she ever saw him copying Chris’s bad habit again.  He’d be so happy to see her that the spanking would be worth it.

John set the jug down on the seat and swiped at his mouth.  He leaned over the seat again and snared a small paper bag he’d spotted.  He unfolded the top and found a box of Cracker Jack and a sandwich wrapped in wax paper.  His eyes lit up when he unwrapped the sandwich, took a big sniff, and smelled peanut butter.  Grape jelly oozed onto John’s fingers as he chomped right into the middle of the bread.  This wasn’t the white Wonder Bread he was used to.  It was light brown and had some kind of tiny seeds in it, but John was willing to overlook that oddity.

The boy alternated eating the sandwich with drinking water.  When the sandwich was gone, he opened the Cracker Jack box and ate the sticky caramel corn and peanuts until the box was empty.  He plucked the prize out, opened it, and spent a few minutes trying to get the tiny silver balls into the holes on the clown’s face. John shoved the toy into a pocket of his shorts, then drank more water.  When he’d had enough to quench his thirst, he tossed the crumpled up lunch bag onto the floor, and placed the now half-empty milk jug next to it.  He climbed out of the car on the passenger side.  The hot sun made him want to get inside the vehicle again, but he had to go potty real bad.  He looked around, but didn’t see anything other than scrub brush and Joshua trees. One of those would hide a five-year-old boy just fine.

John hurried behind a tree, unzipped his shorts, and did his business.  He felt a lot better when he was once again headed for the car.  He wasn’t thirsty, his stomach was full, and he no longer had to go to the bathroom. He didn’t want to cry again, but as he looked up and down the road and still saw no signs of his parents or Uncle Johnny, he couldn’t keep the tears from starting.  He climbed into the back seat and shut the door.  He sank to the floor, curled up in a ball, and cried himself to sleep.

­­­­­­~ ~ ~

Farley did a y-turn in the middle of Nipton Road, then backed up his Ford until he was a few feet in front of the Bel Air.

“You stay here,” Rudy instructed as he grabbed his Thermos from the seat. “I’ll hook the chain up.”

“Try startin’ her first.”

“She’s not gonna start.”

“She might.  You’ll feel like a damn fool if I tow ya’ all the way home, only to have her start when we get her there.”

Rudy grumbled something non-intelligible as he climbed from the truck.  He hated it when Farley’s advice was actually good.

The man walked around the Ford.  When he spotted the Bel Air’s broken window he swore.

“Dammit!”

Even with his window rolled up and the air conditioner on, Farley heard Rudy.  He rolled down the window, propped his left elbow on the frame, and stuck his head out.

“What’s the problem?”

“Somebody busted the window on the driver’s side.”

“Why would somebody do that?”

“Probably lookin’ for something to steal.”

Rudy walked to the rear of the vehicle.  He noticed the open backseat windows as he passed by. He assumed the thieves had rolled them down in an attempt to cool the car’s interior, before realizing it wouldn’t start.  The open windows mattered little to Rudy.  The only things he had of value in the station wagon were in the cargo hold.  He unlocked that window and pulled it up, then dropped the tailgate.  He poked his head inside and picked up the blanket.

“Anything missin’?” Farley shouted.

Rudy waited until he’d shut the tailgate and window again before answering his friend. He walked to the front of the car so he wouldn’t have to yell.

“Just my jug of water and my lunch.”

“Someone actually wanted to eat one a’ yer peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and them Cracker Jacks you call dessert?”

“Guess someone did.”

“That’s mighty peculiar unless your thief was six years old, don’t cha’ think?”

“Don’t know what ta’ think, and don’t care.  The most important stuff is still there.”

Rudy suspected the boys who had tried to run him off the road were responsible for the vandalism to his car, but he didn’t say anything about them to Farley.

The man opened the driver’s door and slipped behind the wheel.  He lifted his hips far enough to dig his keys from the front pocket of his jeans.  He inserted the proper key into the ignition and turned it.  When nothing happened, he emerged from the car with a self-satisfied smirk he shot at Farley. 

“Told ya’ so.”

Rudy grabbed the tow chain from the Ford’s bed before Farley could answer.  He dropped to the ground and attached the massive hook at one end of the chain to the Bel Air’s front bumper, then got to his feet with a grunt.  He took the hook at the other end of the chain and attached it to the pickup’s rear bumper.   

Rudy pushed himself to his feet.  His lifted his hat and wiped the sweat from his brow with his palm, then set the hat firmly on his head once more.  He walked the few feet to Farley’s window.

“Take her slow.  You’ll have to do a U-turn to get us headed to my place.  I don’t wanna slide off into the ditch.”

“How many times have I given you a tow?”

“I don’t know. Three or four maybe. Why?

“Then don’t be yackin’ at me about how I should or shouldn’t do it.  I’m the one who’s missing his TV shows to tow that hunk a’ junk you drive.  Git in the car and quit bein’ so damn bossy.”

“I’m not bein’ bossy.”

“You’re worse than a wife any day.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

Before Rudy could argue further, Farley rolled up his window.  Rudy waved a hand in disgust and headed for the Bel Air.  He got behind the wheel, shut the door, slid the on-the-column shift into first gear, depressed the clutch, and gave a light toot of the horn to let Farley know he was ready.

It took a minute of maneuvering on Farley’s part to get both the truck and car headed north in a straight line.  Rudy kept the car steady as Farley drove.  They didn’t cross paths with any one on Nipton Road.  Nonetheless, Rudy was relieved when they turned right on to the unnamed scruffy desert road that led to his house.  He’d be glad to get home and put this day, and the memory of the dead man, behind him. 

­­­­­­~ ~ ~

Rudy set the tow chain in the truck’s bed. He shuffled to the driver’s side where Farley opened the door so they could talk.

“Thanks for the tow.”

“ ‘Welcome. But I still think ya’ shoulda’ let me take ‘er to Kip’s.”

“And I don’t care what you think.”

“No shit, ya’ stubborn ole’ goat.”

Rudy ignored the insult.  “Wanna come in for something cold ta’ drink?”

“Nah. Wanna git back home.  I’m missin’ my stories.”

Rudy could think of fifty insults to toss at Farley over his obsession with those stupid soap operas, but since he’d need a favor in a couple of days, he decided it was best to forego the smart remarks.

“Would ya’ mind coming by on Thursday and givin’ me a ride to Kip’s?”

“I can come by tomorrow.”

“No. No not tomorrow. Day after tomorrow. Thursday.”

“I know when Thursday comes.  But why not ‘til then?” Farley pointed at the station wagon parked behind him. “It’s not like you’re goin’ anywhere.”

“I know, but I got things to do.”

“What things?”

Rudy’s desire to stay out of Nipton for the next twenty-four hours or so caused him to reply harshly, “Just things, okay?”

“Okay, okay.  Geesh! Don’t go gettin’ all riled up over nothin.’ ”  Farley squinted, studying his friend. “Are you all right?  Ya’ been actin’ funny ever since ya’ showed up at my place. Ya’ feelin’ okay?”

“I’m fine.  Like I said earlier, just tired and hot.  So how about it? Can ya’ come by on Thursday morning and give me a ride to Kip’s?”

“I can do that, ‘long as we’re back before my stories come on.”

“We’ll be back in plenty of time.  Pick me up around eight, okay?  I’ll buy ya’ breakfast for your trouble.”

“You got yerself a deal, friend.”

“And if you don’t mind, I’ll load some of my stuff in your truck then and drop it off at the hotel and the trading post.”

“I don’t mind.”

“And I need one more favor.”

“What?”

“When you get home, call the hotel and then the trading post.  Let ‘em know my car broke down, and I won’t be able to deliver my stuff until Thursday.”

“You know, a guy named Bell invented the telephone about a hundred years ago now. You should git yerself one.”

“Just one more expense I don’t need.  Besides, when I need to talk to someone, you let me use your phone.”

“Or ask me to be yer gosh damn secretary.”

“I’m buyin’ you breakfast for cryin’ out loud.”

“Okay, okay. Yeah, sure. I’ll call ‘em when I get home.”

Just as quickly as the bickering started, it came to an end. Rudy gave his friend’s upper arm a quick pat.  “Thanks.”

“Not a problem, Rood. See ya’ on Thursday.”

“Yeah.  See ya’ then.”

Farley backed the Ford onto the dirt road, gave Rudy a wave, and headed for home.  Rudy rounded the Bel Air and opened the cargo hold.  He’d never had a problem with anyone snooping around his place, but since the driver’s window was broken, meaning he had no way to secure the car, he’d feel better if his wares were in the house until Farley picked him up on Thursday.

Rudy made five trips back and forth from the Bel Air to the house; completely unaware of the wide-eyed little boy huddled as small as he could get on the station wagon’s back floor.

­­­­­­~ ~ ~

 Men’s voices had awakened John.  At first, he thought he was dreaming.  He closed his eyes, then opened them again.  He repeated that action twice, but each time he did so he was still sitting on the floor of an unfamiliar car.  As sleep began to recede, he remembered walking toward this station wagon while thinking that it was Uncle Johnny’s Land Rover, climbing in it, and finding food and water.  He didn’t remember falling asleep, but he did remember crying, and now he wanted to cry again.  He hoped those mean boys weren’t back.

When the voices sounded far away, John cautiously lifted his head.  He peered over the front seat.  An old man with long braids wearing a cowboy hat stood beside a pickup truck talking to someone.  John ducked down when the truck began to back up.  He risked peering over the backseat a few seconds later, and saw the man with the braids standing by the road watching the truck drive off.  When the man turned, John got a glimpse of his profile. 

Gray Wolf!

John almost shouted the name of John Gage’s grandfather, but then the man turned enough for John to get a good look of his face.  It wasn’t Gray Wolf. The boy’s heart sank.  The Indian man kind of looked like Gray Wolf, but he wasn’t Gray Wolf, and once again John felt frightened and alone.

The boy ducked to the floor again as the strange man approached the station wagon.  He remained hidden while the man dug around in the cargo hold.  John peered out the open window above his head each time the man’s back was to him, as he made a trip to the house carrying boxes.  John didn’t see any signs of the boys who had been talking to Uncle Johnny, but that didn’t mean they weren’t close by.  Maybe they knew this man.  Maybe they were his sons, and he’d told them to steal Uncle Johnny’s Land Rover.

John counted five times that the man walked back and forth to the house.  He waited and waited and waited, but the man didn’t come out for a sixth time.  It was getting really hot in the car.  John slowly lifted his head until his eyes reached the window frame.  He looked around, but didn’t see anyone. He wasn’t sure what to do, but it was too hot in the station wagon to hide in here much longer.

As quietly as he could, John opened the door and slid to the ground.  He looked around again, hoping to spot the Land Rover.  All he saw, however, was a small square house with a long wooden front porch capped by a low roof that made John think of houses he’d seen on the John Wayne western movies his Grandpa Stellman liked to watch on TV whenever he and grandma visited from San Diego.

There was a shed next to the house, where a garage might set if the man had a garage.  The door on the shed was closed, so John couldn’t see if the Land Rover was inside of it. 

Maybe he had the mean boys hide Uncle Johnny’s Rover.  If I find it I can…I can…I can walk to a police station and tell on them.

John ignored the part of his brain reminding him that he had no idea where he was, or how close a police station might be.  He just knew that when someone had done something wrong, like stealing a truck, you told the police about it.

With one eye on the house, John inched toward the shed.  He could see that the house’s front door was open.  It had a screen door too.  The man must have left the door open so the house wouldn’t be hot inside like the car was.  The windows were open too, so John knew he had to be very quiet.

John reached the shed and scurried to the side that couldn’t be seen from the house.  There wasn’t any window he could look in.  He inched toward the rear of the building, peered around the corner, and again saw there was no window.  He rounded the back of the building, flattening his body against the weathered wood.  John slid along it until he came to the back corner and could peer to his left.  This side of the shed faced the house, so John didn’t want to walk into the open.  He stuck his head out as fast as a rattlesnake strikes, didn’t see a window, and flattened himself against the building again.

John bit his lower lip with indecision. The only way he’d be able to see if the Land Rover was inside the building was to go to the front of it and try opening the double doors. 

The little boy retraced his steps until he was standing at the front corner of the shed. Closing one eye tight, he peeked around the building with the other.  There was no movement outside of the house, and no one sitting on the front porch.  John counted to ten, took a deep breath, and ran the few feet to the doors.  He grabbed a silver knob, ignoring the heat that blistered his hand.  He turned the knob to the right, and at the last second remembered not to shout with victory when the door opened. 

The boy slipped inside the building. It took his eyes a few seconds to adjust to the dim interior.  He craned his neck, looking up, down, and all around.  A tool bench ran the length of one wall and was covered with the kinds of tools John’s father had at home.  Another wall had hooks for shovels, and axes, and other tools John couldn’t identify.  Right in the center of the shed was a big wooden thing that had pedals and two levels of wooden slats with heavy string strung between them.  John didn’t know what it was.  It kind of looked like what he imagined the inside of a piano would look like.  He reached out to touch one of the strings, but before his hand came in contact with it, someone grabbed his shoulder and a voice boomed, “Hey! What are you doin’ in here?”

­­­­­­~ ~ ~

Rudy shook the boy’s shoulder.  “I asked you what you were doin’ in here.”

“Uh…I’m…uh…”

“You’re what?”

Tears swam in John’s eyes.  This man wasn’t nice like Gray Wolf. He was holding on to John’s shoulder real tight, and he looked real mad.

“I-I-I was…I’m looking…looking for Uncle…Uncle Jo-Johnny’s Rover.”

“I don’t have your uncle’s dog.  Now get on with you.”

Rudy gripped John’s shoulder and escorted him from the shed.

“It’s…it’s not a dog.  It’s a tru-truck.”

“A truck?”

“Uh-uh-uh huh.”

“Well I don’t have anyone’s truck either.  Do you see a truck ‘round here, boy?”

The terrified John couldn’t summon more than a whisper. “N-N-No.”

“Now where’d you come from?”  Rudy glanced up and down the road, but didn’t see any vehicles.  His nearest neighbors, the Ramsey’s, lived four miles away, and their children were long grown up and gone.

“You aren’t one of Phil Ramsey’s grandkids, are you?”

“N-N-No.”

“Then how’d you get here?”

John pointing a trembling finger at the Bel Air.

Rudy looked from the boy to the car. “What’s that supposed to mean? That you hitched a ride in my car?”

“Uh-uh-uh huh.”

Rudy let go of John’s shoulder. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at his uninvited visitor.  “Did you break the window?”

“No,” John shook his head. “It-it was already broken when I got there.”

Rudy’s demeanor softened just a little as it sunk in with him how young and scared the child was.  “Well, where’d you come from then?”

John looked up into the man’s face.  He didn’t know if he should tell the man about how the Land Rover had a flat tire, and Uncle Johnny stopped to change it, and then the two mean boys came along that Uncle Johnny told John to hide from, or if he should keep all of that a secret for now.  If this man was the father of the mean boys, then he might hurt John.  If he wasn’t the father of the mean boys…well, then John could tell him the story later on.

“Son, I asked you where you came from.”

John simply pointed to the Bel Air again.

“I know you rode here in my car, but where’d you come from before that?”

John shrugged.

“You don’t know?”

“N-N-No.”

“You don’t sound too sure of that.”

“I’m sure.”

“What’s your name?”

John almost said, “John DeSoto,” but then had a quick change of mind. Until he knew if this man was a bad guy or a good guy, he had to be careful.

“Katori.”

“Ka – what?”

“Katori.”

“What kinduva name is that?”

John’s eyes grew round with shock. “Don’t you know?”

“No. Should I?”

“It’s Indian.”

“You don’t look Indian to me.”

“Gray Wolf says I am.”

“Who’s Gray Wolf?”

“Uncle Johnny’s grandpa.”

“Uncle…?  Oh. The guy with the truck named Rover.”

“It’s not the truck’s name.  The truck is a Rover. It’s kind of like…well, it’s kind of like your station wagon, only taller.”

“Uh huh. Whatever you say.”

“It is.”

“If you insist.”

“I do.”

“And I suppose you’re gonna insist you name is Kat…whatever you said.”

“Katori.”

“I suppose you’re gonna insist that’s your name, too.”

“It is my name. Katori. Do ya’ know what it means?”

“Can’t say that I do.”

“How can you not know?”

“I just don’t.”

“But you’re an Indian.”

“Only a part time one, kid.”

“Uh?”

“Never mind.”

“Well, do you wanna know what Katori means?”

“Sure.”

“He Who Dances With Rattlesnakes.”

“That’s quite a mouthful.”

“Now you know why I just tell people my name’s Katori.”

“Yeah, I can see your point there.”

“It’s Uncle Johnny’s Indian name too.”

“Good for him.  Now just where is this Uncle Johnny you keep talking about?”

John shrugged.

“Don’t tell me, let me guess. You don’t know.”

“I don’t. I’m supposed to wait for him.”

“Where?”

“No place special. I’m just supposed to wait.”

Rudy’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “You didn’t run away, did you?”

“No.”

“Uncle Johnny…is he mean to you?  Did you run and hide from him because he hurt you in some way?”

“Uncle Johnny’s not mean! He would never be mean to me or hurt me! Never!”

“Okay, okay, don’t get so upset.”

“Then take back what you said about Uncle Johnny.”

“I didn’t say nothin’ about him.”

“You said he was mean.”

“I did not! I only asked you…” Rudy shook his head with exasperation.  This is just what he needed - a runaway kid on a day when he didn’t want to get anywhere near a police station. However, since his car wasn’t working and he didn’t have a telephone, there wasn’t much Rudy could do with the boy at this moment regardless of whether he wanted to talk to the police or not. 

Rudy sighed and placed a hand on John’s back.  “Come on, Katori.”

“Where to?”

“Inside the house. It’s too hot to stand out here talking about Rovers, and Indians, and Uncle Johnnies.”

John hesitated.

“Well, come on.  I don’t bite.”

The boy’s reluctance to enter a stranger’s home was softened by two things.  First, the hot sun beating on his head, and second, the fact that in appearance, the man reminded him of Gray Wolf.

John finally worked up the courage to walk beside the man.  “What’s…what’s your name?”

“Rudy.”

John wrinkled his nose.  “Rudy?”

“What’s the matter? Ya’ don’t like it?”

“It’s okay.  What’s your Indian name?”

“I don’t have…” Rudy’s eyes twinkled when he decided to play along with the child’s game. “Cloud Jumper.”

“Cloud Jumper.” John repeated the name, then gave the man a tentative smile.  “I like that.”

“Glad it passes your muster.”

“Does that mean you’re glad I think it’s okay?”

“That’s what it means.”

John paused at the threshold of the door. 

“Come on,” Rudy urged while holding the screen door wide open.  “Hurry it up there. I don’t wanna be lettin’ any flies in.”

John closed his eyes a brief second, fought to find the courage of Katori, then opened his eyes and followed Cloud Jumper into his house.

­­­­­­ Chapter 13

"And how long did you say they’d been missing?"

"They shoulda been here over two hours ago," Roy told Highway Patrol Officer, Don Cooper, who was busy taking notes in a small pad.

They were standing on the side of southbound I-15, a hot afternoon breeze plucking at their shirts. Every few minutes a car would whiz by them with a whoosh of slightly cooler air. If any of the passing occupants gave them any notice, it was probably only to feel sorry for the poor joker who got pulled over and to be glad it wasn't them.

Roy and Chris had driven nearly all the way to the California/Nevada border, with no luck spotting John and Johnny, or the disabled Rover. Roy had done his best to keep up an optimistic front for Chris’s sake, assuring his son several times that they didn’t need to worry, that they’d probably find the Rover sitting in the Bun Boy parking lot when they got back, but he knew neither of them really believed that.

As they pulled off the highway, turned around and headed south, it grew silent in the camper. Neither father nor son said anything as the miles flew past and they neared Baker, where Joanne and Jennifer would be waiting anxiously for the news Roy wasn’t going to be able to bring them.

Roy had gone over and over in his mind what his next plan of action would be once he got back to Baker. The little desert town didn’t have much besides the restaurant and a couple of gas stations, but he assumed there would be some kind of law enforcement there. He knew this area was too vast and barren for just him and Chris to cover on their own. They were going to need help. He just hoped that help was near at hand, rather than another hour or two down the road. He couldn’t help the growing feeling that speed was important - that whatever had happened to his son and best friend - they needed to be found in a hurry.

He got his first break when he spotted a black and white Highway Patrol car pulled over to the side of the road a few miles out of Baker. A deep red Camaro had just pulled back onto the highway, obviously after being given a ticket. Roy made a quick decision and pulled up behind the patrolman.

As he and Chris stepped out of the camper, the policeman turned to watch them approach. He seemed the typical Highway Patrolman; tall and lean, with short, military cut blond hair. His eyes were hidden by a pair of mirrored sunglasses, and his right hand rested on his right hip, near enough to his gun to be ready for trouble. Roy supposed it was an overall image meant to be intimidating, and he understood the reasoning behind it. But this man was their link to help and Roy wasn’t going to be put off.

"Excuse me," Roy called out as he neared the officer. "I’m Captain Roy DeSoto, L.A. County Fire Department." He gestured to Chris. "This is my son, Christopher. We've run into a little trouble."

Roy had explained the situation, trying to convey his growing sense of urgency to the officer. He bit back his frustration at seeming to have to keep repeating the same sequence of events over and over as the patrolman took down his report, but Roy knew they were fortunate he’d found the officer since the man had informed them the nearest CHP office was an hour away in Barstow.

"Johnny radioed that he had a flat and was going to change it," Roy related again in answer to the patrolman’s question. "We went ahead to Baker to wait for them."

"And when was the last time you actually saw his vehicle?" Officer Cooper inquired.

Roy thought for a moment. Johnny had been behind him when they’d left Vegas. But shortly thereafter had made that brief stop. After that, Roy couldn’t remember ever seeing the Rover in his rear view mirror.

"I dunno for sure," he said hesitantly. "He pulled over for a minute and then..."

"So he’d stopped without you before this last time?"

Because of the reflective sunglasses the patrolman was wearing, Roy couldn’t see the man’s eyes to read what he was thinking, but he wasn’t sure he liked the tone in the officer’s question. If the man thought Johnny was playing some game or was being irresponsible with Roy’s son, then the fire captain was going to set the guy straight. But before he could say anything, Chris broke in.

"They stopped about half way between Vegas and Jean. Uncle Johnny said he had to get something out of the back of the Rover, but more than likely John just had to pee and Uncle Johnny didn’t want to get him in doghouse with Mom."

Roy spared his son a glance. Chris smiled weakly and shrugged, and Roy realized his son was speaking from experience - that Johnny had done things of that nature in the past to keep the DeSoto kids out of what he would consider needless trouble.

"Has Mr. Gage ever done this sort of thing before... taken off with one of your children for an extended period of time?"

Roy felt his worry and frustration churning into anger and he worked at keeping his temper in check. It wasn’t going to help the situation f he alienated the police. But he also wasn’t going to stand here and let this guy malign Johnny’s character.

"Look... how many ways do I have to say it? Paramedic Chief Gage..." and he stressed Johnny’s title to remind this man that they weren’t talking about some irresponsible teenager, "...is a highly respected member of the Los Angeles County Fire Department and has been a close friend of my family for years. He wouldn’t do anything to put John in danger."

The officer stopped his writing, reached up and at last took off his sunglasses, allowing Roy to see the man’s whole face. It wore an apologetic expression and Roy felt some of his tension dissipate.

"I don’t mean to imply anything about your friend," the patrolman stated. "I just have to get as much background as I can. You’d be surprised how many times things like this turn out to be nothing... merely somebody took the scenic route and forgot to tell anyone where they were going."

Roy opened his mouth to defend Johnny again, but the man held up his hand in an understanding gesture. "I know... your friend wouldn’t do that. He sounds like an upright kind of guy. So we’re left with a couple of possibilities... either he ran into trouble changing his flat and maybe hitched a ride with somebody..."

"He wouldn’t do that," Roy declared firmly. "Not with John."

"Or..." Cooper continued evenly, ignoring Roy’s interruption, "...some kind of trouble ran into him."

Roy didn’t like the sound of that last statement, but before he could respond, the policeman flipped his notebook closed, excused himself and moved to his squad car. Roy watched as the man reached in and pulled out the mic to his radio.

"You think he can help us, Dad?" Chris asked.

Hearing the worry in his son's voice, Roy turned to lay a reassuring hand on Chris’s shoulder. "They have resources we don't. They'll be able to cover a lot more ground... and a lot faster."

It was a flimsy explanation at best, but Chris didn't say anything else. Roy wasn't sure if his son was appeased by it, or if he merely recognized the uncertainty of the whole situation and knew there wasn't any real answer at the moment. Roy squeezed the teen's shoulder a little tighter, letting his son know he appreciated the mature way Chris was handling things.

After a few moments, the officer replaced the mic and walked back toward Roy and Chris.

"Okay, Captain DeSoto, here’s what we’re going to do. Under ordinary circumstances, we don't consider an adult missing until after twenty-four hours. But, because you son is with him, we're going to act on this now. I called in the report to our area office in Barstow. They'll put out an APB on the Rover. Within the time frame you've given me, they could be all the way into San Bernardino already."

"You think somebody stole it?" Roy asked, not wanting to think about what might have happened to his son and his friend if someone had accosted them while they were disabled on the side of the road.

"It's a possibility," Officer Cooper conceded, "but not the only one. We're not going to assume anything at the moment, except that they're unaccounted for. We'll also coordinate with the Nevada State Troopers in case they headed north."

The patrolman shaded his eyes and surveyed the desolate landscape. "There's a lot of little roads around here. Most of them don't lead anywhere... except maybe some private homes... or some old abandoned towns. But there are a few places they could have headed for... maybe looking for a tool or a car part... or to try and find help. We've got a fixed wing airplane... and a couple of helicopters. The pilots are good and know all the out of the way places. They'll be diverted from traffic patrol and assigned search and rescue." He lowered his hand and gave Roy a reassuring look. "If they're out there, we'll find them."

If they're out there. Those words echoed chillingly in Roy's brain and kept repeating themselves like some macabre chorus.

If they're out there... Johnny and John could be lost, wondering where the hell they were, hungry, thirsty, tired.

It they're out there... one or both could be injured, hurt by whomever had stolen Johnny's Rover. Roy's mind rebelled at the thought of his sweet son in any kind of pain, but especially pain inflicted by someone else, being hurt by a stranger's hand. John, afraid and crying for Joanne.

If they're out there... they could be dead.

No! His mind wouldn't even accept that. But to go the other route... if John and Johnny weren't out alone in the desert somewhere waiting to be found, then where were they?

While Roy's mind was occupied with its dark debate, Officer Cooper’s radio crackled with the static of dispatch looking for him. Roy stood silently watching the man walk, the gravelly shoulder of the highway crunching under the patrolman's shoes. Cooper spoke to someone for a few minutes, then returned to address Roy and Chris.

"Things are getting underway. The APB is out. Our Barstow office also notified the San Bernardino County Sheriff's office in case they leave the freeway. Our plane is starting to cover some of the outlying areas."

"What can we do to help?" Chris asked, before Roy had a chance to voice the same question.

The officer's face held an understanding smile and he lay a hand on Chris’s shoulder. "There's nothing you can do now. Why don't you go ahead into Baker and wait." He glanced over at Roy. "You say your wife and daughter are at the Bun Boy?"

Roy nodded wordlessly, thinking of the news he was going to have to bring Joanne.

"Then why don't you join them there. Or you might be more comfortable at one of the motels. Baker does have a couple." His mouth quirked in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Roy appreciated the man's efforts, but he couldn't find it in himself to return the smile. He merely nodded, took hold of his son's arm and started to lead him toward the camper.

"If you do go to a motel, just leave word at the restaurant so we'll know where to find you," Officer Cooper advised as he moved once more to his vehicle.

Roy nodded, more to himself than to acknowledge the man's words. He climbed into the cab of the camper, settling behind the wheel as Chris slid into the passenger seat. As he started the engine, he watched the black and white squad car pull into traffic, then move over to the left lane, then off the road completely and into the wide space of dirt and gravel that separated the two directions of traffic. Roy had to turn his head to see the officer head back northward, disappearing rapidly from the fire captain's line of sight.

He watched for a moment, then finally turned his head back to stare down the long expanse of highway in front of them. Only a few miles down the road his wife and daughter were waiting - waiting for him to come assure them that everything was going to be fine. But that wasn't going to happen. As he thought about what he had to tell Joanne, Roy felt his fingers clutch at the steering wheel tighter and tighter in fear and frustration.

"Dad?"

That one word spoke volumes to Roy, and he turned to see Chris's worried face. The teen look very young at that moment, and Roy reminded himself that Chris was only eighteen, still just a boy himself in many ways, and right now needed his father to be strong. Roy couldn't allow himself the luxury of giving in to his fears, and he made a conscious effort to relax and felt his fingers loosen on the wheel. He even managed to dredge up a weak smile for his son's benefit.

"It'll be okay, son. The police will find them."

He kept repeating that statement to himself as he checked traffic, then pulled onto the southbound highway.

­­­­­­~ ~ ~

The day that had started out so pleasant for Joanne now seemed like it would never end. It had been two hours since they'd first arrived in Baker - two hours since they'd entered the welcome coolness of the restaurant; happy to wait for Johnny in air conditioned comfort.

Now this coffee shop had taken on all the aspects of a prison; the wait for Roy an unending mix of boredom and apprehension. About half an hour ago, after Jennifer had finished her third Coke and Joanne had stirred unnumbered teaspoons of sugar into her untouched iced tea, Joanne paid for their food and drinks and moved their vigil to the long, vinyl booth in the entryway where customers waited to be seated. She knew by the way the waitress had been hovering that their table was needed, and besides, she could see the highway better from the wide picture windows here than she had been able to in the dining area.

Jennifer had followed without question. She'd made herself comfortable in the booth and pulled out her novel, settling down to pass the time reading. But Joanne noticed her daughter turned very few pages, and her blonde head turned often to the window.

No one from the restaurant bothered them or asked them to leave, as Joanne had been afraid they might. She supposed as long as they weren't taking up space that paying customers needed, management wasn't going to be too concerned with them. And so they sat and waited, each minute that dragged past taking longer and longer as Joanne tried to convince herself that nothing was wrong and that at any moment she would see the camper pull into the restaurant parking lot, followed behind by Johnny's white Rover. John would be waving at her from out the window, a big smile on his face, ready to regale them all with his 'ventures with his best buddy.

The ghost of a smile played around Joanne's lips as she continued to stare out the window. Her son's happy face was so vivid in her mind, his voice so clear. If she just closed her eyes for a moment, she could believe he was in the room with her, telling her how much fun he and Uncle Johnny had had fixing the flat tire and how much they laughed at Daddy and Chris's scared faces when they pulled up looking for them. How nobody shoulda’ worried, cuz Uncle Johnny was the best tire fixer in the whole wide world.

"Mom... Dad's back."

Joanne blinked out of her wistful daydream, a keen sense of disappointment rushing through her as she realized that's exactly what it had been and John wasn't here. Then that disappointment turned instantly to dread as she registered that the camper had pulled into the parking lot without the Rover in its wake.

But there was enough hope left in her soul, that for one moment Joanne was able to keep that dread at bay. She hadn't seen who was in the camper. It was possible Roy had left Johnny with the Rover at a mechanic’s or with a tow truck. But Roy would know how much she needed to see her son. He wouldn't leave the energetic five-year-old to get in the way of car repairs. He would bring John with him - he would bring John to her. Holding onto that slender thread, Joanne leaned forward to peer out the window, almost willing her little boy's face to appear at the window, waving to her as she'd dreamed he would be.

"Oh, god," Joanne breathed raggedly, sagging against the booth and unable to keep the soft prayer back as she saw the camper park and only Roy and Chris emerged from the cab. Needing to do something to fight back the wave of despair that could overwhelm her if she let it, Joanne stood up and reached for her daughter's hand. Jennifer took it and squeezed it as she stepped up beside her mother, her paperback forgotten on the bench.

A part of Joanne told her to go outside - to meet Roy half way. She could at least spare him the lonely trek from the truck; keep him from having to walk through that door to face her with news that at best could only be that he hadn't found them, and at worst - well, she didn't even want to consider what the worst could be. But her body wouldn't move. She couldn't get her legs to obey her mind, as the frightened mother took over the strong willed firefighter's wife who was prepared to deal with almost any tragedy.

And so she stood there, holding onto her fifteen year old daughter's hand, drawing strength from Jenny when it should have been the other way around. But when Roy pushed through the double glass doors, Chris following close at his side, the sight of her husband's weary face, the weight of failure showing plainly in age lines Joanne normally never noticed, she found her strength returning. It was there for Roy. She could be strong for Roy.

She moved toward him, feeling his arms wrap around her even as she slid her own arm around his waist. They stood in silence for a moment, no words needed as they buoyed each other up. Joanne could hear his heart beating where her ear pressed up against his chest. It was a strong and reassuring sound and she missed it fiercely when Roy finally pulled away, still holding onto her arms as he faced her.

"The police are starting a search," he stated, and she knew by his tone that he was trying not to alarm her. "We talked to a CHP officer and he got the ball rolling. They've got an APB out from the State Line all the way into San Bernardino."

"And they're doing an air search too, Mom," Chris broke in. He gave his mother and sister an encouraging smile. "They'll find 'em."

"But what happened to them?" Jennifer asked, not ready to accept their reassurances calmly. "Uncle Johnny only had a flat tire. Why wasn't he just on the freeway?"

The teen's voice had risen with her agitation, but before Joanne could say anything to calm her daughter down, Chris stepped in and put a comforting arm around his sister's shoulder.

"Don't worry, Jen," he said in a voice that could have been Roy's twenty years ago. "Uncle Johnny will take care of John... no matter what happens." He grinned and pulled her close to his side. "Who knows that better than us?"

A smile broke out on Jennifer's face, as Chris had obviously intended it to. Joanne flashed him a grateful look, which her oldest child accepted with a quiet nod. It was such a mature gesture from an eighteen-year-old boy, that Joanne felt tears well up in her eyes. Tears she knew weren't totally caused by pride in her son.

"They'll find them," Roy said firmly, echoing Chris's confident statement. "In the meantime, we're going to need to find someplace a little more comfortable to wait. There's a motel across the parking lot. It'll have air conditioning... and beds in case... well, in case it takes longer... just in case we're here a while."

Joanne listened as Roy stumbled over his last few words, trying his best not to admit that they very likely were going to have a long night ahead of them. She decided for the sake of her family's emotional state she needed to shake off the grip of her own fear and at least attempt to wear a confident face.

"Let's go get that room then," she suggested with a smile in Roy's direction.

They had never been more in sync with each other than at that moment. He returned her smile and tossed the car keys to Chris, who caught them deftly.

"Why don't you and Jen go get our bags out of the camper and bring them over to the motel. Your mom and I will go check in."

"Okay, Dad."

"Sure thing."

Joanne watched her children make their way out of the restaurant and head towards the camper. She bit her lip for one anxious moment, then felt Roy's hand reach out to take hers. He gave it a squeeze as she glanced up to meet his eyes.

"John'll come back to us," he assured her softly.

Joanne nodded, not able to trust her voice, but she did manage to return Roy's smile with a watery one of her own.

­­­­­­~ ~ ~

Twenty minutes later, the DeSotos had settled into what the Bun Boy Motel advertised as a deluxe room. There were two king size beds, a table with two chairs, and a television. The bathroom offered a small basket of mini-sized soap, shampoo and hand lotion in addition to the inadequate supply of white motel towels, barely big enough to dry a grown person. But despite its over-inflated status, it was clean and cool and would be more comfortable to wait in than the hot, cramped camper.

Roy didn't think his family even noticed the room's inadequacies. Chris had turned on the TV, flipped between the three available channels for a few moments, then left it on the news with the sound down low. He stretched out on one of the beds and had been staring at the screen ever since.

Jennifer had gone back to the coffee shop to retrieve her forgotten book, but when she returned she'd tossed the novel on the table and settled in one of the straight backed chairs, her eyes on the large windows with a view of the parking lot, and farther in the background, Interstate 15.

Joanne had tried to keep herself busy, sorting through the bags the kids had brought in and pulling out a few things they might need if they ended up staying the night. But Roy knew his wife's calm demeanor was surface level only; meant to be reassuring for Jennifer and Chris, and probably even for Roy himself. And if he hadn't known before, he certainly would have clued in when she ran out of things to do and simply stood in the middle of the room for a long moment, her eyes searching for one last thing that might need her attention. When she couldn't find anything, she sat down slowly on the side of the bed, her gaze joining Jenny's in staring searchingly out the window.

Roy found it hard to just stay in the room and wait. He'd already walked back to the Bun Boy once to make sure they hadn't heard anything from the police and that they still had the information on the DeSotos’ room number in case anyone did call. He'd stopped at the camper before returning to the motel and tried to raise Johnny on the CB. The radio remained maddeningly silent, and he had to fight the sudden urge to yank the mic from the dash in frustration.

When he came back through the door to their room, all three heads turned in his direction. Three pairs of fearful eyes looked to him for a word of hope. But he had none to give them, and Roy suddenly knew he couldn't just sit here and do nothing. He wasn't made that way. Years of being a firefighter, a rescue man, a paramedic and now a captain had ingrained it in his very nature to be actively involved in this kind of situation. He couldn't sit on the sidelines and be a victim. He had to be a part of the search - to at least be trying to find his son.

He reached for the keys on top of the TV where Chris has left them, then held out his arm for Joanne. She came to him without a word. She already knew what he was doing. He hugged her for a long time before finally releasing her.

"I'll be back in a while," he said, seeing the question in Jennifer's eyes, but knowing he could leave that to her mother to handle. Chris, however, was another matter.

The boy got up from the bed and walked purposefully toward the door where Roy stood.

"I'm going with you," he announced, just the faintest trace of defiance in his voice, as if daring his father to try and stop him.

Roy faced his oldest child; a child no longer in most ways that counted. Chris's eyes were level with Roy's own and were just as determined.

The fire captain wasn't going to argue. He nodded once and slapped his son on the shoulder in a gesture of unspoken affection.

"Dad?"

Roy turned to find Jennifer standing behind him. He'd expected an argument from her about being left behind again, but instead she threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly. Roy stroked the back of her long, blonde hair.

"Don't worry, princess," he told her softly. "Everything's gonna be okay. You'll see."

Jenny pulled back from her father's arms, sniffed once and nodded. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and managed a weak smile.

"Just bring the twirp home, Dad," she said as Joanne came up and put an arm around her shoulder.

"He will, sweetie," Joanne stated resolutely. "He will."

Roy nudged Chris's shoulder and they headed outside. As he closed the door, Roy took with him the image of the two women in his life standing strong beside each other.

­­­­­­ Chapter 14

He slowly became aware of the world again, and it was a strange mix of browns and grays. Everything seemed distorted, slightly out of kilter. He was vaguely aware of something rough pressing into his cheek, but he didn't know what it was or even where he was. Somehow it didn't matter.

His other cheek was hot, and there was a persistent buzzing near his ear that was distantly annoying. If he'd been able to concentrate long enough to make the effort, Johnny might have tried to lift his arm to wave the bothersome insect away. But it was taking all his energy to try and make sense out of the fuzzy, wavering images that drifted in and out of focus.

Something moved on the edges of his vision; a streak of motion near a larger object that he couldn't identify. He stared at it for a long confused moment, and then all at once knew it was a hand. The longer he stared the more familiar it became until he finally realized it was his hand, a few inches from his nose and lying in soft, sandy dirt. From somewhere in the foggy mist that was consciousness, a voice told him that was where he was lying as well; that what was scraping his cheek was more of that same sand. He accepted the knowledge, with calm detachment.

A rush of movement caused his gaze to shift, and something small and gray darted into the meager shade provided by his slightly curved fingers. He felt it brush lightly against his skin. It occurred to him in a very distant part of his mind that he should be concerned about what exactly was using his body for shelter, but that too required more energy than he could muster. And then the little creature shifted again and Johnny saw its head under his thumb, saw the tiny flickering tongue.

A lizard. It's only a lizard.

He stared at it as if transfixed, its image blurring and then sharpening again as Johnny's vision would clear for a time and then grow hazy. After a moment the little reptile turned its head, its tongue shooting out with lightning speed. Its eyes were steely black and seemed to be looking directly into Johnny's own dark eyes.

Abruptly the irritating buzzing began again, only this time it was much louder - too loud. It droned on and on, grating mercilessly in Johnny's ear until it seemed to reverberate in his skull. He squeezed his eyes shut against the pounding in his head that the noise had so suddenly reawakened.

God, just go away. Damn fly... lemme alone.

An unexpected and blaring eruption of sound startled him so badly that Johnny flinched, his body jerking in panicked reaction. The unguarded movement was all that was needed for the pain that had receded into the gray mist to return with a vengeance.

Oh, god... oh, goddam... hurts like hell...

He tried to move, but it only made the pain worse. All he managed was to draw his legs up and pull his arm in closer, in a near fetal position of self-protection. It was only when he felt the sand scrape against the palm of his hand that he remembered his small friend. He opened his eyes, searching frantically for any sign of the tiny lizard.

Where are you? Where'd you go? You didn't let them get you. Please don't let them get you.

In a final effort to locate the missing reptile, Johnny lifted his head. The pounding increased its tempo to a crushing crescendo, bringing with it unending waves of nausea. The world tilted and Johnny let his head drop the few inches it had risen. It hit the sand with a soft thud, but it was enough to send shards of pain shooting through his eyes and ears.

As he rode the rush of agonizing dizziness, subjected to the confusing mix of sounds, his one thought was for a three inch lizard who had scurried into the sagebrush for safety.

Stay safe... hide... don't let them find you.

­­­­­­~ ~ ~

Rich Haskins had been a pilot for nearly twenty years. He'd flown first for pleasure, learning at his father's knee and earning his wings as they soared together over the never ending fields of wheat that blanketed North Dakota. As an adult, he'd been asked to fly for his country, plucking desperately wounded boys out the jungles of Viet Nam. That chapter in his life had ended in '72, and for the last twelve years he'd been patrolling the vast stretches of desert for the state of California, trying to keep her citizens safe from their own stupidity.

He hadn't heard the whole story on how this particular idiot had managed to get himself and his friend's kid lost during the high heat of August. Just that he was looking for a white Land Rover, a tall, thin, dark haired man in his late thirties and a five year old little boy who may or may not have gotten lost on one of the many roads to nowhere.

Maybe he was harsh to judge the guy so quickly. But he'd seen too many people make too many errors in judgment. Most of them had no respect for each other and certainly no respect for the fierceness of nature that made the desert a formidable enemy.

He'd been pulled off his normal traffic patrol pattern and assigned to do a low level sweep of the northeast sector. There wasn't much out here even if you knew where you were going. He'd been down near Halloran Springs when the base had radioed him. From there he'd swept east for a time, but then turned north toward the nearest road a motorist could exit on. That put him over Cima Road. When he'd found nothing there, he'd headed north again towards Nipton Road. If the guys wasn't on one of these small, two lane highways, Rich would have to start sweeping over the miles and miles of the Mojave Preserve.

He banked right, to head east along the ten mile stretch of asphalt that led to the little town of Nipton, a last stop collection of gas stations, small shops, and even a hotel, all catering to the campers, hikers and amateur geologists who wandered through the National Park. Like all the towns around here, Nipton had its roots in mining and the railroad. What separated it from most of the others was that Nipton had somehow survived all these years and was even staging a bit of a renovation, with a movement to redevelop that place into an art and tourist mecca. If the missing man had indeed turned off the Interstate looking for help of some kind, this would have been the wisest choice.

As he began his sweep of the road, moving in banked circles that took him far afield, but enabled him to see ground below, Rich started with the widest radius. This would take him all the way from the Nipton exit on I-15, to the town itself. He would then tighten his circle each time he swung around. It wasn't the quickest way to cover the ground he'd been assigned, but it was the most efficient for a fixed wing craft. Helicopters would have been better, but their division only had the one and it was working the west side of the Interstate, searching the rugged terrain that led to Death Valley. Rich knew that if this manhunt lasted very long or became very big, they would get help from other CHP divisions, but for now, in these early stages, they had to make do with what resources they had.

His first circuit completed with no luck, Rich adjusted his flight path to make a smaller circle. He looped around the north side of Nipton Road, coming back around before he'd reached I-15. His eyes were glued to the landscape below him, only moving back to his cockpit when he needed to check his instruments.

He did two complete circles before he spotted anything. And when he did, his first emotion was disappointment. The car he saw on the side of the road wasn't white and it wasn't a Land Rover. It was a dark blue sedan of some kind.

Probably some other unlucky bastard who ran out of gas or overheated his engine.

He came around again, figuring he might as well get a better look since he was out here anyway. This guy might be in need of some help too.

He circled around again, this time banking a little steeper to get a better look. He craned his neck as he came up on the car, meaning to see if he could read the plate number. As he shot past, he at last noticed the dark shape on the ground about twenty or thirty yards from the vehicle. The hair on the back of his neck rose at what looked suspiciously like a body.

He cut his circle smaller this time, zeroing in on the scene below him. As he passed over again, he was able to see for certain. It was a body lying motionless on the side of the road.

Holy shit!

There was no way to tell from up here if the guy was dead or alive. Rich picked up his mic and switched his radio to loudspeaker. The only times he'd ever used it this way was to order speeding motorists, who somehow never noticed the patrol car behind them with its flashing lights, to pull over.

“You on the ground. This is the California Highway Patrol. Help is on the way. Hold on.”

He repeated the same message twice before his flight path took him out of hearing range. As he maneuvered around again, he flipped a switch and put in the call to dispatch.

"Barstow base, this is air patrol two-niner-one... how do you copy?"

“We copy, two-niner-one... go ahead.”

"Barstow, I have a man down... Nipton road... about five miles east of the fifteen..."

­­­­­­~ ~ ~

Roy spared one hand from the wheel to rub at his road weary eyes, then returned to scanning the side of the highway as he and Chris continued their search. They'd gone as far north as the state line, then turned around and headed south again, but hadn't seen anything more than when they'd made this journey the first time. It was growing harder not to give into his fear and frustration, especially since the police didn't seem to be having any better luck.

Early in their trip Chris had excitedly played with the CB until he'd found the emergency channels used by law enforcement. What had up until now been a mild diversion for those long hours of driving, had become a lifeline as Roy eagerly listened to each update in the search for his son and his best friend. But those updates and check-ins from the units involved had been disheartening, and there was enough other traffic on the channel; the normal everyday events that the highway patrol dealt with on this heavily traveled corridor, that Roy wondered at times just how much of a priority the whereabouts of one man and one little boy could be.

He glanced over at Chris and saw that his son was staring out the passenger side window, his eyes fixed on the passing landscape. The dejection in his eldest son's demeanor compelled Roy to say something hopeful - to try and keep Chris's spirits up.

"There's still a lot of places they could be," he began brightly, fully aware how transparent his attempt was and that Chris could see through it. "We can't give up..."

But Chris wasn't listening. He suddenly sat up straight. "Dad... hang on a sec." The teen leaned forward and adjusted the volume on the CB. "Listen!"

Roy hadn't realized how much of the static and chatter he'd tuned out until the filtered voices filled the cab.

“...a man down... Nipton Road... about five miles east of the fifteen. I.D. unknown at this time.”

Roy's foot jammed down the accelerator, the camper shuddering a bit under the sudden demand for speed. He ignored the truck's protest. They'd just passed a sign that said the Nipton exit was three miles away. As he watched the road intently, he could hear the report continuing.

“It's possible that it's our missing man, but unable to confirm. There is a vehicle here, but it is not... I repeat, not a white Land Rover. It's a dark blue sedan... license plate unknown at this time.”

“10-4, two-niner-one. Ground units are being dispatched.”

There was a static filled pause, and then base came on again.

“Two-niner-one, any sign of the missing boy?”

“Uh, that's negative, base. I'll keep searching as long as I can. I have about thirty minutes fuel time...”

"It might not be Uncle Johnny, Dad," Chris reminded his father as he too kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead. "He said the Rover wasn't there."

"It's gotta be him," Roy stated fervently. "Who else would it be?"

Chris had no answer, and remained quiet. Roy concentrated on driving; on getting to the exit as fast as possible. It had to be Johnny. After all, how many people went missing from a busy highway? But his mind was still nagging him, sending fear coursing down his spine in a long sweaty line. Johnny was down - injured in some way. And worse still - there was no sign of John.

­­­­­­ Chapter 15

“Inland Units 25, 27 and 32... respond to man down on Nipton Road... five miles east of I-15. Be advised Chopper One is en route to base to pick up EMS personnel and will respond to this call. ETA... one hour.”

Officer Don Cooper hit his lights and siren, floored the accelerator of his black and white cruiser, then pulled out his mic and answered the call.

"This is Inland 27... I copy. Responding to Nipton Road."

“10-4, Inland 27.”

Don returned the mic to its cradle, then concentrated on covering the last mile to the Nipton exit with as much speed as possible. He could hear the other two units acknowledging the call. That would be Hinkson and Byrd. The three of them were the closest to where Rich had called in his man down. There would be no way to tell from the plane, but Don hoped this guy wasn't too badly injured. With as long as it was gonna take to get him medical attention, he'd better be able to hang on for a while.

He'd had an uneasy feeling about this one from the beginning, when Captain DeSoto first approached him with the story of his long overdue friend and son. Don had been a highway patrolman for nearly ten years. He'd seen a lot of things on this desolate stretch of highway. He'd responded to so many car accidents he'd lost count, from single car roll overs resulting from overtired drivers trying to push it all the way to Vegas late on a Friday night, to multi-car pileups where you couldn't tell where one car ended and another began. He'd seen blood and death, but he'd also seen birth, having delivered no less than five babies along the side of the road.

He'd also dealt with missing motorists. But as he'd explained to the distraught fire captain, most of the time it ended up with the lost party merely taking the wrong turn, or deciding to see where a stretch of road ended up. In nearly every case, the wandering friend or family member was reunited with the rest of their party; sometimes a little hot and thirsty, but for the most part intact.

But Don also knew sometimes bad things did happen out here. Robbery, assaults, even occasionally rape. Most of the more violent crimes occurred at night, under the cover of darkness. But that wasn't always the case. Don had learned over the years to trust his instincts about when something should be taken seriously. And DeSoto's story, his anxious face and worried voice as he reported the facts struck the right chord of urgency. The officer only hoped that if this man they were heading for was indeed Gage, that he was still alive and could help them locate the child.

He spied the exit and veered off the interstate, slowing down a bit as he hit the more roughly paved road. As he did so, he though he caught sight of flashing blues coming down the Fifteen from the north and knew he was going to be first on the scene. That would be Hinkson's lights he'd seen. Byrd had been farther south, but he wouldn't be long in coming either.

As he neared the five-mile point, Don could see Rich low in the sky to the southwest, circling his plane as he continued searching for the missing boy.

God help that kid if he's out here alone in this wasteland.

He spotted the dark shape of the sedan Rich had reported. It was on the right shoulder but facing the wrong way. A few moments later he could also see the injured man lying on the side of the road. He didn't appear to be moving. Don killed his siren and pulled his car to a skidding stop on the sandy shoulder, leaving enough room for the medics to work when they got here, as well as trying to preserve any forensic evidence if this did turn out to be a crime scene, which was looking more and more likely.

As he got out of his car, the heat hit him full blast after the comfort of the air-conditioned squad. Ignoring the discomfort, he quickly covered the distance to the still figure, the sound of Hinkson's siren growing loud in his ears.

The man appeared unconscious and was lying on his side, his knees drawn up. The one arm Don could see was pulled in close to his chest. His face was streaked with dried blood, and as the patrolman crouched down for a closer look, he had to wave a cluster of flies away. It was hard to tell if this was the source of the bleeding, as the guy's dark hair was long and thick, hiding any scalp wounds. There was, however, congealed blood matting some of that hair, telling Don he was probably right.

He reached down and pressed two fingers against the guy's throat, breathing a sigh of relief as he found a pulse there. The skin against his fingers was hot, however, and Don knew the heat might be the most critical of any of the man's problems.

He stood up when he heard the skidding of another car, and saw Jay Hinkson getting out of his squad. Don waved him over and Jay ran to his side, sweat already running down his neck from that little bit of exertion.

"Byrd got delayed," he reported in out of breath pants. "Big collision five miles south." He glanced down at the man at their feet. "He alive?"

Don nodded. "For now. Don't know how bad he's hurt other than that head wound." He crouched down again and laid the back of his hand on the reddened cheek. "We need to get some kind of shade up. Get him outta this sun 'til the medics get here."

"Just got an update from 'em," Hinkson stated over his shoulder as he started back toward his car. "They left Barstow about ten minutes ago. Should be forty... forty five minutes."

Don wasn't sure what Jay was looking for as the officer began rummaging through his black and white's trunk. But instead of wasting time asking a lot of stupid questions, he settled for trying to make some shade with his hands over the fallen man's face. It probably wasn't much help, but he needed to feel like he was doing something. His natural impulses made him want to act; to get the poor guy out of the sun and the dirt and into someplace cooler and more comfortable. But even if there was such a place out here in the middle of God's big furnace, Don had been to enough training seminars about dealing with trauma victims, to know the last thing he should do would be to start moving this guy around without knowing how badly he was hurt.

"Here, see if this'll work." Jay was back with a big brightly striped beach umbrella. He popped it open and set about situating it for maximum effect.

"Where the hell'd you get that?" Don asked as he reached up to help shift the umbrella slightly to the left.

Hinkson shrugged. "I bought it after that big accident last month. No more sitting around for two hours in this heat waiting for the damn tow truck for me!"

Don shook his head at his colleague's inventiveness. He glanced back down. The man hadn't stirred, but most of his upper body was in the shade now.

Feeling better that they'd done something, even if it wasn't much, Don knew their next task was to try and confirm this guy's identity. His gaze moved over the lean form and spotted the faint bulge in the back pocket of his dusty jeans. Careful not to jostle the man too much, the officer fished the wallet out. It only took a moment to find the driver's license, Fire Department I.D. and several credit cards.

"That Gage?" Jay inquired.

Don sighed and nodded, regarding the dark hair, even the jeans and green t-shirt. Everything fit not only the description Captain DeSoto had given them, but it matched up to the pictures on the I.D.'s as well. "I'd say we found him." He looked up and scanned the horizon. Rich's plane was still circling to the west. "Haven't seen any kid though." He jerked his head toward the car that had turned out to be a Nissan. "Or a white Rover," he finished.

Jay nodded and pulled out his pad to jot down the plate number. "I'll go run this. See what comes up." He jogged back to his unit and slid under the wheel to call it in.

Done looked at the wallet again. Not only were the credit cards still here, he found nearly sixty dollars in cash. Whomever had attacked Gage, hadn't been after money.

A quiet moan brought Don's attention back to the battered man. He wasn't conscious, but it looked like he might be trying to come around. His head moved slightly in the sand and his hand shifted a bit, his fingers curling tighter.

"John?" Don called quietly, "John Gage?"

The dark head shifted again and another soft moan came from the sun blistered lips.

"It's okay, John. You're gonna be all right. Try not to move."

The man grew still, but his eyelids fluttered open. Don saw a pair of dark eyes peering at him with a glassy look.

"John? John, can you hear me?"

"...mmm... wha... what?" came the groggy response. The eyes closed for a moment and then he grimaced in pain. "...mmm... my... my head..."

"I know. But help's on the way." He leaned a bit closer. "John? John, where’s the boy? What happened to John DeSoto?"

The eyes opened again, but were dazed and didn't seem to comprehend Don's question.

"Wha...? I... I don't..." He frowned and then grimaced again. "Head... head hurts."

Don blew out a frustrated breath. Obviously Gage was still too out of it to be of any help. He heard Jay coming back and looked up.

"Car's stolen," Hinkson reported. "Went missing from Huntington State Beach a couple days ago."

Don's mouth formed a tight line. "And it looks like they got tired of this one and decided they needed a change."

"I notified headquarters and they're upgrading it now to attempted murder and possible kidnapping. The APB's gone statewide."

Don nodded grimly, aware that now any evidence they found here was of even more importance. "Take a look around, will ya;, Jay? See if you can find anything."

"Okay." Jay started to move off, but stopped, turning to gaze down the highway. He shielded his eyes to see better.

"What's wrong?"

"Somebody's coming," Jay observed. "Didn't think Byrd would get here this soon."

Don got to his feet and moved to stand beside Hinkson. He could see the vehicle in the distance now, and it wasn't a police cruiser. It looked more like a truck.

"Tourist maybe?" Jay suggested, his hand resting on the gun on his hip.

Don shook his head slowly. "Nahhh... I don't think..." His eyes widened as the shape of a blue camper became recognizable. "Shit," he exclaimed. "I told him to stay at the motel and we'd call him."

"Who?" Jay asked curiously.

Don ran a hand through his close cropped hair, wondering how he was going to deal with a panicked father. "It's the missing kid's dad. It's DeSoto."

­­­­­­~ ~ ~

Roy brought the camper to a gravelly stop behind the two police cars. The sight brought all Roy's suppressed fears rushing to the surface, and he had to work to push them back where he'd buried them since this nightmare began. He couldn't afford the luxury of giving in to that mind numbing despair that lurked in the corner of his mind. There was still too much to do; too much unknown. The identity of the injured man was still unconfirmed, though with each passing mile, Roy had grown more and more certain it was Johnny. And, according to all the police calls back and forth, there was still no sign of John. Even now, Roy could see the plane in the distance still searching for his son. He swallowed hard and made himself move.

He emerged from the truck and made his way quickly around the two black and whites. What he saw made him actually stop in his tracks for a brief moment. In an almost surreal picture, two CHP officers were standing in front of a red, white and green beach umbrella. Under the umbrella Roy could see the lower half of someone, lying in the shade as if merely asleep at the shore.

Shaking off the image, Roy moved forward again. As he reached the officers, one of them reached out to take him arm to stop him.

"Captain DeSoto, I don't think..."

"Is that Johnny?"

He pulled away to look around the patrolman he finally recognized as the officer who had first taken their report. But that knowledge registered in an instant as he caught sight of the mop of black hair on the injured man.

"Johnny?"

He jerked his arm free and pushed past the officer, his feet sliding on the sandy ground as he knelt by his friend's side. His hands automatically reached for the pulse point in Johnny's neck, to assure himself his friend was alive. It was there, a bit rapid, but still strong. Only then did he allow himself to take stock of Johnny's overall condition.

There was a lot of blood on his face; blood Roy easily traced to a gash over Johnny's right ear. It had clotted over and was covered with matted hair, so Roy didn't disturb it. Even in the shade, Roy could tell Johnny's skin was sunburned, something Roy could never remember seeing in all the years they'd known each other. His Native American heritage gave Johnny the ability to bronze in the sun rather than burn, a trait Roy envied anew every time he spent a day at the beach with Joanne and the kids. But Johnny's face, neck and right arm bore visible evidence of his time spent out in the intense desert heat. And not only was his skin reddened, but it was warm to the touch and spoke of a fever.

"Is he okay, Dad?"

Roy glanced at his son crouched down beside him. He'd almost forgotten Chris was with him.

"I don't know yet. Go get the first aid bag out of the camper, son... and bring some water and some towels too. We gotta get him cooled down."

Chris raced off toward the camper. As soon as he was gone, Roy felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Officer Cooper. His face wore a stern expression.

"We should wait for the medics," the man instructed firmly.

"I am a medic," Roy informed the patrolman, then paused. "Was a medic," he corrected himself, his face flushing slightly at his oversight. He didn't dwell on it; rather he pushed for some concrete information. "How long before the paramedics get here?"

The officer glanced at his watch. "They're still about thirty minutes out." Roy's surprise must have showed on his face, for the policeman gestured at the vast landscape. "They got a long way to come."

Roy nodded his understanding. "Okay, but Johnny shouldn't wait thirty more minutes. Look..." he sat back and wiped his forearm over his heavily sweating brow, "I'm not an active paramedic right now, but I'm still certified in L.A. County. I'm not starting any I.V.'s here or giving him any medication. But he needs to be cooled down. I'm just going to be doing some basic first aid... stuff your medics are gonna need to do anyway. This way we'll be giving them a head start."

The man still looked undecided. Roy wasn't sure what it was going to take to convince him, but he knew he wasn't going to let Cooper stop him from treating Johnny. It was only when Chris spoke up that Roy realized his son had returned from the camper and had heard most of the exchange.

"My dad and Uncle Johnny were two of the first paramedics in Los Angeles County," he informed the policeman in a voice that spoke of both pride and confidence. "He knows what he's doing."

Roy wasn't sure what finally made up the man's mind, but he suddenly squeezed Roy's shoulder and moved away, calling to the other patrolman. Roy turned back to Johnny, but not before he flashed his son a grateful smile. He grabbed the bag Chris brought over, then he instructed the teen to use the water from the thermos and wet the towels he'd brought. While the teen was doing that, Roy started his examination. Skills honed by years of practice kicked in automatically, even though he hadn't used them in months.

He fished out the box containing his basic instruments and found his penlight. As he bent down to check Johnny's pupils, he called to his partner in a steady, even voice.

"Johnny? Johnny, it's Roy."

He got a faint moan from his partner; not much of a response, but at least it told Roy Johnny was still partially aware of his surroundings. He then breathed in relief when he found normal pupil reactions. Moving to check for fluid in Johnny's right ear, he was relieved again to find none there. He ignored the left one for now, as he didn't want to move Johnny's head. He'd wait until he had a collar on him and could take spinal precautions.

He reached down and touched Johnny's wrist to get an accurate pulse. He found it to be rapid as he'd thought before, but some of Roy's concerns about heat stroke were eased by the fact that Johnny was still sweating. He motioned to Chris.

"Take those towels, son, and wet his skin down. Just whatever you can see without disturbing him. We can do a better job once we can get him a little better situated."

Chris nodded wordlessly and began to gently wipe at Johnny's flushed face and neck. This cooling touch elicited another soft groan from the injured paramedic chief. Roy leaned closer and spoke again.

"Johnny? Johnny, it's Roy."

"Mmmm... wha?" Johnny's eyelids opened slowly, his dark eyes unfocused. "R...roy?" His voice was weak and raspy. Talking was definitely an effort.

"Yeah, Johnny, it's Roy." The captain had to fight the urge to start demanding answers from his friend; to know what had happened and where John was. He had to go easy here. Johnny wasn't in any condition to be drilled, so Roy tried his best to keep the worry out of his voice. He would take care of Johnny first, be a paramedic first. Then he would deal with the questions and answers. "Can you tell me what hurts?"

Johnny's mouth worked a bit. He licked at his dried lips and his face wrinkled in his attempt to concentrate. "Ummm.... I don't... mmm... my head... head hurts... like hell."

"I'm sure it does," Roy sympathized, eyeing the ugly evidence of the hidden wound. "Where else, Johnny? Can you move your head?"

Johnny's eyes closed a moment and Roy could see he was working at processing the request. Then his head shifted slightly in the dirt. Immediately Johnny grimaced and moaned again.

"No..." he mumbled thickly. "... dizzy."

"That's okay, then. Don't worry about it."

He reached into the first aid bag again and grabbed the cervical collar, shooting a glance toward where the two Highway Patrolmen were still looking around the area. They seemed content to leave him alone, but he wondered what they would say if they realized just how much Roy kept in his "basic" first aid kit.

"Johnny, I'm gonna put a collar on ya’, pal. Just lemme know if it hurts at all."

He got only a barely audible grunt from his friend. Johnny's eyes had closed again. As gently as he could, Roy slid one end of the collar under Johnny's neck, adjusted it carefully, then fastened it in place. Johnny whimpered softly at the slight movement, but didn't seem to have been hurt too much by the process.

That done, Roy found the scissors and cut up the back of Johnny's t-shirt. Then, very carefully, he parted the fabric to allow him to assess the condition of his friend's back. Because Johnny was lying on his side, Roy could only push the shirt part way, but it was enough to reveal a multitude of long bruises across the paramedic chief's shoulders and upper back. Roy drew in a hissing breath as he realized Johnny had been beaten with something: a bat or a board.

"Is it bad, Dad?" Chris asked fearfully.

"Bad enough," Roy answered, then gestured for Chris to put down his towels for a moment.

"We need to turn him so I can check his other side. I'm gonna keep his neck and back straight. I need you to roll him when I give you the signal."

Chris regarded Johnny's battered back, then met Roy's eyes with a look of apprehension. "But, Dad... what if I hurt him?"

Roy shook his head and gave his son a smile of encouragement. "You won't. Just do what I tell you and you'll do fine."

Roy showed Chris how to place one hand on Johnny shoulder and the other on his hip.

"When I say, roll him over evenly, put pressure on both places as equally as you can. I'll be keeping his back and neck straight."

Roy waited until Chris was in position, then shifted so he could place one hand at Johnny's neck and the other supporting his upper back, trying to avoid any of the obviously tender places where he'd been struck.

"Okay, Chris. Ready?"

Chris bit his lower lip, but nodded.

They did it quickly. Roy was fairly certain Johnny didn't have any neck or spinal injuries, but that didn't mean that much movement didn't hurt. Johnny cried out softly as they rolled him.

"Dad?"

"It's okay, Chris. You did it right. It was gonna hurt some, no matter how careful we were."

With Johnny on his back, Roy quickly cut the rest of his friend's dirty t-shirt away, as well as slitting his heavy denim jeans up most of his legs to allow as much air to circulate on his skin as possible. He motioned for Chris to resume sponging down Johnny's overheated limbs, while Roy completed his exam.

He found a darkly bruised area around Johnny's left side, and the sounds Johnny made when Roy palpated his ribs only confirmed Roy's suspicions that some of them were fractured. His breathing was still sound so that at least was good news. But his left forearm was also bruised and swollen, as was his right knee.

As Roy set about splinting Johnny's arm and leg, the magnitude of what had happened slowly set in, and he couldn't keep his mind from plaguing him with questions that had no answers; questions that made his hands tremble as he secured the splints, making cutting gauze and tape harder than it should have been.

If they did this to Johnny... if they could do something like this over a goddamn car... what did they do to John? Why isn't he here with Johnny? Why would they take him with them?

For years, working as a paramedic, Roy had been able to switch on his autopilot. No matter how tragic the scene, how mangled a body he was working on, he'd been able to push his personal feelings aside for the moment and function. He'd always prided himself on being able to stay focused on the job at hand. There was a time to deal with the horror and the loss and the sadness. But that was always later. Not while someone needed him.

Now that skill was threatening to leave him. He paused in the middle of securing a protective 4x4 over Johnny's head wound and found himself staring at his unmoving hands.

They didn't care if they killed him. They beat him and left him to die out here all alone. What would someone like that do to my little boy? Would they draw the line at hurting a child? God, John, where are you?

"Dad? You okay?"

Roy blinked and the moment was gone. His hands moved again, wrapping the curlex around Johnny's head once more and finishing the dressing as he glanced at Chris.

"Yeah... yeah, I'm fine."

Chris continued to stare at him for a long moment, as if he wasn't convinced, but he didn't press it. He returned his attention to the wet towel in his hand and went back to bathing Johnny's arms and legs.

Roy drew a deep breath and made a concerted effort to regain control. He couldn't allow himself to fall apart. To keep his hands busy, he checked Johnny's vitals once more time, relieved that the pulse he felt in his injured partner's wrist had slowed to a more normal rate. Chris's efforts were having the desired effect. With nothing more he could do at the moment, Roy sat back on his knees and swiped an arm across his face. He glanced up at the cloudless sky.

Where the hell is that chopper?

"R...roy?"

Johnny's eyes were open again, though still glazed.

"I'm right here." Roy took hold of Johnny's uninjured hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "You're gonna be okay, Junior."

Johnny blinked at that and frowned slightly as if trying to figure something out. Then his face relaxed and his mouth quirked at one corner.

"Easy... easy for you... for you to... to say, Pally."

Johnny sounded lucid, and Roy couldn't stop himself from taking advantage of it. If his friend had as serious a concussion as Roy suspected, there was no telling when things would grow foggy again. He maintained his hold on Johnny's hand and spoke quietly.

"What happened, Johnny? Where's John?"

The dark eyes that stared into Roy's held a blank look that caused any hope the captain was holding on to to vanish.

"John? Is... is John here?"

"No... John's not here now." Roy fought to keep his emotion from sounding in his voice. "He was though. Do you know where he went? Can you remember what happened to John?"

Johnny's brows drew together, whether from pain or the effort to think, Roy couldn't tell. "I... I don't... where is he? Is John here?" Johnny's eyes moved toward Roy again. "Roy? S'at you?"

Roy repressed an exasperated sigh. It wasn't Johnny's fault he couldn't focus enough to tell them what had happened. He could only hope that the memory would eventually come back, and in enough time to help.

"Yeah, Johnny, it's me. Take it easy, okay. You're gonna be okay."

"Mmm...my head... hurts bad. Ev'rythings... things spinning."

Roy squeezed Johnny's hand again. "I know. But it won't be too much longer. Why don't you save your strength."

Johnny obediently closed his eyes. If he picked up on the dejection in his former partner's voice, he never reacted to it. Roy sat back on his heels, ran a hand over his face and breathed out heavily.

"Captain DeSoto?"

Roy glanced up, saw Officer Cooper walking toward him. As he stood to meet the man, he couldn't help but notice the plastic wrapped tire iron. Bits of sand and desert grass mixed with congealed blood clung to one end. Roy swallowed down the bile that rose in his throat at the sight of Johnny's blood on the heavy metal bar.

"That what they used?"

Officer Cooper nodded grimly. "Appears that way. We found it down in the ditch. There's a flat tire there too. It's gotta be from the Rover." His gaze moved to Johnny, but apart from a raised eyebrow, he didn't comment on the extent of Roy's first aid. "He gonna be okay?"

Roy shrugged uncertainly. "I hope so. I think we got to him before the heat did too much damage. He'd got some fractures, but it's his head injury that's the biggest question mark. I don't think his skull's fractured, but at the very least, he's got a pretty bad concussion."

"Has he said anything about your son?"

Roy felt that surge of fear once more try to take control, but he managed to push it down and just shook his head; his mouth set in a straight line. "No. He's pretty out of it still."

The patrolman's face took on a compassionate look. "I don't know if this will help you, Captain DeSoto, but in all the years I've done this job and dealt with car thieves, it's been my experience that they don't want to mess with doing big time. They usually don't confront people and they don't get violent."

Roy gave him an incredulous snort. The man glanced at Johnny again and shook his head.

"I have no clue why they attacked your friend like they did. Maybe he tried to fight back. We just don't know." He returned his gaze to meet Roy's. "But I'm willing to bet a year's pay that they wouldn't purposely hurt your boy. Their M.O. would be to leave him here."

Roy gestured to the flat, barren landscape. "But he's not here." He hated the hopelessness he heard in his voice.

"I know." Cooper scratched at his head. "So maybe they never saw him. Maybe he was asleep in the car when they drove off. What I'm saying is that I'd wager when we find the Rover, we find John."

"You really think so?"

The officer nodded. "The APB's out. They'll be found before too long. In the meantime, we'll set up a manhunt out here just in case. We want to cover all bases."

"Hey, Don..." The other officer was walking from his patrol car. "Chopper's coming in."

It was the first time Roy noticed the distant thump-thump of helicopter blades. He shaded his eyes and sure enough, growing larger in the distance, was the familiar sight of a rescue chopper.

It still took another five minutes before it reached them, and another five or so to land. The door slid open and two men emerged before the blades stopped rotating. They were carrying equipment Roy pegged right away as a drug box and a trauma box.

As the paramedics drew near, Roy motioned for Chris to move out of their way. The teen stepped out from the shade of the umbrella and joined his father as the two medics moved in. Roy noticed right away how young they seemed. He saw from the patches on their shoulders that they were with San Bernardino County Fire.

As they began their assessment, Roy also noted how smoothly they worked together, their movements well practiced, and they never appeared to get in each other's way. In spite of the grim situation, Roy felt a small smile play on his lips. Had it really been that long since he and Johnny could have been in their place?

One of the men was busy establishing an I.V. Roy hadn't heard any transmission with a base yet, so he could only assume this county allowed their paramedics more freedom with basic, precautionary I.V.'s. He knew protocol was changing rapidly in many departments; another reminder of how long it had been since the program had started.

The other medic turned to Roy, his face questioning.

"You do this?" He gestured to Johnny's splints and bandaged head.

Roy nodded. "I'm still certified with L.A. County. Just haven't had to use it for a while."

The younger man nodded and flashed Roy an approving look. "You did a good job. We're just getting him started on some fluids and then we'll pack him up. He's looking pretty good, all things considered."

"Where're you taking him?" Roy asked.

"Loma Linda University Medical Center. They have a level one trauma unit there... and some pretty great doctors. He'll be in good hands."

Roy nodded. He knew Loma Linda's reputation. It just suddenly seemed so far away. As he watched the stokes being brought over and then Johnny being carefully bundled up for the trip, Roy felt a surge of panic. Johnny was hurt and confused and was going to a place where no one knew him. Roy hated the thought of sending him off alone like that. But yet, Roy couldn't even think of going with him. John was still missing, and Roy would never leave this place until he was completely satisfied that everything had been done to try and find his little boy. And there was the rest of his family. He still had to go back to the hotel and bring the news to Joanne and Jennifer. They would need him. He had to stay here.

He'd never felt more like wishing he were two people. He and Chris both stepped up to help carry Johnny in the stokes. When he glanced down, he saw Johnny was awake again, his dark eyes watery with pain, his face drawn from his ordeal. Roy reached over with his free hand and brushed Johnny's arm to let him know he was here. He saw first, confusion, and then a flash of gratitude as Johnny recognized him.

It took only a few moments to load him onto the chopper. One medic had climbed aboard first, to help situate the stokes. Once Johnny was on board, the other medic turned to Roy.

"We have room for one family member. Do you want to come with us?"

Roy felt a lump of lead settle in his stomach as he shook his head regretfully. "I can't. I have to stay here."

"Dad, somebody needs to go with him. He'll be all alone otherwise."

Chris..."

But Chris's face was set with determination. "Uncle Johnny shouldn't be alone." He faced the medic. "I'm going with him."

The man looked hesitant, then turned to Roy questioningly. "We can only take adults."

“He’s an adult,” Roy confirmed.

“What I mean is,” the medic looked back at Chris apologetically, "you have to be twenty-one. It’s the rules."

Chris never flinched. "I'm twenty-one," he lied without batting an eye.

Roy's first impulse was to interfere, but he restrained himself to a mere twitch. If Chris was willing to do this for Johnny, then Roy would allow it. When the paramedic looked to Roy for confirmation, Roy nodded.

"He just had his birthday."

The man's eyes moved between father and son, then he nodded his understanding and smiled briefly. "Okay," he relented. "Let me give you a hand up."

Chris moved to board, but turned to Roy one last time. "Just find the squirt, Dad." Then he let the medic help him into the chopper.

Roy's emotions were in turmoil as he stepped back out of the wash of the rotors. Worry for Johnny, pride in Chris, the ever-present panic for John. All those feelings fought for center stage and the resultant battle only succeeded in tying Roy's insides in knots.

It seemed to take forever, but finally the helicopter lifted off, heading away in a noisy swirl of dust and sand, that blasted Roy's face. When he could finally open his eyes again, the chopper was fading fast in the southeastern sky.

Chapter 16

By Chris DeSoto’s watch, it had taken almost an hour and a half for the helicopter to reach Loma Linda University Medical Center.  This had been Chris’s first ride in a chopper, but he couldn’t enjoy the experience.  He was too worried about John and Johnny, his mind skipping from one to the other, then to his mother and sister.  Like Roy, Chris wished he could be in two places at once.  No, make that three. He wanted to be with Johnny, but he also wanted to be with his father to offer whatever support he could when Dad broke the news to Mom about John.  Aside from those two places, Chris also wanted to be a member of the search party that had taken off across the desert to look for John as the chopper lifted into the air.   

Because he couldn’t be in three places at once, Chris focused on the task he’d insisted upon – being with Uncle Johnny.   Several times during the flight to Loma Linda, Johnny regained consciousness, though Chris recognized he was semi-conscious at best.  The man was confused, and kept asking the same questions over and over again in a weak disjointed voice. 

“Where…where ’m I?”

“Wha’…what ’m I…what ’m I doin’ here?”

“Wha’…what happened?”

Sometimes Johnny seemed to recognize Chris when the paramedics would ask Chris to talk to him, and sometimes he didn’t.  He never once asked about John, or gave Chris any clues as to where John might be, but several times he called for Chris’s father, and then grew agitated when the man didn’t answer him.   During those moments, Chris got the impression Johnny’s mind was somewhere in the past.  Somewhere during the years he and Dad had worked together out of Station 51.

When they arrived at the hospital, a trauma team was waiting to whisk Johnny into the emergency room. The paramedics accompanied Johnny, filling the doctors in on his condition as they ran along beside the gurney. Chris followed, but a nurse blocked his entrance into the treatment room.

“I’m sorry, but you can’t go in there.”

Chris said the first thing that came to mind in an effort to get inside. “He’s my uncle.”

“That doesn’t matter. You still can’t go in there.  But since you’re his nephew, I have a way you can be of help.”

“How?”

“Come with me to the admittance desk.  We’ll need whatever information you can give us about your uncle.”

“Will a doctor let me know what’s going on?”

“As soon he can, yes. But it might be a while.”

Chris glanced at the closed door, then reluctantly followed the nurse.  She turned him over to a matronly looking woman about the age of Chris’s Grandma DeSoto.  She was seated behind a desk with a big placard screwed to the front that read: Admittance.   The round, ample busted gray haired clerk wore a hospital nametag that identified her as Mrs. Esther Sanders. Glasses hung from a chain around her neck that she perched on her nose as she began taking information from Chris.

Considering he wasn’t really Johnny’s nephew, Chris thought he did a good job of answering the questions Mrs. Sanders asked him that came from a form she kept referring to.  Anything he didn’t have knowledge of she took in stride, as though she wouldn’t expect a nephew to know his uncle’s social security number, blood type, or if his uncle was allergic to any medications. Things like Johnny’s marital status, address, phone number, middle name, and birth date, Chris was able to give without hesitation.

“Employer?”

“Pardon?”

The woman looked up from the form. “Who’s your uncle’s employer?”

“Oh…uh, the Los Angeles County Fire Department.  He’s their chief paramedic instructor.”

The woman nodded as she wrote that information down on the admittance paper. “Then I assume there will be a health insurance card in Mr. Gage’s wallet?”

“Probably. But if there’s not one, I can find out from my dad who their insurance carrier is.”

“Your dad?”

“He works for the fire department, too.”

Mrs. Sanders smiled. “Keeping it all in the family, is that it?”

Chris thought of how much he wanted to join the fire department despite his father’s wishes against it, and gave the woman a half-hearted smile in return. 

“Yeah, guess you could say that.”

Mrs. Sanders referred to the form once again.

“Next of kin?”

“Um…” Chris hesitated a moment.  Technically, Johnny’s next of kin was his father, Charles. But Chris didn’t know Chad’s phone number, and besides, Chris wasn’t certain if the hospital would still be willing to give him information about Johnny if Chad was listed as next of kin. 

“Uh…I guess that would be me and my father…if you can list two people, that is.”

“I can.”

“Okay.  Then I’m Chris DeSoto.  My father is Roy.”

“And your father is related to Mr. Gage how?”

Chris almost said, “They’re brothers,” until he realized the issue of different last names might cause the clerk to question how the relationship was possible. Therefore, Chris chose the most logical answer he could think of.

“Brother-in-law. My dad is Uncle Johnny’s brother-in-law.”

Evidently a brother-in-law and nephew were close enough for next of kin, because Mrs. Sanders wrote down Chris’s father’s name and Chris’s name without giving the young man a hassle. 

Chris then had to give his address and phone number, along with his father’s.

“The same,” Chris said with a smile regarding the address and phone. “I can save you some writing on that one.”

“And is your father here too?”

“No…no, not right now.  He might be here later, but he had to take care of some things with the police first.”

The woman looked up at the word “police.”  Because Chris didn’t want her to think Johnny was in some kind of trouble with the law, he hurried to explain, “My uncle was carjacked. That’s how he was hurt.  The guy who took his vehicle beat him up.”

“Oh.  I’m so sorry to hear that.”

“Thanks,” Chris said. He didn’t add that his younger brother had apparently been kidnapped by the carjacker, too.  He didn’t have the heart to go into that right now, and besides, he figured he might have to talk to Uncle Johnny’s doctor about it later.  There was no use in telling the story more times than he had to.

“Does your uncle have any pre-existing medical conditions that you know of?”

“Like what?”

“Diabetes?  Heart disease? High blood pressure?”

“No, I don’t think so.  But you could contact his doctor to find out.”

“And who would that be?”

“Kelly Brackett.  He’s Chief of Emergency Services at Rampart General Hospital in Los Angeles.”

The woman wrote that information on the form next to the words: Patient’s Physician.

“Are you gonna call him?”

“I don’t know. That’ll be up to your uncle’s doctor to decide.”

“But shouldn’t someone let Dr. Brackett know that my uncle is here?”

“Someone will contact him if need be.”

“But--”

“This looks like all the information I need,” Mrs. Sanders said in way of dismissal as she glanced over the form one last time. “You can wait over there.  A doctor will be with you as soon as possible.”

“How long do you think it’ll be?”

“I don’t know.  It could be a while.”

“How long is a--”

The phone on the desk rang, interrupting Chris.  Mrs. Sanders smiled at him as she picked it up.

“Please have a seat and wait, Mr. DeSoto.  Someone will be with you as soon as possible.”

Chris sighed as the woman focused her attention on the phone call.  He turned toward the waiting area where several people sat staring up at a TV set mounted in one corner of the wall. Chris headed in that direction, but kept on walking when he spotted a bank of pay phones farther down the corridor located between the men’s and women’s restrooms. 

The young man dug in the right front pocket of his blue jeans for change.  He had to call information first, in order to get Rampart’s phone number.  Since he didn’t have a pen or paper, he was forced to repeat it to himself over and over as he fished for more change and dialed.  When a receptionist picked up the ringing line and said, “Good afternoon. Rampart General Hospital. How may I help you?” Chris asked to be connected to the nurses’ desk in the Emergency Room.

“Just a moment, please.”

As Chris waited for the call to go through he prayed, Please let Dixie answer.  Please let Dixie be on duty.  Please let it be Dixie who answers the phone.

“Emergency Room.  Nurse McCall speaking.”

Thank God. Something’s finally going right.

“Dixie, this is Chris DeSoto.”

There was a second of hesitation, as though Dixie’s confused brain had to process who the caller was.

“Oh…Chris. Hi!  What can I do for you?  Didn’t you go on that camping trip with your family and Johnny?”

“I did. That’s why I’m calling.”

Dixie chuckled. “What happened? Did Johnny burn a hand roasting marshmallows, or fall into a patch of poison ivy?  Do I need to make an appointment for him to see Dr. Brackett?”

“He’s already seeing a doctor.  I’m at Loma Linda Medical Center with him.”

Dixie’s humor was replaced by an incredulous, “What?”

As quickly as he could without stumbling over his words, Chris explained what had happened, including the fact that John was missing. He then gave Dixie a run down of Johnny’s injuries based on what his father and the paramedics had concluded during their examinations of the man.

“I haven’t talked to a doctor yet though, so I don’t know any more than that.  I just gave an admittance clerk a bunch of information, including Dr. Brackett’s name as Uncle Johnny’s physician, but I don’t know if anyone’s gonna call him or not.  The clerk made it sound like that was up to the doctor who’s treating him.”

“It probably is.  Protocol in that regard varies from hospital to hospital.  Listen, Chris, you hang on the line while I try and track down Kel – Dr. Brackett.”

“How long will that take?  I’m at a pay phone, and I don’t have much change left.”

“Okay, then give me its number and wait right there. Either Dr. Brackett or I will call you back within ten minutes.  I promise.”

Chris read the number off the round dial in the center of the phone. 

Dixie read the number back to the young man.  When Chris confirmed she’d written it down correctly, she instructed again, “Wait there. One of us will call you back soon.”

“Okay. Bye.”

“Bye, Chris.  Oh…and, Chris?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t worry.  Everything’ll be all right.”

Chris knew Dixie had no special powers that would make her promise come true, but he didn’t resent her for trying to reassure him, like he might have resented those words if they’d come from a stranger.  Instead, he knew they came from her heart.  From all the years she’d known his father and Uncle Johnny, and had grown to love them like a person loves close and treasured friends.

“Thanks, Dixie,” Chris said, “for everything,” then broke the connection.  He did as he’d promised the nurse and waited by the phone.  He looked up and down the corridor, finally spotting a sign that pointed the way to the cafeteria.  If he needed more change later for further phone calls, he could go in there and get some dimes and quarters for the dollar bills he had in his wallet. 

As Dixie had promised, Chris didn’t have to wait long before the phone rang.  He picked it up on the first ring.

“Hello?”

“Chris?”

The young man recognized Kelly Brackett’s voice.

“Yeah, Dr. Brackett, it’s Chris.”

“You’re on my dime now, Chris, so take your time and tell me everything that happened.”

Chris took a deep breath, then started his story. He told the doctor they’d been headed home from their vacation that day, and how John was riding with Johnny, and how Johnny notified them on the CB that he had a flat tire and would catch up to them in Baker after he’d changed it.

“But he never showed up,” Chris said.  “So Dad and I finally went looking for him.”

Chris relayed everything that occurred after that, and finished by saying, “Dad had to go back to Baker to let Mom and Jennifer know what happened, so I flew here to Loma Linda with Johnny.”

“What’s Johnny’s condition now?”

“I don’t know.  He was pretty out of it on the trip here.  Sometimes he knew who I was, but sometimes he didn’t.  He kept asking the same questions over and over again, too – like where he was and what happened. It didn’t matter how many times he was given the answers, a few seconds later, he’d ask again.”

“Considering he took a whack to the skull with a tire iron,” Brackett said grimly, “that doesn’t surprise me.”

 A heavy silence lingered for a few seconds before Dr. Brackett spoke again.

“Thanks for filling me in, Chris.  As soon as I hang up with you, I’ll call the hospital.  I’ll find out who’s treating Johnny, and make sure I get to speak with him as soon as possible.  If all else fails, I have an old friend on staff there in cardiology. I can get in touch with Sam if I need him to untangle some red tape for me.”

For the first time since leaving Nipton with Johnny, Chris felt a small measure of relief.

“Thank you. I really appreciate it. Dad will, too.”

“As soon as I know more, I’ll get in touch with you.  Are you going to be hanging around the ER for a while?”

“Yeah.  I don’t have a way to leave here until Dad can come get me. Right now I have no idea when that’ll be, so I might be camping out on the waiting room couch tonight.”

“All right.  Let the nurses at the ER desk know who you are, and that you’re waiting for my call.  If you leave the area for any reason, let them know where they can find you.”

“Okay.”

“Hang in there, Chris.  I know your dad will be proud of the way you’ve handled yourself today.”

Chris smiled a little. “Thanks.”

Chris said goodbye to the physician, then hung up the phone. He made a stop in the men’s room before heading back to the waiting area.  He took his wallet out as he walked and counted the bills inside.  He had enough money for supper this evening, and for three meals the next day if he was conservative with his choices.  Chris didn’t allow himself to think beyond that.  By then, John would be found and his parents would be here. Chris clung to that thought, not allowing himself to acknowledge there were other possibilities that were a lot more frightening and heart breaking.

The young man stopped at the ER nurses’ desk.  The woman standing behind the counter wasn’t the same woman who had kept Chris from entering the trauma room, so he explained who he was, what patient he was here with, and that he was expecting a call from Doctor Kelly Brackett, John Gage’s physician at Rampart Hospital in Los Angeles.  The nurse looked at Chris with an expression that plainly said she wondered how someone so young had the kind of connections that meant one of the most well-known doctors in the state of California was going to call him directly, but she simply smiled and said, “All right, Mr. DeSoto. Thank you for letting me know.”

“You’re welcome.”

Chris wandered back to the waiting room. He leafed through magazines in a three-tiered wooden rack mounted on the wall, pulled out a month-old issue of Time, and plopped to a chair.  He paged through the magazine without paying attention to any of the articles, his mind on his missing baby brother, and the injured man in the trauma room down the hall.

 Chapter 17

Roy glanced at the giant thermometer across the street as he climbed from the truck’s cab.  The temperature had dropped four degrees since he’d last been in Baker.  Still, 116 didn’t feel much cooler than 120 had. 

Roy swiped at the sweat that formed on his brow the second he stepped into the heat.  He stood next to the truck; almost rooted to the sweltering pavement, because he had no idea how to tell Joanne what had transpired since he’d left. 

Before the captain was able to come up with some way to gently break the news to his wife, he heard the tell tale squeak of a motel room door opening.  He didn’t have to look to know it was the door to the room he and Joanne were renting.

“Roy?”

“Dad?”

The voices were identical in both pitch and tone, and Roy could clearly identify worry as being the strongest emotion.  At any other time, he would have found it amusing to hear how much Jennifer sounded like her mother – a fact his teenage daughter would vehemently deny.  But right now Roy found nothing amusing.  He took a deep breath and stepped from the shadow of the camper top.

Joanne’s eyes flicked from her husband to the cab.

“Chris? Where’s Chris? Is Chris with John?”

Roy hated to dash the hope on his wife’s face.  Without Joanne saying so, Roy knew she’d jumped to the happiest conclusion she could latch on to – that Johnny and John had been found safe, and that Roy had left Chris behind to keep an eye on John for whatever reason. 

Before Roy could say something…or maybe before he forced himself to say something, Joanne turned to Jennifer.  Her speech was so rapid it was almost decipherable, as though if Roy couldn’t get a word in edgewise, then no bad news could be delivered.

“Jen, get our things together.  We’ll leave with Dad to pick up John just as soon as we get checked out and--”

“Jo…” Roy swallowed hard as he put an arm around his wife. “Jo, let’s go into the room so we can talk.”

Hope was replaced with fear. 

“Roy?”

“We need to talk,” was all Roy would say as he put an arm around his daughter, too, and walked his wife and his teenager into the room. 

Jennifer reached for the remote control on the table and aimed it at the TV. Alex Trebek, in the midst of hosting an early evening round of Jeopardy, faded to blackness.  Roy shut the door, blocking out the noise from the highway.  The hum of the air conditioner was the only sound in the room as Roy pulled a chair out for Joanne, and then sat in the chair across from hers.  Jennifer perched on the edge of the bed closest to the table, her body taut with nervous anticipation.

“Roy…Roy, where’s John? What’s…what’s happened?”  Tears sprang to Joanne’s eyes.    “Something’s happened.  I can tell by the way you’re acting that something bad’s happened.  Were they in a car accident?  Oh please, don’t tell me he’s…that he’s…that…”

The distraught mother couldn’t finish her sentence, but then, she didn’t have to.  Roy’s years as a paramedic meant he’d sat through scenes like this one before.  They always ended with a mother asking if her child was dead, though somehow she already knew the answer to that question was yes.  Just like Joanne seemed to sense the answer was yes.  Roy prayed that wouldn’t turn out to be the case when all was said and done.  He hoped mother’s intuition, or whatever you wanted to call the sixth sense women had regarding their children, wasn’t accurate this time.

Roy shook his head. “I…I don’t know, Joanne.”

“You don’t know?  What do you mean you don’t know?  Where’s--”

“That’s just it.  We still don’t know where John is.”

“But…what…how--”

Roy reached across the table and took his wife’s hand in his.  He gently rubbed her soft skin with his thumb.  “The Land Rover is missing, and so is John.  It looks like Johnny was carjacked while he was changing the tire.”

“It looks like!  Well what did Johnny have to say about it?  Where is he?  Where’s Chris?  How can Johnny not know where John is? He must know where he is.  John was with him for God’s sake!  How could he not--”

“Johnny wasn’t in any condition to tell me anything.  He was severely beaten with the tire iron.  He was flown by helicopter to Loma Linda Medical Center.  Chris went with him.”

Joanne stared at her husband in disbelief as the circumstances surrounding John’s disappearance began to sink in.

“Oh God…oh God.  Oh no. Oh God no. They took John, didn’t they? Whoever stole the Land Rover has John, don’t they?”

“We don’t know that for certain, though the police think it’s possible John was sleeping in the back and that whoever took the Rover never saw him.  They told me these guys don’t usually get violent.  Usually they just take what they’re after and high tail it.”

The woman’s eyes widened.  “They don’t get violent! You just said they beat Johnny so badly he’s being flown to a trauma center.  What makes the police think they won’t hurt John too?”

“They just don’t think it’s likely.  He’s just a little boy.  He--”

“Little boys get hurt, too, Roy. Crazy men can hurt little boys just as easily as they can hurt little girls.”

“I know, I know,” Roy acknowledged, briefly closing his eyes and trying to block out the image of a mangled little body tossed on the side of a desolate road somewhere.

“Where were they found?”

The captain opened his eyes and focused on his wife again. 

“Nipton Road.”

“Nipton Road?” the woman questioned.

Roy knew his wife had never traveled that road, any more than he had until a few hours ago, but he also knew she was at least familiar with the location of the exit sign that advertised it. 

Joanne asked, “What was Johnny doing out there?”

“I don’t know.”

“It goes right through the desert, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“So why did he get off the freeway?  What made him take that road?  Why would he take John out to the middle of nowhere?  Why--”

“Jo, I don’t know.  The town of Nipton is just a few miles south of where Johnny was found. Maybe John had to go to the bathroom. Maybe he wanted something cold to drink, or some ice cream.  Maybe he wanted a souvenir of some sort.  Maybe Johnny was taking some kind of short cut I don’t know about. Or maybe John distracted him and he took that exit without intending to.  I just don’t know.”

“Then why didn’t Johnny tell you where he was when he called on the CB to say he had a flat tire?”

Roy had been wondering that himself, but even so, he had no concrete answer for his wife.

“Hon, I wish I had an answer for you, but right now I don’t.  Maybe he…I don’t know, if he had taken that exit because John was bothering him to buy ice cream or something, maybe Johnny didn’t want to say because he knew John would be in hot water with us for causing a delay.  Or maybe Johnny just didn’t think it was important.  He’d told us he’d meet us in Baker, he had the CB so he could contact us if he needed to…he probably thought he’d get the tire changed and be back on the road in fifteen minutes.”

“But that’s not what happened.”

Roy squeezed his wife’s hand again as he looked into the eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “No…no.  Evidently that’s not what happened.”

Jennifer let her parents sit in silence drawing comfort from one another for a minute before asking in a shaky voice, “Dad…Dad, what are the police doing to find John?”

“They’ve put out a state-wide APB on John and the Land Rover.  Since it’s not a common vehicle, they think they’ll run across it soon.”

“But what if they’re not still in the state?” Joanne asked.  “What if they’re already in Nevada? Or Arizona? What if…”

“They’re searching into Nevada and Arizona by plane, Jo, and all over this area too.  When I left, some of the cops were searching the desert near where Johnny was found.”

“The desert?”  Joanne paled. “Oh, Roy…Roy, if John somehow wandered into the desert…”

“If he did, he’ll be found,” Roy said with a firm confidence that hid his doubts and fears.  “He’ll be found safe, Jo.  No matter where they locate him, I know he’ll be found unharmed.”

“What about Johnny?” Joanne asked, finally able to briefly focus her worry on their friend.  “Will he pull through? Will he be okay?”

“Until Chris calls, I can’t give you a definite yes or no.  I’m most concerned about the head trauma he suffered.  I don’t think he has a skull fracture, but even so, a head injury can cause a lot of problems that don’t always show up initially.  I wish he was at Rampart.”

“I’m sure the doctors at Loma Linda are good.”

Roy smiled, grateful that his wife had said what he needed to hear.  “I’m sure they are too, but it’s not the same as having him at a hospital where I know the staff.”

Joanne nodded her understanding.  “What about other injuries?”

“He had some broken ribs, and I think his left arm was broken too.  His right knee was swollen and bruised, his back was bruised pretty badly from the beating, and he was badly sunburned.  He laid out there quite a while without help, and then it took almost an hour for the paramedics to arrive after Chris and I got there. He…well, Johnny’s going to have a few rough weeks ahead of him.”

“It’s…it’s just like that time with the man,” Jennifer whispered.  “Just like that time.”

Roy and Joanne exchanged concerned glances.  They knew what time Jennifer was referring to, and neither parent liked the far-away look they saw in their daughter’s eyes.

“Jen…Jen, come here,” Roy beckoned as he held one arm out to his daughter. “Come here, princess.”

Jennifer slowly stood and walked to her father’s side.  He urged her to sit on his left knee and put an arm around her waist. 

“It’s okay, Jen.  Johnny’ll be okay.”

Jennifer looked into her father’s face.  “But whoever took the Land Rover beat him just like that man beat him.  Just as badly as that man beat him, and now whoever has the Rover has John, too.”

“But it’s different this time,” Roy emphasized.  “This was a carjacking, sweetheart. Someone wanted Uncle Johnny’s car. Whoever it was wasn’t out to kidnap a child.”

“How do you know?”

The girl had put her father on the spot.  Still, Roy came up with the best answer he could. The only one he could allow himself to believe.

“I just do. The police are certain of it too, and they know a lot more about the motives behind crimes than I do.”

“Maybe Johnny fought back,” Joanne said.  “Maybe that’s why the man - or men, got so violent.”

“The police said that was a possibility.”

“No.” Jennifer shook her head. “Uncle Johnny wouldn’t do that.  Not with John with him.  He wouldn’t have fought back.  He would have given them whatever they wanted.”

“He might have fought, Jenny,” Roy said.  “It’s hard for any of us to predict what we’d do when faced with a situation like that.”

Jennifer stood and moved away from her father. “Then you don’t know Uncle Johnny nearly as well as I do, because he’d never do something that would put John in danger. Including putting up a fight for a stupid old truck.”

Joanne smiled just a bit at Jenny’s words. “But your Uncle Johnny loved that ‘stupid old truck’ as you phrased it.”

Jennifer glared at her parents as though she couldn’t believe they could be so dense. 

“Not as much as he loves John. Not as much as he loves any one of us.”

Roy held up a hand to signal an end to the discussion.  He wasn’t in the mood to fight with his daughter. 

“Okay, okay. Point taken.  None of that matters anyway, because your mother and I both know that Johnny would never purposely put any of you kids in harms way. Until Johnny can tell us what happened, there’s no use in playing guessing games.”

“When will Johnny be able to tell us what happened?”

Roy’s eyes shifted from his daughter to his wife. “Until Chris calls with more information about Johnny’s condition, I can’t answer that.  We’ll just have to wait and see.  I don’t even know how soon a doctor will allow the police to take a statement from him.  It all depends on how serious the head trauma is, and when Johnny’s doctor thinks he’s up to talking to the cops. Hopefully, John will be found long before any of that’s necessary.”

Tears filled Joanne’s eyes again. “Do you really think that’ll happen? That John will be found soon?”

“I do,” Roy nodded. “I’m banking on them finding the Land Rover without too much trouble.  There aren’t that many vehicles like it on the road.  They’re bound to run across it before long.”

“I hope you’re right.”  Joanne squeezed her husband’s hand. “God, Roy, but I hope you’re right.”

Roy wished there was something else he could say. Something that would allow Joanne and Jennifer to be certain that this nightmare would have a happy ending, but unfortunately, he couldn’t offer them anything beyond what he already had – the truth, and a good deal of a faith to go along with it. 

After a moment, Roy thought of one more bit of information he could add. 

“I gave the police a picture of John. The one taken for his T-ball team this summer.  It’ll be on the news later this evening.”

Roy could tell his wife didn’t know whether to smile or cry at the thought of that photo when she said in a soft voice, “That was a good picture of him.”

“It was,” Roy acknowledged, thinking of the photograph of the five year old boy posed on one knee with a baseball bat in his hands.  His cap had been pushed back far enough that the bill hadn’t obstructed his facial features, which was now a blessing considering the circumstances.  Roy had also easily been able to rattle off John’s current height and weight, since he’d gone with Joanne to the pediatrician’s office for John’s school physical just a few days before they’d left on vacation.

Roy’s gaze took in both his wife and daughter. “Do you wanna get some supper?  We could walk across the street to the restaurant.  Both Chris and the police know to call there if they can’t reach us here.”

“No,” Jennifer said.  “I’m not hungry.”

“I’m not hungry, either.”

Roy let the subject drop since he didn’t have any more of an appetite than Joanne and Jennifer.  They could always grab something to eat later in the evening if they were still here.

Jennifer began to pace the small room.  Watching her walk back and forth, Roy knew they’d all get cabin fever if cooped up in this motel room for very long, which was why he was already wondering how long they should stay before returning to Carson.  If God answered prayers, then this wouldn’t be an issue, because John would be returned to them before the night was over.  But if prayers weren’t answered, then Roy would have to decide what was best for his family.  Not that he hadn’t already decided to a large extent - waiting at home for word from the police would be more comfortable for all of them, but convincing Joanne to leave Baker without her youngest child might be not be easy. 

Roy sighed and rubbed a hand over his forehead.  Nothing in all of his years of parenthood had prepared him for this.  There was no guidebook you could turn to for answers on what to do when your child was missing.  Maybe Joanne knew at least some of those answers better than Roy did, because she suggested to their anxious teenager, “Jen, why don’t you change into your swimming suit and go out to the pool for a while.”

Roy expected Jennifer to protest, but instead, she seemed relieved to be allowed to leave the room when she said, “Okay. Sure.”  Which again, confirmed Roy’s theory that they couldn’t stay cooped up here for very long.

Jennifer rummaged through one of the suitcases they’d carried in, grabbed the bikini Roy normally made her put back in favor of one that was cut more modestly, and headed for the bathroom.  Five minutes later she exited the bathroom with a towel slung over one shoulder.  She shoved her feet into her tennis shoes, picked up her book, and paused to kiss first her father, and then her mother, as she headed for the door.

“Come get me as soon as you hear anything from the police or Chris.”

“We will,” Joanne promised.

The girl slipped quietly from the room, shutting the door behind her. 

“She needed to get out of here for a while,” Joanne explained to her husband almost apologetically. As though she’d done something wrong by allowing their teenager to be…well, a teenager.

“I know.”

Roy stood and headed for the phone.  “I’d better call headquarters and let them know what’s happened.  Johnny was supposed to be back at work tomorrow, too.”

That turned out to be one of the hardest phone calls Roy’d ever made.  Detailing what had transpired to the chief of the department, and then answering his questions, forced Roy to relive what had already been a harrowing day.  The captain was glad when their conversation finally drew to a close.

“Yes, Chief.  I’ll call as soon as I know anything about Johnny or my son.  Thank you.”

Roy listened as the man expressed his sympathies one last time, and then his confidence that John would be found safely and that Johnny would recover from his injuries.

“Thank you, Sir. I’m sure everything will turn out all right, too.  I’ll call in with an update as soon as I know more.”

Roy said goodbye to the man, and heard his “Goodbye” in return before hanging up.  When he turned around, Joanne asked, “Everything’s all right?”

Roy nodded.  “He said to take as much time away as I need to.  He’ll also send out a memo to the entire department about Johnny’s missing Rover and the possibility that John’s inside of it.  With as many firefighters and paramedics as we have out on the road each day, who knows,” Roy shrugged, “they might spot something.”

“They might,” Joanne agreed, knowing that the Land Rover could just as easily be in L.A. County by now as it could be in Nevada.  “That was nice of him.”

“Yeah, it was. He’s also gonna call the camper place for me and explain why we won’t have the unit back this evening. If we’re charged a late fee, he’ll arrange for the department to pick up the tab.  He wanted me to tell you that he wishes there was something more he could do - that the department could do - to help.”

Those were the words that finally caused Joanne to break.  With Jennifer gone from the room, she no longer fought to hold her tears at bay.  She rocked back and forth in her chair, hugging herself while sobbing, “I wish there was something more I could do too, Roy.  I’m John’s mother.  I’m the one who’s supposed to keep him safe.  I’m the one who’s supposed to know where he is all the time, only I don’t know where he is, and I’m scared.  Oh God, Roy, I’m so scared.  I’m so scared.”

Roy knelt in front of his wife and took her in arms.  She sobbed into his shoulder, soaking his shirt with her tears as she cried for her youngest child until she had no tears left and her sobs changed to dry heaves.

Roy guided his wife to the closest bed and made her lie down. He went to the bathroom and wet a washcloth with lukewarm water.  He returned to Joanne’s side and sat beside her.  He bathed her face with the cloth while whispering, “It’ll be okay, Jo. Everything’ll be okay.  John’s all right.  John’ll come back to us safe and sound. He’s all right.  I know he’s all right.”

At that moment Roy believed what he was saying because, like Joanne, he suddenly couldn’t face any other outcome but the one that would bring John back to them free of harm. 

Johnny might die.  John might already be dead.  And Roy had no idea how he and Joanne would go on if those two things came to pass.

Chapter 18

Chris quietly walked out of the small, single patient room on the Intensive Care Unit after visiting with his “uncle” for the five minutes Johnny’s doctor had allowed.  It was quarter after nine.  It had been a long day, and it wasn’t over yet.  Chris still had to call his father before finding a couch to sleep on for the night.

As Dr. Brackett promised he would, he’d spoken with the physician in charge of Johnny’s care earlier that evening.  Chris didn’t know the details of that phone call, but he did know the contact from Kelly Brackett was probably why Dr. Patel, and other members of the Loma Linda staff that Chris had encountered thus far, were so accommodating to a young man barely out of high school. 

Chris had to listen hard to understand Dr. Patel’s explanation of Johnny’s injuries.  He wasn’t sure where the man was from, but he guessed India.  The doctor was short and slightly built – not much bigger than a small framed fifteen-year-old boy.  His coal black hair lay flat against his head, and square silver wire-rimmed glasses sat on the bridge of his nose. His white coat and the harsh overhead lights made his skin seem even browner than it was.

The eighteen-year-old’s knowledge of Johnny’s condition was enhanced somewhat when Kelly Brackett called him an hour after Dr. Patel talked to Chris.  Brackett answered all of the questions that had come to Chris’s mind since his conversation with Dr. Patel.  Chris was grateful to Kelly Brackett for his time and thoroughness.  At least Chris now felt confident that he could answer any questions his father might have about Uncle Johnny.

Chris hadn’t eaten supper yet. Even so, he bypassed the cafeteria in favor of the bank of pay phones he’d used that afternoon.  He dug more change from his pocket.  He’d gotten a supply several hours earlier when he’d gone to the cafeteria and purchased a Coke.  He’d paid with a ten-dollar bill, and requested three dollars in coins as part of his change.

“For the pay phone?” the pretty girl who was working behind the counter inquired.

“Yeah,” Chris smiled in return at the girl he guessed to be about Jennifer’s age.  “You must have a lot of people asking for it, huh?”

“Some,” the girl had acknowledged, while counting an assortment of nickels, dimes, quarters, and dollar bills back to him.

 Chris laid the change on the long wooden shelf beneath the pay phones.  There was one other man making a call, but he was at the far end, near the women’s bathroom.  His back was to Chris, but the teen could tell the man was broken up about something.  He caught enough words to know that the middle-aged man was letting a family member know that his mother wasn’t expected to live through the night.

Chris fished for his wallet, opened it, and pulled out a business card from the motel in Baker.  It included a phone number for the motel, and one for the restaurant where Chris and his sister sat eating cheeseburgers just that afternoon.  So much had happened since then, that it seemed like days ago when he and Jen ate their second lunch of the day, as opposed to just eight hours. 

Chris decided to try the motel’s number first.  If he didn’t reach his family there, then he’d try the restaurant.  He dropped the appropriate amount of money into the phone’s slots and dialed the motel’s number.  When a desk clerk answered, “Good evening. Bun Boy Motel,” Chris asked to be connected to Room 9. 

The phone was picked up on the first ring.  In his mind, Chris pictured his parents hovering over the top of it, willing the caller to give them good news. He hoped to God they’d already gotten at least one phone call like that this evening. The one that would have told them John was found safe.

The “Hello?” Chris heard was quick, succinct, and filled with anxiety.

“Dad, it’s me,” Chris said while returning the business card to his wallet with one hand, and then slipping the wallet into his back pocket.

“Chris...”

Chris could hear an odd combination of relief and disappointment in his father’s tone. As though Dad was eager to hear from him, but at the same time, Chris wasn’t the caller his father was most hoping would be on the other end of the line.  That realization caused a knot to form in Chris’s stomach.  He conveyed all he needed to with just one word.

“John?”

“They…they haven’t found him yet.  Officer Cooper stopped by here about thirty minutes ago.  They haven’t found the Land Rover or John.”

Chris swallowed hard so he could speak around the lump that suddenly took up residence in his throat.  His brother was only five, and had now been missing for most of the day.  What were the chances that he’d be found unharmed?  Probably not good, Chris thought, but he didn’t say that to his father.

“How…how’re you doin’ Dad?  How’s Mom?”

There was a moment of hesitation before his father spoke.  Chris could picture him looking at Mom, maybe even squeezing her hand before answering.

“Mom’s…Mom’s okay.  She knows John’s going to come back to us safe and sound.”

“I know he will too,” Chris said with forced confidence. “And Jen?  How’s she?”

“She’s all right.  Upset, but hanging in there like the rest of us.  I was just gonna take her and your mother over to the restaurant for something to eat.”

Chris figured his family didn’t have any more of an appetite than he did, but he also knew his father would make sure everyone tried to eat something, even if it was just a few bites of whatever food they ordered.

It was Chris’s father’s turn to ask questions now.

“How’s Johnny?”

Chris wondered how to answer that question.  Johnny looked horrible.  Bruised, battered, and sunburned.  The purple and blue bruises and the brilliant red of the sunburn, all looked worse now than they had when Chris last saw Johnny in the helicopter.  An ICU nurse told Chris that was normal though, and that it would be a couple of weeks before the evidence of the beating and exposure began to fade.

Chris’s father’s voice brought the young man from his musing.

“Chris?  How is he? How’s Johnny?”

“Uh…well, his doctor said he’s doing okay, all things considered.”

“What’s that mean?”

“He’s listed in fair but stable condition.  They put him in a room in the Intensive Care Unit about an hour ago.”

“Have you talked to his doctor?”

“Yeah.”

“What’d he say?”

“That if no complications set in, Uncle Johnny should be all right with time.”

Chris heard his father release a heavy sigh of relief, then his muttered, “Thank God.”

“That’s what I say too.”

“Did the doctor go over his injuries with you?”

“Yeah. Uncle Johnny’s got what they’re calling a ‘severe’ concussion. They did a CAT scan.  They don’t see signs of any bleeding or swelling in the brain.” 

“Finally, some good news.  What else?”

“Besides that, his left arm is broken. They’ve already got it in a cast.  He’s got three broken ribs, and second-degree sunburn on the right side of his face and neck, and on his right arm.  He’s got a lot of bruises and cuts, but the doctor didn’t seem too concerned about any of ‘em.  They took X-rays of his right knee. It’s not broken, but because of how swollen it is, they’re not sure how much damage might have been done.  Dr. Patel – the guy who took care of Uncle Johnny in the ER – said Johnny might need to use a wheelchair for a while, or at least until he can get around on crutches better after the cast comes off his arm.  Dr. Brackett’s the one who’ll follow up on all that.”

“Dr. Brackett?”

“I called him after I got here to let him know what happened to Uncle Johnny.  He got in contact with Dr. Patel, and then he called me back a little while ago.  Dr. Brackett said as soon as Dr. Patel feels it’s safe for Johnny to travel, he’ll arrange to have him transferred to Rampart.”

Chris’s dad voiced his approval of Brackett’s decision. “Good. That’ll make me feel better.”

“I figured as much.”

“You did a great job today, son. You did everything I would have done if I’d been there.  I’m really proud of you, Chris.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

Chris wanted to add that he wished he could have done more – like locate John – but Chris figured his entire family wished the same thing, so he didn’t voice it.

Chris listened when his father spoke again.

“Did this Dr. Patel say how soon Johnny’ll be able to give the police a statement? Cooper wants me to call him as soon we know.  Did Johnny say anything at all to the doctors about John?  Did you ask them if he said anything about John?”

Chris heard the anxiety return to his father’s voice in full force.  Because of that, he hated the thought of what he had to tell his dad next.

“Dad…Dad, I just talked to Uncle Johnny a few minutes ago.”

“You did?  Did you ask him about John?”

“I…” Chris closed his eyes a moment, then opened them and stood up straight.  “Yeah, I did.  Dr. Patel said I could, as long as I didn’t upset him or put any pressure on him to give me answers.”

“What’d he say? Was Johnny able to tell you what happened to John?”

Again, Chris could picture his father squeezing his mother’s hand while he waited for Chris’s answer.

“He…” Chris paused to gather strength. Oh God, how he hated being the person who had to break this news to his father. “Dad…Dad, Uncle Johnny…he…Uncle Johnny--”

“What about Johnny, Chris?  What about him? What’d he tell you?”

“He…he didn’t tell me much of anything. He’s still pretty out of it. He…Dad, Uncle Johnny doesn’t remember John being in the Land Rover with him.  The last thing he remembers is when we were all sitting at the picnic table yesterday, eating the fish we’d caught for supper.  I’m really sorry, Dad, but he doesn’t remember anything that happened after that.”

There was a long silence, then a small cry, like that of a woman trying to contain her grief. Somehow, without his father saying a word, Chris’s mother knew that the last man to have seen her youngest son alive wasn’t able to help them locate him.

Chris barely processed his father’s quiet unsteady voice telling him to stay at the hospital until the next day.

“I don’t know yet how long we’ll stay here in Baker. If I can’t come get you tomorrow, I’ll make arrangements for someone else to.”

Chris’s voice was as soft and unsteady as his dad’s.  “O…okay.  I’ll make sure the nurses at the Emergency Room desk know where I am. You can track me down through them if you don’t see me in the waiting area.”

“All right.  Good…good night, son. And thanks again for everything you did today.  It means a lot to your mother and me.  I know it’ll mean a lot to Johnny too.”

“You’re welcome.  And, Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“Tell Mom…tell her that I love her. And Jen. Tell Jen the same thing.”

Chris could hear the slight smile in his father’s voice.

“I will.”

“Dad…Dad, I love you too. Take care of yourself.”

 Chris didn’t wait for his father’s answer. He hung up the receiver, then laid his forehead against it and fought to keep from crying.

Chapter 19

Not for the first time since this day had started, Danny wondered why the hell he listened to Shawn.  Why the hell he just didn’t walk away from his friend and not look back. 

It was almost ten o’clock.  The darkness outside meant all that Danny saw was his reflection when he looked out the big picture window of the McDonald’s Shawn had insisted they stop at.  Danny’s legs jiggled a nervous rhythm beneath the table.  He tore his gaze from the windows and watched Shawn shove a fistful of French fries into his mouth.

They should have been home hours ago.  They should have dumped the truck hours ago too, but there hadn’t been an opportunity to do that because Danny had gotten lost.

That’s what I get for listening to Shawn.  He went off on me because we damn near ended up in Arizona before I realized it and turned around, but he was the one who said to get gas in some out of the way place.  He was the one who said don’t go into Barstow.  I can’t help it that I got lost after we left the gas station. Shawn was the one who said, “Don’t get back on the freeway, dude. Let’s stay off it until we ditch this hunk a’ junk in San Berdoo.”

It’s not my fault that I didn’t know where the hell we were.  And he wasn’t any help. He just sat slumped in the seat sleeping off his high. 

Danny gingerly rubbed his swollen lower lip.  Shawn had gone berserk after Danny pulled to the side of the road and admitted he needed to turn around because they were headed east and not west. They’d gotten so far east, that Danny had spotted a sign announcing that the Arizona state line was just a few miles away.   

Shawn laid into Danny in the cramped front quarters of the truck then, beating Danny’s face with his fists. That’s when Danny should have gotten out of the vehicle and shouted, “Screw you!”  He should have taken his chances walking through the desert until he ran across a town.  He could have called home and asked his older sister to come and pick him up.  Julie wouldn’t have been happy with him, and she probably would have lectured him for the fiftieth time about how hanging out with Shawn was going to bring him nothing but trouble, but even so, she wouldn’t have finked on him to Mom.  

Because Danny hadn’t had the courage to say, “Screw you,” to Shawn and leave him to fend for himself, he was now in the last place he wanted to be - the middle of San Bernardino. Shawn had claimed it was safe to stop and get something to eat as long as they parked the stolen truck in a remote corner of the McDonald’s lot, away from any overhead lights and other cars.  Danny had done that, but nonetheless, this stop was making him increasingly nervous.  He just wanted to get home.  He no longer cared about attempting to steal another vehicle, though he knew that’s what Shawn had on his mind now that they were in a decent-sized city.  Danny, on the other hand, just wanted to stay off the freeway and head for Huntington Beach.  He wouldn’t get lost now. He knew these roads. As far as he was concerned, they should ditch the truck as soon as they were closer to home, then head for their houses on foot while not attracting any attention to themselves.  Or once the truck was out of sight, maybe Danny could call Julie from a gas station payphone and claim a friend had driven them that far and dropped them off.  Maybe Julie would be willing to come pick them up without asking a lot of questions. 

The young man was still mulling over the quickest and safest way to get home, when Shawn pointed at the Quarter Pounder Danny hadn’t taken out of the box yet.

“Ya’ gonna eat that?”

“No,” Danny mumbled.  “My mouth hurts too much to eat.”

Shawn reached for the Quarter Pounder and set it in front of him.

“Hey, buddy, I’m sorry ‘bout that.  I just…I lost my head, ya’ know?  I didn’t mean it.”

Danny’s eyes narrowed.  “Just like you didn’t mean to beat that guy ta’ death?”

“Aw, I didn’t kill him.”

While Shawn took big bites of the burger, Danny leaned forward and whispered,  “I think you did, Shawn.” His eyes darted around the restaurant to make sure no one was sitting close enough to overhear them.  “I think you killed him. And even if you didn’t, how long do you think he lasted laying out there in the desert like that with no help?”

“What’re you so worried about, man?  He’s fine.  I just gave him a little bump on the head.”

“What I’m worried about is bein’ tried for murder if we get caught.”

“We’re not gonna get caught.” Shawn stuffed the remainder of the Quarter Pounder in his mouth, chewed a few times, swallowed, and washed it down with a gulp of Coke.  He glanced out of the window.  “It’s dark now.  We’ll find a new set a’ wheels and head for home.”

“I don’t wanna find a new set a’ wheels.  Let’s just stay off the freeway and head for Orange County.  We can dump the truck after we cross the county line.  We can walk home from there.  Maybe I can call Julie to come pick us up at a gas station or something.”

Shawn seemed to be taking Danny’s suggestions into consideration.  Because Shawn always had to be the one in charge, Danny was surprised when his friend agreed to his plan. 

“Okay, if that’s the way you want it, buddy, then that’s the way we’ll do it.”

Danny gave a small sigh of relief when Shawn stood and headed for the door.  Danny quickly gathered up their trash and stuffed it in a garbage can.  He didn’t want to give anyone in the restaurant reason to remember them.  He figured trash left all over the table was a way he and Shawn might stick out in the memories of the employees.

Danny jogged to catch up to Shawn.  He glanced around, seeing nothing but a smattering of cars in the parking lot. Because of the late hour on a weeknight, there hadn’t been more than half a dozen people in the restaurant.  Other than the noise of the vehicles speeding by on the two-lane highway, the surrounding area was quiet.  The small strip mall next to the McDonald’s held a take-out pizza joint, a Laundromat, a video rental store, a deli, and an all-night drugstore.  People appeared to be minding their own business as they came and went from the strip mall, none of them paying any attention to the young men walking to the white truck in a far corner of McDonald’s lot.

The boys split up as they approached the rear of the vehicle. Danny rounded it so he could get in on the driver’s side, while Shawn headed for the passenger side.  Out of the darkness, Danny heard a sudden shout.

“Police!  Freeze! Get your hands in the air!”

Danny never had a chance to run. Hands so massive that they could have encircled his biceps twice over gripped Danny’s arms and threw him onto the hood of the truck.  By the pain-filled grunt he heard coming from the opposite side of the vehicle, Danny knew the same thing had happened to Shawn.

Blood gushed from Danny’s nose. One of the hands grasped the back of his shirt while the other yanked his hair, twisting his head sideways and slamming it onto the metal hood.  Another set of beefy hands grabbed Danny’s wrists and handcuffed them behind his back.  He knew Shawn was getting the same treatment when his friend yelled, “Hey you mother fuckers! Those are too goddamn tight!”

If any of the cops made a response to Shawn, Danny didn’t hear it.  All he heard as his legs were yanked apart and he was roughly searched for weapons, was a voice screaming in his ear, “Where’s the boy!  Where’s the boy! Where is he?  Where’s the boy?”

Danny didn’t even have the presence of mind to be embarrassed when he wet his pants and started to cry.  He tried to turn his head so he could look into the cop’s face, but it was shoved back to the hood.  Out of the only corner of his mouth he could move, the terrified Danny asked, “Wha…what boy?”

“The boy you losers kidnapped! The five-year-old boy who was with the man you punks beat the shit out of and left for dead back in Nipton.”

No matter how many times Danny and Shawn denied knowing anything about a boy, the cops just got rougher with them while continuing to shout, “Where’s the boy?  Where’s the boy?” 

As Danny was shoved into the back of an unmarked police car, he was sure he’d go to his grave hearing the words, “Where’s the boy?” hollered by a red-faced angry detective who seemed convinced that he and Shawn had kidnapped a child, murdered him, and then dumped his body somewhere between here and Nipton.

Oh God.  Oh God.  Oh God, was the litany that ran through Danny’s brain as he leaned forward and threw up on his tennis shoes.  Oh God, they think we’ve killed a little kid.   They think we took a kid and killed him.

Danny sat up and looked around for his friend. He spotted Shawn seated in the back of an unmarked sedan parked next to the sedan Danny was in.  As Danny glared out the window at his friend, this was one time he hoped Shawn could read his mind.

 Damn you, you fuckin’ sonuvabitch.  Damn you and your bright ideas. Damn you all the way to hell, Shawn. Damn you all the way to hell. 

Which was exactly where Danny thought he and Shawn might end up if they were wrongly convicted of murdering the missing boy.

 Chapter 20

“Hey!  Hey, Cloud Jumper!  I found one! Look! I found one!”

Rudy glanced up from the mound of rocks he was squatting beside.  The boy was grinning from ear to ear as he held up a geode.  Based on outside appearance, there was nothing special about the ugly misshapen rock.  But as Rudy had told Katori when they’d set off on their rock hounding expedition, geodes were like people.  What the outer shell looked like didn’t matter. It was what was inside that counted. 

Rudy nodded at the boy.  “Good job. Put it in your bag and look for more.”

Rudy’s helper did as he was told.  A cloth bag with a soft cloth strap attached to it was slung over Katori’s thin shoulder.  The boy dropped the rock into the bag, then returned to work.  Rudy could see the eagerness on Katori’s face as he got down on his hands and knees again and scrounged through the rocks.  He’d gone from disappointed to excited when Rudy had first shown him what surprises a geode held.

“It’s kinda ugly,” the boy said while screwing up his face with displeasure.  “You can really make necklaces outta that and someone’ll buy ‘em?”  

“Not out of this; no.” Rudy glanced up from his crouched position as he finished opening the geode with his rock saw. “But out of this I can.”

“Wow!”  The boy’s eyes widened when he saw the sparkling crystals lining the rock’s cavity.  “Are those diamonds?”

Rudy had chuckled. “I wish they were.”

“What are they then?”

“Crystals.”

“How do they get in there?”

“Something called ‘silica precipitation’ forms on the inside walls of the geode.  That precipitation contains dissolved minerals like quartz, amethyst and calcite.  Over a lotta years’ time – thousands of years – the silica forms crystals in the geode’s cavity.”

“How do you know all that?”

“Read it in a book I have.”

“Oh.”  The boy thought a moment.  “It sounds confusing.  You wanna know what I think?”

“What?”

“I think God put ‘em in there.”

“You do, huh?”

“Yeah. Don’t you?”

“I dunno.” Rudy shrugged as he pushed himself to his feet with a small grunt. “Haven’t thought about God in a long time.”

“You don’t go to Sunday School?”

“Can’t say’s I do.”

“Oh.”

“Do you go to Sunday School?”

“Yep.”

“Where?”

“At the church down the street from my house.”

“Where’s your house?”

“In Car…”

The boy stopped himself before he gave Rudy any more of an answer.  Rudy didn’t press the issue.  He’d already learned that Katori was a smart little kid and not easily tripped up.  The boy had been with him for fifteen hours by the time they’d set off on their rock hounding expedition at six a.m. on Wednesday morning.  The only thing he’d freely revealed in that time was the same thing he’d revealed when Rudy had first come upon him.  That his name was Katori, and that he was waiting for someone named Uncle Johnny to come and pick him up. 

In the time they’d been working since Rudy tried to get Katori to reveal where he attended Sunday School, the boy hadn’t said anything else that would help Rudy figure out where he belonged.  Rudy still wasn’t entirely convinced the child hadn’t run away from whomever this Uncle Johnny person was he kept referring to, yet Rudy hadn’t seen any signs of abuse on the child, either.  The boy seemed well fed, well cared for, and self-confident.  He’d been a bit frightened and reluctant to enter Rudy’s home the previous afternoon, but once he’d been inside for a while and came to the conclusion that Rudy wasn’t going to hurt him, he’d grown more comfortable and talkative.

Rudy had no earthly idea how take care of a child.  Eleanor’s boys were already grown by the time Rudy visited her: the youngest nineteen years old.   Because of the distance Ellie lived from him, Rudy’d never been around small children for any length of time.  He’d always thought having a few kids would be nice back when he also thought he’d marry Carol after returning from the war.  But just like Carol, thoughts of children were something Rudy had buried in his past.  He was far too old to be a father now; not that he could imagine any woman wanting an old desert rat like him even if he was to meet someone he was attracted to. Therefore, having a child just appear on his doorstep had thrown Rudy’s private, isolated, and quiet lifestyle into a tailspin.

Once Rudy had gotten Katori inside the previous afternoon, he’d done the only logical things he could think of.  Gave the boy something cold to drink, and asked if he wanted anything to eat.

“I’m not very hungry,” the child said between gulps of lemonade while sitting on his knees on an old blue and white vinyl kitchen chair with chrome legs.

“No?”

“Uh huh.  I had a peanut butter sandwich and some Cracker Jacks a little while ago.”

Rudy’s eyebrows rose. “So you’re the one who ate my lunch.”

“Oh…uh…that was your lunch?”

“It was.”

The way Rudy crossed his arms over his chest and gave the child a stern glare caused fear to return to the boy’s eyes.

“I-I-I’m sorry.  I…I didn’t know.”

“Do you normally make it a habit of eatin’ things that don’t belong to you?”

“N-no.”

“Didn’t your mother teach you better than that?”

“Ye…I dunno.”

That was when Rudy first knew this child wasn’t going to be easily fooled. As soon as the boy who called himself Katori realized he might reveal something about his background Rudy wanted to know, he clamed up.

“Whatta ya’ mean you don’t know?  You don’t know what your mother taught you, or you don’t have a mother?”

Rudy was certain the child would declare, “I have a mother!”  He didn’t think a kid so young could be so cunning when it came to keeping secrets, but evidently this boy was.  He dropped his eyes to the rim of his glass and appeared to be putting a great deal of concentration into drinking his lemonade. When the glass was empty and the boy still refused to talk, Rudy asked gruffly, “Ya’ want more?”

Katori held the glass up. “Please.”

“At least someone taught you some manners.”

There was a degree of indignation in the response Rudy was given.

“I have manners.”

Rudy hid his smile as he pulled open the handle on his ancient refrigerator.  He grabbed the pitcher of lemonade and refilled the child’s glass. As he returned the pitcher next to its spot by a carton of milk, Katori asked, “Is that thing a refrigerator?”

“Sure is. 1938 Frigidaire Deluxe. Got it at a second hand store a few years ago when my other one quit working.”

“Where’s the icemaker?”

Rudy opened the refrigerator again and swung back the silver door on the tiny freezer unit.

“Right here.”

The boy’s brows furrowed. “That doesn’t look like an icemaker to me.  An icemaker is in the door.  All ya’ gotta do is hold your glass up to it and press it against this plastic thingy, and you get ice.”

“That’s all you gotta do, huh?”

“Yep.”

“Well I do it the old fashioned way.”

“How?”

“I fill ice cube trays up with water and put ‘em up here until they freeze.”

To demonstrate, Rudy pulled out a silver tray, carried it to the counter, and pulled on the handle until the ice cube molder popped up. The cubes broke free, allowing Rudy to lift the molder, which left the ice cubes setting in the tray.  The boy was impressed.

“Neato torpedo.”

Rudy put the ice cube tray back in the freezer.  “Neato torpedo, huh?”

“Yep.  My friend Ry…my friend says that all the time.”

Rudy recorded that slip, though it didn’t help any more than the slip the child had almost made about acknowledging he had a mother.  The most Rudy knew now was that the boy had an Uncle Johnny, probably had a mother, and had a friend whose first name started with the sound ‘rye’ as in rye bread.   And as far as those clues went, Rudy wasn’t one hundred percent certain a person named Uncle Johnny existed.  Maybe he was nothing but a figment of a little boy’s imagination.  For the time being though, Rudy gave the boy the benefit of the doubt and kept “Uncle Johnny” on his mental list of clues to the child’s identity.

After Katori had eaten, Rudy showed him where the bathroom was.  The kid didn’t seem to need to use it, so Rudy said, “When you gotta go, you don’t have to ask permission or anything. Just come in here, shut the door, and git the job done.”

Rudy easily read the confusion on the boy’s upturned face. 

“The job?”

“Whatever you gotta do.  What someone does in a bathroom.”

“You mean like pee?”

“Yeah. That’s what I mean.”

“Okay.”

Rudy saw the boy strain to get a look at his small enclosed back porch where a chest freezer Rudy had bought at a garage sale a few years back sat against the far wall, where the broom, mop, bucket, and dust pan hung from hooks on the opposite wall, where a metal storage cabinet stood against another wall, where the vacuum cleaner resided in a corner, and where a big bellied washing machine sat.

“What’s that?”

“A washing machine.”

“Looks funny.”

“It’s a wringer washer.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Means you get the water outta the clothes by running ‘em through the ringer.”

“Where’s your dryer?”

“Don’t have one,” Rudy said, as he led Katori back down the short hall that would take them to either the kitchen or living room, depending on which doorway they turned into.  Left would take them to the kitchen, right to the living room.

“How do you dry your clothes?”

“Hang ‘em out on the line. Haven’t you ever seen clothes dryin’ on a line before?”

“Sure.  My mo…sometimes I’ve seen sheets and towels hanging on a clothesline.”

“You have? Who does that?”

The boy shrugged. “I dunno. I’ve just seen it.”

Clever kid.  I’ll give him that.

Rudy stopped when the boy paused in the doorway of his bedroom.  Though Rudy’s home was small and far from fancy, the old man was proud of it. He owned it free and clear, and kept it neat and orderly.  Katori pointed to the wool blanket that was folded and resting at the foot of the bed.

“Did your grandmother make that?”

“My grandmother?”

“It looks like an Indian blanket. Gray Wolf has one just like it. His grandmother made it.”

“Uncle Johnny’s grandpa?”

“Yeah.  That’s who Gray Wolf is.  I already told you that.”

Rudy made note of that clue, though he didn’t put a lot of stock in it.  It sounded to him like this white kid with the reddish brown hair and hazel eyes who called himself Katori had watched too many cowboy and Indian movies on TV.   

“So where does Gray Wolf live?”

“Far away from here,” was the only answer Rudy was given before the boy returned his attention to the blanket.  “You didn’t answer me.  Did your grandmother make that?”

“Nope.”

“Where’d you get it then?”

“K-mart. Blue light special.”

The humor in Rudy’s answer was lost on his visitor.  Nonetheless, he was being truthful.  He’d bought the blanket at K-mart to ward off the chill that prevailed in the desert after the sun went down.

Katori looked around when they entered Rudy’s living room as though he was searching for something important.

“Where’s your TV?”

Rudy settled down into the brown easy chair that had long ago conformed to his shape. The springs in it weren’t in great shape any longer, but it was sure comfortable after a long day of working on his crafts. 

“Don’t have one.”

The boy’s eyes grew big and round, as though he couldn’t fathom such a thing.

“You don’t have one?”

“Do ya’ see one anywhere?”

Katori’s eyes searched the room one more time before returning to Rudy’s face.

“No.”

“Then there’s your answer.”

“Whatta ya’ do for fun?”

“I’m too old to have fun.”

“Uncle Johnny says a guy’s never too old to have fun.”

“When Uncle Johnny’s my age he’ll say differently.”

“I don’t think so. My da…I know someone who says Uncle Johnny’s just a kid at heart.”

“Then he doesn’t sound like the kind of guy who should be in charge of a boy your age.”

“He does too!  Uncle Johnny takes real good care of me!”

“Doesn’t look like it to me.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re here and Uncle Johnny’s not.”

Rudy saw the boy’s lip quiver for a few seconds as though he was about to cry, but then the child regained control of himself.  

“He’ll come get me,” Katori declared. “Uncle Johnny’ll come for me when he can.”

“When do ya’ think that’ll be?”

“Soon,” the boy stated with firm conviction.

I hope so, ‘cause I sure don’t know what I’m gonna do with you if he doesn’t show up.

A big floor fan kept air circulating in the room.  Rudy would have dropped off to sleep to its whirling rhythm had the boy not been staring at him as though he expected Rudy to entertain him in some way.  Every time Rudy opened his eyes the kid was staring at him.

“What’s your problem?”

“I’m bored.”

“Well…go find somethin’ to do.”

“Like what?”

Rudy had to admit that was a good question.  He had nothing outside for the boy to play on like a swing set or slide, nor did he have a bike Katori could ride on.  He tried to think of what kids liked to do – of what he and Woody had liked to do when they were young.  He gazed at his visitor, trying to guess the kid’s age.

“How old’re you?”

“Five and a half.”

The man grasped the arms of the chair, pushing himself to his feet.

“Follow me.”

“Where’re we goin?”

“To get you something so you won’t be bored any more.”

Rudy could tell the boy was eagerly traipsing along behind him.

“You got a TV back here?” Katori asked as they turned and walked to Rudy’s bedroom.

“Nope.  Besides, you don’t need a TV to keep you from bein’ bored.  Me and my brother never had a TV when we were growing up, and we always found plenty to do.”

“Like what?”

“I’ll show you.”

Rudy opened his closet, bent down, moved a couple of pairs of shoes out of his way, and slid a big cardboard box across the floor.

“What’s in there?”

“You’ll see.”

Rudy shut the closet door, then picked up the box. He carried it to the living room with Katori trailing along behind him. He set it in the middle of the floor.

“Go ahead. Open it.”

Rudy watched as Katori opened the flaps.  He couldn’t resist sitting beside the boy as the child pulled out treasured old memories with exclamations of “Wow!” and “Neat!” and “How’s this work?”

A set of tin soldiers, eight die-cast cars and trucks, a Buck Rogers’ Disintegrator Pistol, and a fully jointed teddy bear were the first things to appear.  Katori studied each item for varying lengths of time before reaching in the box and finding a yo-yo, a wooden top, a ball and jacks, a tin of Lincoln Logs, a cloth bag of wooden building blocks, an assortment of children’s storybooks, and four wind-up toys.

He held up those last items.

“I know these guys.  They’re Mickey Mouse, Minnie Mouse, Pluto, and Donald Duck.”

“They are,” Rudy nodded.

“They were around when you were a kid?”

“Sure were.”

“Where’d you get all this stuff from?”

“Most of it belonged to me and my brother. A few things were Mary’s – my sister - like those wind-up toys, some of the books, and that teddy bear. A long time ago when my mom sold our house and moved to Chicago, I helped her pack.  I boxed these things up and brought ‘em back here.”

“So your kids could play with them?”

“I don’t have any kids.”

“You don’t?”

“Nope.”

Rudy detected relief in the boy’s tone for some reason. As though the thought of Rudy having kids had been concerning him.

“Oh. Well, Uncle Johnny doesn’t have kids either, but he sure knows how to show a kid a good time. Kinda like you too, Cloud Jumper.”

“You’re havin’ a good time here, is that it?”

“Now I am,” Katori said as he started carefully placing tin soldiers across from one another on the floor just like Rudy and Woody used to do.

Rudy allowed nostalgia to wash over him for a few minutes as his eyes scanned the items he hadn’t taken from the box since the day he’d packed them shortly after his father died in 1955. As hard as it was to believe, that was almost thirty years ago now.  The toys that had belonged to Eleanor had gone in a separate box and were sent to Chicago on the train with Mom.  But Rudy had kept the things that belonged to himself, Woody, and Mary. Mom was too unstable emotionally by then to care what Rudy did with the old toys, and Rudy was too sentimental to part with them.  It was an uncharacteristic emotion for him in many ways, yet the toys were the only things he had left that connected him to Woody and Mary other than a few family photographs.

Rudy slipped back into his chair without Katori seeming to notice.  The child who’d thought that entertainment came only in a box you turned on and sat in front of, was soon engrossed in playing with toys that had gone out of fashion decades earlier. Rudy watched his young visitor play until suppertime, then slipped into the kitchen without the boy even noticing.  He had no idea what little kids liked to eat, but it was too hot to turn on the oven anyway, so he kept the meal simple.  Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, sliced tomatoes, slices of cheddar cheese, and watermelon for dessert.

Based on the way Katori ate, Rudy knew the meal had met the boy’s approval.  When Rudy told the child to help him clear the table, Katori did so without balking.  He also didn’t protest when Rudy asked him to help dry the dishes after Rudy finished washing them. These things added up to another clue for Rudy.  Wherever this boy came from, he was used to being assigned household chores.  Not like those spoiled kids of Eleanor’s.  Three grown men living in their parents’ home and not lifting a finger to help their mother around the house, or help their father with outside chores like mowing the grass and raking leaves.  At least the two oldest ones had enough gumption to get jobs.  The younger one was in college. Or at least he had been when Rudy visited.  Still, there was no reason they couldn’t pull their weight around the house. When Rudy was their ages he was off to war.  He couldn’t imagine Eleanor’s kids going off to war.  They’d piss in their pants at the very notion of it. 

As Rudy watched Katori diligently dry a plate, he laughed to himself at the irony of it all.  He’d known this kid just a few hours, and already he thought more of him than he thought of his own nephews.

What was it Dad used to say?  Life’ll bring you surprises when you’re least expecting them?  Well, it sure does.  Who woulda’ thought when I woke up this morning that tonight I’d have a five year old runaway eatin’ supper with me.

After the dishes were put away, Rudy and Katori returned to the living room.  The boy played with the cars and trucks while Rudy did a crossword puzzle in the big book of crossword puzzles Farley had given him for his birthday. The sun hadn’t set yet when Rudy placed his book and pencil on the end table next to his chair and announced, “Better pick up those toys and put ‘em back in the box.  It’s bed time.”

“Already?” The boy looked out the screen door. “It’s still light outside.”

“No matter. We gotta get an early start tomorrow morning.”

“Where’re we goin’?”

“Rock hounding.”

“What’s that?”

“Just what it sounds like it is. Rock hounding. Looking for rocks.”

“Why’re we gonna do that?”

“For the jewelry I make. Necklaces. Bracelets. Rings. Stuff like that.”

“And I get to help you?”

“Guess you do. Unless Uncle Johnny shows up to get you before morning.”

“He might. But even if he does, I can still go rock hounding with you. Uncle Johnny’ll come to.  It sounds like something he’d like to do.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yep.”

Rudy had helped Katori return the toys to the box. He allowed the child to keep a metal die-cast fire engine out when Katori asked if he could take it to bed with him. 

“Don’t ya’ wanna take the teddy bear instead?”

“No.  I wanna take the fire engine.”

“A fire engine’s gonna be an awful uncomfortable thing to sleep with, don’t ya’ think?”

“I don’t care. I wanna take it to bed with me.”

“Okay. Have it your way.”

Rudy pushed the box against one wall rather than returning it to his closet.  If the boy was still with him the next day, the toys might keep him occupied for a while again.

The old man unplugged the fan and carried it to the bedroom.  While his guest used the bathroom, Rudy plugged the fan in and turned down his bed.  When the bathroom door opened, Rudy called, “Did you brush your teeth?”

“How could I? I don’t have my toothbrush with me.”

“That’s no excuse.”

Rudy went into the bathroom, opened the mirror that covered the medicine chest, and grabbed a tube of toothpaste and a new toothbrush.  He’d been given the toothbrush the last time he was at the dentist.  He’d tossed it into the medicine chest where it joined a dozen toothbrushes he had yet to use.  After almost forty years of living here, he finally had an overnight guest who needed a toothbrush.

Rudy opened the package, pulled out the toothbrush, spread toothpaste on it, and handed it to Katori.

“Here. Brush ‘em good.  You don’t want false teeth by the time you’re my age.”

“Do you have false teeth?”

“Nope.”

“Then you’re right. I don’t want ‘em. Uncle Johnny doesn’t have false teeth, either.”

“Good for Uncle Johnny. Now get those teeth brushed and then come to the bedroom.”

While Katori did what he was told, Rudy went to his room and opened the closet door.  He grabbed two blankets, a sheet, and a pillow from the shelf. He spread one blanket on the floor next to his bed and put the pillow at the head of it.  He unfolded the sheet and remaining blanket.  Until the sun went down and the house cooled off, the boy wouldn’t need more than the sheet covering him. Later on in the night, he might want to pull up the blanket too.

When Katori entered the room carrying the fire truck, Rudy pointed to the floor. 

“There’s your bed.”

“It’s just like camping.”

“Yep. Just like that.”

“But I don’t have any pajamas.”

“No, I guess you don’t, do you?”

Rudy hadn’t given the issue of a change of clothes for the child a thought until then.  If the kid stayed with him more than a day or two, he’d have to get him some clothes.  Get him some clothes, or drop him off where someone would find him. Someone who wouldn’t hurt him of course, but would somehow get him back where he belonged. 

Kid, I hope this Uncle Johnny you’ve been yackin’ about is real, and that he shows up to get you before long.  I don’t care if he’s runnin’ from the law, or hidin’ out for some reason…as long as he treats you good and you wanna go with him, then he can have you ‘cause you’ve already caused me more trouble than I need.

Rudy focused back on the boy who was waiting for an answer about pajamas.

“Just take your shirt, shoes, and socks off.  Sleep in your shorts, okay? That’s the way Woody and I used to do it when we went camping.”

“Sometimes that’s the way I do it too, when I go camping with Uncle Johnny.”

“Then just pretend you’re camping tonight.”

“I kinda am, ‘cause I’m sleeping on the floor.”

“Yeah, I guess you kinda are,” Rudy agreed as he left the room and headed for the bathroom.

By the time Rudy returned, his guest was sound asleep on his makeshift bed.  Rudy turned out the light, stripped to his boxer shorts, and slipped into his own bed.  Considering all of the concerns on his mind, he found himself drifting toward sleep quicker than he would have thought possible.  He was almost to that place of oblivion sleep brings when he woke with a start.

What if this Uncle Johnny the boy kept referring to was the man Rudy had seen by the side of the road?  What if the guy was dead, and therefore never coming for the boy?

Oh God, this just keeps getting worse. Not only will the cops claim I was the one who killed that guy, now they’ll claim I did it so I could kidnap this kid.

Rudy took deep breaths, trying to calm himself.

Don’t jump to conclusions.  This kid might be a runaway like you thought right from the start.  Or he might have gotten lost.  Or if his uncle is in some kinda trouble with the cops, maybe he made the kid head out on foot for some reason.  Maybe he was afraid the kid would give him away.

Rudy had no way of knowing which of his scenarios might be the case, if any.  And as he’d already thought could be a possibility, “Uncle Johnny” might not even exist beyond the imagination of Katori.

Because there was nothing Rudy could do about the situation at that moment, he finally settled down and went to sleep.  The sound of the fan whirling on its highest setting meant Rudy never heard his visitor wake up during the night and call out for his mother in the unfamiliar dark room. Nor did he hear the boy call for his father as he started to cry. Nor did he feel the boy climb up on his mattress in an effort to seek comfort.  It wasn’t until four-thirty the next morning when Rudy awoke that he saw Katori curled on top of the Indian blanket at the foot of his bed, the old fire engine that had belonged to Woody clutched to his chest.

After a quick breakfast of cereal and toast, they’d set off on their rock hounding expedition at dawn so they could be finished and back home before it got too hot.  Rudy had tied a bandana around Katori’s head to keep the sun off of it, then they’d hiked over the desert landscape that sprawled behind Rudy’s house.  Rudy carried his tools and his Thermos jug filled with water, while Katori carried the cloth rock bags along with a paper lunch sack containing two boxes of Cracker Jack and two bananas.

Rudy gave the boy credit. For a child so young, he was willing to do his fair share of the work.  Maybe that stemmed from no other reason than rock hounding was a new game to him, or maybe he had a genuine interest in it. Either way, Rudy didn’t care.  He was just grateful that the kid didn’t whine or cause a fuss.  By nine-thirty they were headed back to the house, their bags filled with rocks that Rudy could polish and make into sellable jewelry.  As they walked, Rudy noticed Katori kept pausing, shading his eyes with one hand, and looking in all directions, as though searching for someone.

“Who ya’ lookin’ for?”

The boy dropped his hand and ran to catch up to Rudy. 

“Uncle Johnny. He’s comin’ for me real soon, you know.”

“Yeah. Sure. I know,” Rudy agreed without much conviction. “But let’s get back to the house and wait for him there.  It’ll be cooler inside by the fan, and besides, we’ve got rocks to get polished.”

Rudy breathed a sigh of relief when there were no cops waiting at his doorstep.  He was certain that meant no one had seen him near the dead man, meaning the cops had no reason to bother him.

Well, no reason except for the short one walking by his side.  He’d have to make a decision about the boy soon.  Figure out a way to get him some place safe where he could get help.  But until the Bel Air was fixed that was a moot point. Rudy would need his car in order to drop Katori off at…well, maybe at a church, or a hospital, or even a fire station. Any place where there were good people willing to help a little kid find his way home.  Any place but with the police.  The police asked too many questions, and Rudy couldn’t trust Katori not to answer them truthfully when it came to saying where he’d been — who he’d been staying with after getting separated from Uncle Johnny…or whomever he’d been with before he climbed in Rudy’s car.

Rudy didn’t think twice about it as he led the boy to the house.  He’d lived alone since returning from the war, and had always thought he liked it that way.  Oddly enough, he suddenly found himself enjoying the companionship of his young visitor.

Rudy gave his head a rueful shake when he realized he’d been smiling as he watched Katori scamper into the house with a gleeful cry of, “We sure collected a lotta rocks today, Cloud Jumper! Come on! Show me what we gotta do with ‘em now.”

Like Dad said, life will bring you surprises when you’re least expecting ‘em.  The last thing I needed at my age was a surprise, but I guess I sure got me a doozey of one. A five-year old doozey who insists his name is Katori, sleeps with a fire truck instead of a teddy bear, and claims some guy named Uncle Johnny is coming for him soon.

Rudy shook his head again and followed Katori into the house. He’d thought about the child all morning, and still had no idea what to do with him.  It was time to set those worries aside for a little while.  After all, there was a boy waiting for him who was eager to learn how to polish rocks.

Chapter 21

For as hot as the desert would eventually get during the day, the morning had dawned cool and crisp, and it was the one thing Roy was grateful for. With the windows rolled down to take in the fresh air, the noises of the highway covered up some of the despondent silence in the cab of the camper.

The call Roy and Joanne had been waiting for and dreading had finally come to their hotel room about eleven thirty last night. Jennifer had fallen asleep waiting for Johnny Carson to come on. Joanne and Roy had gone through the motions of getting ready for bed, but they both knew neither of them was going to be getting much sleep. They'd settled up against the headboard, Joanne nestled under Roy's arm, her head pillowed on his chest, and watched the end of the nightly news until the “Tonight Show” started. It wouldn't take their minds off their son, but it would at least serve as a diversion. But before the monologue even got going, the shrill ring of the telephone had startled them all.

Roy could still remember vividly the images of his wife and daughter, still as statues as they waited for him to tell them. And when he did, Jennifer had clutched her pillow to her mouth to stifle her cry of dismay. Joanne had sagged against him, her shoulders convulsing with silent sobs.

The police in San Bernardino had found Johnny's Rover. John was not in it.

The rest of the night had dragged by with agonizing slowness. The police had told them there was no reason to drive down that night. They could come by in the morning and make a positive I.D. on the Rover and any of theirs or Johnny's belongings. They were still interrogating the two teenagers they'd found with the truck, but so far they were sticking to their story that they hadn't seen anyone but Johnny. There was still an ABP out on John, and his picture was being circulated to law enforcement agencies throughout California, Nevada and Arizona.

Roy had listened to this information with numbed acceptance. After all, a part of him had been preparing for this news since he'd seen Johnny's battered body lying in the desert. But it hadn't been so simple for Joanne. The next few hours had been the hardest in Roy's life as he lay in the dark holding his wife and whispering meaningless words of comfort into her ear as she alternated between being racked with sobs and being frighteningly quiet. He'd heard Jennifer's muffled sniffling for some time before his daughter had finally fallen silent, crying herself to sleep at last. There were a few times he thought Joanne had allowed herself the comfort of that nothingness. He knew he'd dozed a few times, only to jerk himself awake again hoping it had all been a bad dream, but knowing it wasn't. So he lay there in the dark, listening to the sounds of cars passing on the nearby highway.

And in the middle of that desperate darkness; confused with all the fragile hopes and agonizing doubts and glimpses of utter despair, Roy recognized another feeling so intense it frightened him - anger. Anger at two teenagers he didn't even know, who may have changed all their lives irrevocably; anger at himself for not being able to do anything to help his family; for not being able to prevent this somehow. But what frightened him the most was the anger he felt for John Gage.

He knew it was irrational. Johnny hadn't asked to be beaten and left for dead. Johnny certainly would never have purposely put John's life in danger. And Roy knew Johnny probably did everything within his power to try and protect John. But there was still that small voice in Roy's head that kept asking the same questions over and over.

Why were you on that road, Johnny? Why did you get off the freeway? Why didn't you tell me where you were? What were you doing with my son in the middle of nowhere?

He'd wrestled with those thoughts most of the night, knowing they made no sense, but helpless to stop them. By the time the sun rose and its rays peeked through the slight gap in the heavy curtains, Roy was more exhausted than when he'd gone to bed. And when he got up to use the bathroom, he saw that Joanne was awake as well, her eyes still red and puffy from the tears she wasn't able to stop.

Even though it was barely six a.m., Roy decided they might as well get going. They still had a two-hour drive ahead of them before they got to the police station. Loma Linda wasn't far from there. They could go pick up Chris, and by then hopefully Johnny would be improved enough to be able to talk to them - and the police. And remembering what Chris had told them last night about Johnny's memory, Roy was praying that had improved as well. If Johnny could just remember something; give them some idea where to narrow the search. Right now the police were trying to scour as area so vast it would be a miracle if they managed to find one small boy.

They'd packed up quickly on that Wednesday morning, with few words spoken. No one was interested in eating, but Roy insisted they walk across the parking lot and get some breakfast. They spent about twenty minutes there. Jennifer managed to finish most of her scrambled eggs and toast, but Joanne merely pushed hers around on her plate. Roy only got a few bites down himself, along with about half a cup of coffee, before they gave up the attempt, paid the bill and left.

As they climbed into the camper and Roy pulled out of the lot and onto the road, his feelings were torn. On the one hand, he had never been so glad to leave a place as he was this small speck of civilization in the middle of the desert. Yet, as he merged onto the fifteen, he couldn't help feeling that he was abandoning his youngest son; a feeling that grew more and more intense with each passing mile.

What Roy tried his best not to think about during the long drive across the desert, and as they climbed over the Cajon Pass and headed down into the San Bernardino Valley, was what if John had been with the two teenagers; what if they were lying to the police; what if they'd hurt his little boy. Every time that still very real possibility crossed his mind he felt such a sense of outrage boil up inside of him that it left him shaking. So he concentrated on his driving. And he tried not to look at Joanne's haggard face. He tried not to see Jennifer's wide, frightened eyes in the rear view mirror.

The city of San Bernardino appeared first as a collection of homes here and there, then a few roadside businesses, a church, a Denny's. It grew in the blink of an eye to a sprawling community that reached from the base of the San Bernardino Mountain Range nearly all the way to the L.A. County line. Roy had really only driven through here before. It was a place people passed through; either to get to Big Bear or Lake Arrowhead, or to make the longer trip to Las Vegas. He'd never thought much about people actually living here, but he should have. He knew the population here was more than double that of Carson. He supposed he'd always considered the Inland Empire, with its large rural areas, a sort of backward cousin to its more metropolitan neighbors of Los Angeles and Orange Counties. Now, as he spotted the 5th Street exit he'd been told to take to get to City Hall, he hoped their law enforcement agencies would surprise him as well and prove themselves up to the task of finding his son.

He turned onto "D" Street, spotted the large, obviously new civic center and pulled the camper into the parking lot. It was mostly empty this early in the morning, and when he killed the engine it was suddenly too quiet. Roy could hear birds chirping in the trees that lined the street. He glanced at Joanne, then reached over and squeezed her hand.

"We shouldn't have to be here long," he promised. He knew she was anxious to get to the hospital and talk to Johnny; to see if the morning had brought any of his memories back with it.

She managed to give him a weak smile before she opened the door and got out of the truck, turning to push her seat forward to allow Jennifer to get out. Roy climbed out and came around to the passenger side just as his daughter was stepping down.

"I sure won't be sorry not to have to ride in this thing anymore," Jennifer said with a small chuckle.

Roy leaned over and kissed the top of her blonde head, grateful for the effort she was making to lighten the mood a little.

"Sorry, princess," he told her. "Next time, I'll splurge and get the King Cab."

"I'll believe that when I see it," Joanne observed with a soft smile.

Roy knew his wife and daughter well enough to know they were both trying to be strong. They'd cried their tears during the long night and were now ready to face whatever this day brought. Ironically, his pride in their resolve now brought tears to his own eyes and he had to work to keep them back. He took refuge in playing along with them.

"Hey, what is this? Gang up on Dad day?" he demanded with mock indignation. "I'm not that cheap."

Mother and daughter both laughed lightly. Roy slipped his arm around Joanne's waist as they started walking toward the building. Jennifer made to follow them, but stopped and grabbed Roy's arm.

"Dad, look."

Roy halted and turned to where his daughter was pointing. He heard Joanne's sharp intake of breath at the same time he saw the white Land Rover parked in an out of the way corner of the lot. It shouldn't have come as a surprise. He knew it would be here. The detective he'd spoken with last night told him it wouldn't go to impound until the DeSotos had come in to make the positive I.D. But to suddenly see Johnny's truck sitting there, the spare tire missing from its usual place on the hood, only served as a dark reminder of why they were here in the first place.

Roy's arm tightened a little around Joanne's waist, but she didn't falter, so Roy walked on with her. Jennifer followed in their wake, but she kept casting longing looks over her shoulder at the Rover. Roy finally reached back and took her hand, pulling her forward to walk alongside her parents.

"It'll be okay, Jen," he assured her in the most confident tone he could manage.

"It should've been me," she whispered.

Roy and Joanne both stopped. Their daughter's face was stricken with guilt.

"I was supposed to ride with Uncle Johnny yesterday," she said raggedly. "But John started whining about it, so I let him." She looked up at them with tear filled eyes. "John should be here with you..."

She left the rest unsaid, but Roy didn't even want to think about what might have happened had his fifteen year old daughter been with Johnny on that road when two violent teenagers found them. He tried desperately to think of something consoling to say, but Joanne moved out from his hold and took Jenny into her arms. Jennifer's head fell against her mother's neck, and Roy could see her shoulders shuddering with the effort not to cry.

"It's all right, baby," Joanne soothed, one hand combing through Jennifer's long, blonde hair. "It's not your fault. You can't blame yourself."

Roy didn't move to interfere. They both needed this. Jennifer needed her mother's assurance that she hadn't done anything wrong and that the world that was so topsy turvy right now would eventually return to normal. And Joanne needed to be able to comfort one of her children, even if it wasn't the one she most desperately ached to hold in her arms.

After a few moments, Joanne reached into her purse and pulled out a Kleenex. Jennifer daubed at her eyes, then blew her nose. Her mother must have asked her something Roy didn't hear, for Jenny nodded once and squared her shoulders resolutely. Joanne glanced at Roy, her eyes telling him they were ready to go on.

They entered the building and explained to the uniformed officer at the desk who they were. After a few moments wait a middle aged Hispanic man, wearing a gray suit with the tie hanging loose around his neck, came into the lobby to greet them. As he reached out to shake their hands, Roy noted the man had dark circles under his eyes. This man who looked as tired as Roy felt; had more than likely been up all night working on this case.

"I'm Detective Salazar," he informed them with a kind smile. "I work with Detective Andrews... he talked to you on the phone last night." When Roy nodded his recognition, the man continued. "Why don't you come into my office. I've got hot coffee if you'd like... and some fresh donuts. You know cops and donuts," he quipped with a wry grin and a pat to his slightly paunchy stomach.

He led them down a hall and past a maze of offices and cubicles until he stopped at a door bearing his name and opened it for them. Roy let Jennifer and Joanne go ahead of him, then he followed them in. They took seats across from the detective's desk, while he sat down behind it.

"I wish we had better news for you," he began regretfully. "These boys are still sticking to their story that they never saw your son."

"Do you believe them?" Roy asked evenly.

Salazar shook his head. "I don't know what to think right now."

He opened a file and took out a couple of pages with photos attached. He placed them on his desk facing the DeSotos so they could see. Roy leaned forward slightly and saw the faces in the pictures. One looked sullen, the other scared, but they were both just boys.

"They're so young," Joanne breathed out, echoing Roy's thoughts.

"They're nineteen," the detective replied tersely. "Old enough to be tried as adults. Old enough to know what they were doing." He tapped the first one with his index finger.

"This kid, Shawn Reynolds, was evidently high when he attacked Chief Gage. He had several joints in his pocket. The lab says they were laced with PCP. The story from the other kid backs that up. We're not getting much cooperation from Shawn. He's got a smart mouth and a big attitude. Won't talk without a lawyer." Salazar snorted derisively. "His folks are coming in this morning... with their lawyer."

"But this kid..." His finger moved to the second photo, "this kid is crying his eyes out and telling us everything... how they stole a car in Huntington Beach, went for a joy ride to Vegas. How they met up with some guys there and that's how his buddy got the dope. He says they only wanted to switch cars... they were afraid the one they took from Orange County would be too hot. So they waited for Gage to change his tire, then they took it."

"After beating Johnny so badly he nearly died," Roy interjected grimly.

The detective nodded. "Unfortunately, yes." He indicated the second photo. "According to this kid, Danny Wyatt, Chief Gage told them to take the truck. He didn't want to fight them."

Jennifer made a small sound in her throat. "I told you, guys," she said softly, her voice full of sad vindication. "I told you Uncle Johnny wouldn't do anything to put John in danger."

Joanne let her hand rest on Jennifer's knee in a soothing gesture. Roy felt his throat tightening at the image that came to his mind of his friend willing to give up one of his most treasured possessions to keep Roy's son safe. And that the gesture had proven meaningless in the end because of some hopped up punk.

"But..." He had to clear his throat before he could get his voice under control. "But they didn't just take the Rover."'

"No," Salazar stated with regret. "Danny says Shawn went berserk and attacked Gage with the tire iron. He says it was because of the dope, but that eventually he was able to convince Shawn to stop and that they took off."

"And John?" Joanne asked. Roy could hear the quaver in his wife's voice, but she managed not to give in to the tears. "Nothing about John?"

"I'm sorry, no." The detective took the papers and replaced the in the file. "We're still questioning them. It's possible they're lying... trying to cover up. But we're also working on the possibility that your son was in the back of the car hiding amongst the camping gear, and then got out without them seeing him. They stopped for gas in Barstow and then here in town for burgers. The Barstow police are on the case, and our guys are canvassing the area surrounding the McDonald's where we found these two."

"So it all still comes down to whether or not Johnny can remember what happened," Roy concluded. "Have you talked to him yet?"

"No. I have a man at the hospital, but so far the doctors haven't let him in. That's where you're going from here, right? Maybe by the time you get there he'll be able to have visitors. If you can get him to recall anything... anything at all... it would be a big help."

They spent about thirty more minutes at the police station. They signed some forms, then Roy left Joanne and Jennifer in Detective Salazar's office while he went with the officer, since he didn't think his wife or daughter needed to be put through this ordeal. They went first to the parking lot to make a visual I.D. on the Rover, and then to the evidence room where he saw Johnny's camping equipment spread over a long table. The officer in charge of the evidence room offered him an inventory sheet, and Roy signed it with only a cursory glance. He assumed it was all there. He wouldn't really know if anything was missing, but he didn't think that mattered a whole lot right now.

When they were done, Detective Salazar walked the DeSotos to their camper, trying his best to assure them they were doing everything that could possibly be done. He also gave them the name of the officer at the hospital, a Sergeant Sam Preston, who had instructions to be of whatever help he could be when they arrived at Loma Linda.

Roy pulled out of the parking lot, wondering what exactly they'd accomplished. He was realistic enough to know that he wouldn't be allowed to see the two boys in custody, but he couldn't help wishing he'd been left alone in a room with them, even for five minutes.

­­­­­­~ ~ ~

For a long time Johnny lay still; almost awake but not willing to open his eyes. His head ached miserably, and he'd quickly found even the slightest movement increased the throbbing inside his skull to an intensity he felt all the way to his teeth. So he was almost afraid to lift his eyelids; afraid of what further misery the light might bring; afraid even that little movement would send the pain to a level that would set the room spinning and his stomach churning.

Eventually, whether because the pain subsided somewhat or he'd merely become accustomed to it Johnny wasn't sure, but he found he was able to focus on something else besides the constant drumming behind his eyes. It was only then that he grew aware enough to know that he was in a bed that wasn't his own. After a few moments of cloudy confusion, he finally placed the muffled beeping and the stiffness of the sheets. He was in a hospital, and his curiosity about how he'd gotten here overcame his caution. He opened his eyes.

What he saw was blurry, and he blinked slowly a few times. It helped a little, but his vision didn't completely clear. He could see the white smear above him that had to be ceiling tiles, and a bank of machines to his right that bore an array of amber lights and readouts. That had to be where all the noise was coming from. He recognized an I.V. pole beside him, and his gaze followed it upward where a couple of half full bags of clear fluids hung. He couldn't read what they were so he let his eyes moved downward, tracing the tubing to the cannula in his right arm.

He closed his eyes again, trying to wade through the pain and fog to get to something concrete; something that made sense.

Okay... I'm here... I'm hooked up... but what... what the hell happened? I was... I was supposed to be.... dammit, where was I supposed to be? Camping? That's right... I was camping... with Roy and Joanne and the kids. What the hell happened? This isn't where I'm s'posed to be...

"Johnny? Johnny, can you hear me?"

The voice broke through his confusion and he automatically turned to his left to see who had called him. He instantly regretted it.

The ache in his head sharpened dramatically, and as he drew in a breath against it, his left side sent out an excruciating warning not to breathe so deeply anymore. Even the grimace he made against the pain didn't come without a price, as even his face seemed to hurt.

"Johnny... Johnny, take it easy... you're gonna be all right... you're gonna be all right..."

The voice kept up the soothing litany, and he used it to focus on until the worst of the pain began to subside. By that time his breaths were coming in short, shallow gulps and he could feel the sweat rolling down his face, but he could at last recognize who was talking to him. He risked opening his eyes again, keeping his head movement to a minimum. Sitting to his left and leaning over him slightly was Roy. Even with his vision fuzzy, Johnny could make out the concern on his friend's face. And there was something else there. Johnny squinted a bit to try and see better.

"Rrr..." His mouth was dry and he licked his lips. They felt rough against his tongue and tasted of ointment. "Rrroy?" he managed.

"I'm right here. Take it easy, okay. Try not to move around too much."

"Nnn... no... no shhhiit," he replied and tried to lift one corner of his mouth. He wasn't sure if he succeeded. He must not have, for Roy didn't even chuckle. That lack of response was enough to trigger an alarm bell in Johnny's head that even in the midst of all the pounding he couldn't ignore.

He narrowed his eyes, trying to bring Roy into better focus. He saw the worry there, and that other thing he hadn't been able to place before; a weariness that his friend wore like a weight on his shoulders.

"Roy?" He licked his lips again, forgetting about the nasty tasting ointment. "Roy, what... what happened, man?" He turned his gaze down at the bed, took in the cast on his arm and his elevated leg. The only thing he could think of was that he'd taken a fall while hiking. "Did I... did I have an accident?" And then another thought jolted through him; one that sent a wave of panic washing over him. "Are... are the kids... are the kids okay?"

Something flashed across Roy's face and Johnny damned his uncertain vision that he couldn't read what it was. Instinctively he made to reach for Roy's arm, to make contact with his friend, but not only did it hurt like hell when he tried to reach across with his right arm, the I.V. kept him from extending far enough. He made a sound that was a cross between a gasp of pain and a grunt of frustration, and he felt Roy gently push his arm back down to rest on the bedside.

"Don't do that," the captain admonished hoarsely. "You'll pull your I.V."

Johnny ignored the gentle reproof and swallowed hard against the new sweep of nausea his imprudent jostling had caused.

"Roy," he persisted stubbornly. "Roy... tell me..."

Roy sat silent for a moment, and Johnny's mind kept itself busy by creating a multitude of scenarios about what might have happened; none of them good. Finally Roy brushed a hand over his face and heaved a weary sigh.

"Johnny... Johnny, what do you remember? What's the last thing you remember doing?"

Johnny frowned in concentration, wondering why it was so important what he remembered. Why couldn't Roy just come out and tell him? Why did they want him to think when it was so hard, and it hurt so bad? But it must matter to somebody. Someone else had asked him before. Someone else had wanted to know.

"I..." He swallowed again and felt a straw pressed to his lips. He took a few grateful sips of water and saw Roy set the glass down on rolling tray that had been pushed aside. "I think... I think we were eating dinner," he started again. "Those... those trout we caught. And... and..." He had to stop a moment to get the pictures straight in his head. "And John... John wanted to hear 'bout Katori." He tried to smile again and thought he'd had better luck with this attempt. "Big... big surprise, right?"

He stopped and closed his eyes. His headache hadn't abated and he was more exhausted than he'd thought possible by the small amount of talking he'd done. He lay there breathing in shallow pants for some time, until he finally realized Roy hadn't said anything. He opened his eyes again and saw Roy still sitting beside him, but with his head bowed.

"Roy?"

The captain's head came up.

"Roy, you're... you're scarin' me, man," he murmured breathlessly.

"Johnny..." Roy's normally calm voice was ragged. "Johnny, what you remember... that happened two nights ago. We packed up yesterday morning... to go home."

Johnny started to shake his head to argue that point, but stopped as the room started whirling again. Roy hadn't seemed to notice in any case. His eyes were again fixed on his hands where they rested on the edge of Johnny's bed.

"We'd gotten almost to Baker when you got a flat tire. You stopped to change it, only... only you were carjacked, Johnny. Two teenagers out joyriding... they needed to change cars and yours looked good to them, I guess." Roy let his eyes lift again to meet Johnny's. "Does any of that sound familiar? Do you remember stopping? Getting the flat?"

There was a degree of desperation in Roy's voice that Johnny had never heard before. And for some reason it had to do with Johnny remembering his Rover being stolen. But as hard as he tried to, he couldn't recall any of it. The only images in his mind were grilling fish, roasted marshmallows and John's delighted face as he listened to the legend of Katori for what had to be the hundredth time. And that's where it ended. Johnny didn't really even remember going to bed that night, though he did remember he and the kids had planned to all sleep in the tent to give Roy and Joanne a night to themselves.

And then something else hit him. A flash of a conversation with Jennifer. He didn't know where they'd had it; if it had been over dinner or before they'd fallen asleep. But he could hear her voice clearly in his head.

Is it okay if I ride with you tomorrow, Uncle Johnny? It's so cramped in that jump seat, and Chris's legs always stretch over to my half. Please...

He stared at Roy, a dark dread settling in his heart. If the teens who took his truck did this to him, what would they have done to a pretty fifteen year old girl?

Oh, God! Please don't tell me Jenny was with me. Don't let Jenny be hurt.

"Roy? Roy... you gotta tell me." he whispered. "Is Jenny... is Jenny okay?"

There was a brief look of confusion on Roy's face. "Jenny? Jenny's fine. Why would..." Then he paused, and even with his fuzzy vision, Johnny could see the comprehension dawning. After a moment's hesitation, Roy shook his head sadly. "Jennifer's fine, Johnny. She wasn't with you."

Johnny should have been relieved, but for some reason he wasn't. There was a heavy silence still hanging between them, and Roy wasn't smiling. Instead of being happy his daughter was safe, Roy still looked on the verge of tears. When the tension in the room had reached the point where Johnny didn't think he could take anymore, Roy at last spoke again.

"John was riding with you."

Johnny's stomach lurched and for the longest time he couldn't get his voice to work - didn't want to ask the question. All he could see was John's happy face; his eyes dancing with excitement as he sat by the campfire and listened to Johnny tell Gray Wolf's stories; as eager as if he was hearing them for the first time. Johnny squeezed his eyes shut, disregarding the irritation it caused his face. Nothing could have happened to him; not to his Little Pally.

"Is... is he... is he okay?" he heard himself ask in a voice so low he wasn't sure if Roy could hear him. But Roy did.

"We, uh... we don't know."

"What?" Johnny's eyes opened once more, this time in confusion, his head pounding and the room revolving at a sickening speed. "What... what do you mean?" he croaked out despite the nauseating reeling.

Roy stood up quickly and turned away from the bed, as if it was suddenly too hard to sit there. As Johnny's gaze followed his friend he saw for the first time the other man in the room. He was a stranger, and he stood at the door taking notes on a small pad.

"Roy?"

"This is Sergeant Preston, Johnny," Roy informed him, his back still angled away. "He's here to see if he can get a statement from you. But I guess..." Roy waved a hand distractedly at the policeman, then turned back to Johnny, his face wearing a stricken and defeated expression. "John's missing," he blurted out, his voice breaking on the last word. "He wasn't with you when the police found you, and he wasn't in the Rover when they found it."

With that, Roy walked out of the room, pushing through the door without saying another word. Johnny watched him go, his heart sinking as the full meaning of what Roy had told him settled into comprehension.

John was riding with me, but he wasn't there when they found me. Oh, God, what've I done? What've I done? They don't know where he is... they don't know what's happened. They were counting on me to protect him and I lost him. And now they need me to help find him and I can't even remember a fuckin' thing.

He couldn't blame Roy for being mad, or for walking out on him. Hell, it was probably all Roy could do to keep from finishing the job the two teens had started. His hands curled up into impotent fists, his right one pounding feebly on the mattress.

God dammit, why do I do this? Why do I always let everybody down? I can't keep anybody from getting hurt.

His eyes squeezed shut, and he felt the tears that leaked out from the corners to run down into his hair. Knowing they were there sparked an inner rage.

That's just great, Gage. Lay here cryin' like a baby while everybody you know is hurtin' 'cause of you. John... God, John... where are you?

"Chief Gage?"

Johnny opened his eyes to see the blurry form of the police officer standing at the foot of his bed.

"Chief Gage, I know this is hard... I don't wanna bother you any more than necessary, but if you could just take a look here..." He walked up to the side of the bed and pulled out a couple of photos from his suit pocket, holding them close enough for the injured man to see.

Johnny stared at them numbly. There were just two boys. One looked scared and the other looked like he was a punk. But that was all. They didn't look any more familiar than any two teenaged boys he'd pass on the street. If these were the kids who'd attacked him and stolen the Rover, then Johnny certainly wasn't going to be of any help prosecuting them. If these two boys had hurt John...

Johnny couldn't look any longer. With a desperate growl, he lifted his right arm and pushed the man's hand away, knowing as he did it, he'd pulled his I.V. But that was the least of his problems. The sudden surge of energy was too much for his battered body. His head exploded in blinding agony, and he was only aware enough that he was going to be sick to turn his head to the side.

In between the heaves that rocked his body and pierced his side with searing pain, he thought he heard the officer call for a nurse, and then someone was holding his head while someone else worked at re-establishing his I.V.

He could hear vague orders being given, presumably for meds. A cool cloth was placed on his head and when his body had calmed somewhat, he could hear somebody talking very loudly in words Johnny could barely understand, but he picked up enough of it guess the man was his doctor and he was angry that his patient had been upset.

Doesn't matter, Doc... doesn't matter... I messed it all up... again...

He wondered absently what they'd given him. He was starting to drift. He thought someone was calling him, but he wasn't sure, and he didn't have the energy to answer, even if they were. He couldn't even open his eyes to be sure. He succumbed to the darkness with one last thought swirling through his tormented mind.

I'm sorry, Roy... m'sorry...

Chapter 22

Joanne stood by the large picture window gazing distractedly at the view of the nearby mountains. It was breezy outside. She could tell by the sway of the trees that lined the parking lot, and it was that breeze that gave her such a beautiful vista. She knew if they were on the other side of the building, what she would see would be the smoggy valley that stretched out for miles; into the Los Angeles basin and on towards the ocean. Normally she would have appreciated the difference, but today she had no eyes for the world outside, even as she stared at it. Her eyes were unseeing; her thoughts only on her lost little boy; and whether or not the man down the hall would be able to tell them where he was.

Loma Linda University Medical Center was an expansive facility, and they spent some frustrating minutes trying to find the exact building they were looking for. After they'd finally located and entered the main hospital, they were directed to ICU on the third floor. The elevator deposited them into a moderately sized waiting room across from a long nurses' station. It was there, sprawled on one of the couches, that they found Chris waiting for them.

When he saw them, his expression was hopeful, expectant, wanting to hear that they'd found John. But it only took an instant for his face to fall; for sorrow to fill those blue eyes that were so much like his father's. Joanne had held out her arms and he'd come to her, allowing her to hold him and comfort him; both mother and son forgetting for a moment that he was eighteen, and now considered a man rather than a boy.

After their reunion with Chris, they'd tried to find out about Johnny, and were introduced to Sergeant Preston. He informed them that Dr. Patel was due to come in shortly, and that no one was being allowed into Johnny's room until the physician checked him out and gave the okay. So they ended up waiting for nearly an hour before a small boned, Indian man came down the hall to discuss Johnny's condition with them in very broken English.

Joanne didn't understand all of the doctor's clipped speech, but she got enough to know the situation was just as Chris had told them last night. Johnny had a severe concussion, several broken bones, a lot of bruising, along with the ravages of spending hours exposed to the desert sun. He was stable, though still being monitored in ICU. He was still experiencing the disorientation, nausea and headaches that came with a head injury such as he had. Those symptoms would most likely continue for some time. It would be later this afternoon, or perhaps even tomorrow morning, before Dr. Patel felt Johnny would be able to make the ambulance ride to Rampart General.

The doctor would allow two people in to talk to him for a few minutes, but warned them not to hold out much hope for any miraculous return of his memory. It wasn't uncommon for a person not to ever remember the hours or sometimes days surrounding an injury this severe. More than likely those events were lost to Johnny for good. Dr. Patel also cautioned them not to persist in their questioning if Johnny became agitated or upset. The stress of trying to recall things he was incapable of would not be conducive to his recovery.

It had not been encouraging, and Joanne hadn't argued when Roy stated that he would go in, along with Sergeant Preston, to see if Johnny could give them anything to go on. She didn't think she would be able to handle standing there watching Johnny try and remember; knowing that somewhere in his mind was the information they needed to find John. She knew she was being irrational, but a part of her was tempted to run down the hall, grab the injured man and shake him; as if he was deliberately keeping the knowledge of her son's whereabouts from them and all it would take was enough force to get him to tell them.

No, she wouldn't be of any help in that room. All her presence there would serve to do is create more of that stress the doctor warned against. In her heart, she didn't blame Johnny for John's disappearance. The last thing she wanted to do was to cause their friend any distress. So she'd stayed in the waiting room, watching her husband and the police officer being led down the hall, feeling more numb than anything else.

It had been about fifteen minutes now. She didn't think the doctor would let them stay with Johnny much longer. She knew ICU had fairly strict visiting rules. She already knew Roy hadn't been able to gain anything from talking to his friend. If he had, he would have already been here to share that with her. He wouldn't have let her wait out here wondering.

"Mom?"

Joanne turned to see Chris standing beside her. He looked exhausted and she could well imagine he didn't get much sleep last night. She knew the feeling.

"Jen and I are gonna go down to the lounge and get something to drink. You want anything?"

Joanne knew the place her son was talking about was the staff lounge for this unit. They'd been shown where it was and told they were welcome to use the vending machines there for coffee or soda or snack foods if they wished. The mother in Joanne felt the urge to give them a "Mom" lecture about junk food this early in the day, but she held her tongue. Both Chris and Jennifer had been through a lot in the last twenty-four hours. If soda and a bag of chips would help get them through, she wasn't going to get upset about it. Besides, they weren't little kids anymore who she had to worry about spoiling their appetites. They weren't John.

The thought of her baby boy brought renewed tears to her eyes, but she bit her lip and held onto her control as she shook her head.

"No, thanks," she managed to get out. "You guys go ahead."

Chris hesitated and looked like he wanted to say something to her, but he didn't have the years or maturity to know the right words. He settled for giving her a weak smile, then he gestured for his sister. Joanne watched as the two of them headed down the corridor. After a moment, in what seemed a very natural gesture, Chris let his hand rest on Jennifer's shoulder.

Joanne felt a smile of her own grow at the sight of her two oldest in such obvious harmony with each other. Not quite three years apart, their childhood had held many moments of close companionship, but also an equal amount of seemingly endless bickering. That they could turn to each other in this kind of a crisis made her realize that somehow, even in her most exasperated moments, she and Roy had done a good job as parents.

It also made her heart ache a little for what John would never have. He was their youngest, the baby by many years. And even though Joanne never considered John as an afterthought child, the truth was, that's exactly what he was. It didn't mean he was any less loved. He just filled a different role in their family. And it also meant, that because he was so much younger than Chris and Jenny, he would never have the same kind of sibling relationship that they did with each other.

She chuckled inwardly, knowing Roy would say she was being silly; worrying over things that really didn't matter. And he would be right. She didn't suppose it was something that would send her son to therapy later in life, and he certainly wasn't the only person to grow up without brothers or sisters close to his age. It just gave him a different sort of childhood than her first two had enjoyed.

Joanne sighed and leaned her forehead against the glass, feeling the tears that had lingered so close to the surface for the last two days. After waging a quiet struggle, she managed to keep them at bay for now. A moment later she was glad she did.

Soft footsteps turned her from the window and she saw Roy coming down the hallway. Sergeant Preston wasn't with him, but Joanne hardly registered that fact. All she saw was the face of her husband as he walked slowly towards her. Roy was a naturally reserved man who usually kept a tight rein on his emotions, at least in front of other people, but those who knew him well knew that he felt just as deeply, could be just as passionate about things as anyone. He was just uncomfortable with public displays. So the sight of such raw anguish showing plainly on his face made Joanne push her own keen disappointment aside as she met Roy half way.

She felt his arms wrap around her, pulling her tight, his cheek pressed against her hair. He didn't say anything until his breathing grew more steady, and she knew he'd been able to get some control back.

"He doesn't remember," Roy finally murmured into her ear. "He... he doesn't remember John being in the Rover with him. He doesn't even remember us leaving the campground. It's like Chris told us... the last thing he remembers is the night before."

He pulled away, but kept his hands on her arms. His brows were drawn together worriedly. "All I did was upset him. All he knows is that he hurts like hell, and then I come in and lay this on him." Roy shook his head slowly. "I couldn't stay, Jo. I couldn't stay in there and fall apart in front of him. He's already frantic trying to remember. The last thing he needs is to have to lay there and watch me lose it."

Joanne reached out and brushed a hand against Roy's cheek. He captured it and held it there. But their moment of quiet comfort was interrupted suddenly by a commotion in the direction Roy had just come.

The couple turned and saw Sergeant Preston walking their way, his hands moving as he tried to talk to the obviously upset Dr. Patel, who was trotting beside the bigger man, keeping up with his longer strides. As they grew near, Joanne realized what they were arguing about.

"But, Doc..." the officer kept saying, "I only showed him the pictures. I didn't pressure him..."

"It does not matter," the Indian physician stated briskly. "I warned you about upsetting him. He becomes agitated and that makes everything exaggerated. The vomiting puts strain on his broken ribs and can increase pressure on his brain. He needs to rest, to be calm."

"I understand that, Doc, but we've got a missing kid we have to find, and Gage is the..."

"And how can he help you if he is dead? Tell me that? No. He must rest and get well. Then he can try and help you."

Joanne saw the alarm grow on her husband's face as the doctor mentioned that Johnny was vomiting. With his last statement, Roy moved away from her and covered the short distance to where the two men were standing.

"Dr. Patel? What's going on with Johnny? Is he gonna be all right?"

The Indian turned his chocolate colored eyes in their direction. His face was stern. "I would say yes... but only if he is given peace and quiet. Any more incidents like today and I cannot say for sure. No more visitors today. That is vital."

There was a moment of silence, and then Sergeant Preston muttered, "That's just great," and jammed his notepad into his suit pocket. "I gotta go call in," he announced and stalked off toward the phones.

By this time Joanne had once more stepped up to Roy's side. She took his hand and squeezed it. He gave her a grateful look before he addressed the doctor once more.

"What about moving Johnny to Rampart?" he asked. "When will he be able to make the trip?"

The doctor folded his arms in a thoughtful pose. "I had thought perhaps tonight, but now I will wait. If he sleeps well tonight and has no further troubles, then in the morning surely. I will be in touch with Dr. Brackett and let him know for certain."

With that the man reached out to shake their hands, then moved toward the nurses' station. Joanne watched as he stood at the desk writing notes in Johnny's file. Then she looked up at Roy.

"So... we can't see Johnny... at least not for the rest of the day. What do we do now?"

Roy's shoulders moved in a weary sigh. He cast a glance down the hall toward Johnny's room, then he turned back to Joanne.

"We'll get Chris and Jenny and go home."

Joanne opened her mouth to protest. It seemed like little by little they were leaving John behind. When they left Baker, when they left the police station, and now to leave the hospital and Johnny, who was their only link to their son; going home seemed so final.

But Roy shook his head to forestall her arguments.

"We need to get the kids home, Jo. We need to go home. There's nothing more we can do here. We don't even have a clue where to look for John. We can't help Johnny. Hell, we can't even see him." He shook his head again. "No...we need to get home...to get settled. It will be easier to...well, it will just be easier. The police know where to contact us. And Johnny will be at Rampart tomorrow. Maybe when he's a little more stable we can talk to him some more..."

Joanne listened to him go on, knowing he was trying to convince himself as well as her. She knew this was just as hard on him, and she decided the best thing to do was to not make it any harder. She gave him an understanding smile.

"Okay, Roy. We'll go home."

Chapter 23

“You’re not to step foot outside this house while I’m gone, ya’ understand?”

“I understand,” Katori nodded.  Rudy had spoken to him the night before about having to leave him alone on Thursday morning.  “But why can’t I go with you?”

“I already told you.  Because I said so.”

“Does that mean it’s a grownup thing?”

Rudy picked up the boy’s empty cereal bowl and juice glass, carrying them to the sink. 

“Is what a grownup thing?”

“Why you can’t tell me.  Whenever my mo…whenever people don’t wanna tell a kid something, they say, ‘Because I said so, that’s why.’”

“Oh.  Well, yeah.  I guess you could say it’s a grownup thing. I’ve got business to take care of in town.”

“I could help you.”

“No you can’t.”

“But I polished rocks for you.”

“And you did a good job too, but this is business I have to take care of by myself.”

“How come?”

Rudy smiled at his visitor.  “Just because I said so, that’s why.”

Katori sighed, then turned mournful eyes on the man that were hard to ignore. Rudy suspected the boy was afraid to be left alone. Normally he wouldn’t be so foolish as to leave a five-year-old by himself, but he had no choice.  He couldn’t very well parade the kid around Nipton, and he couldn’t let Farley see Katori either.  Rudy knew he had to find out where the kid belonged and get him back to wherever that was, but at the same time, he didn’t want to deal with the cops.  He realized now he’d probably made a mistake by not taking Katori to the police when the kid first showed up on Tuesday afternoon.  Given he had no phone and his car didn’t work, Rudy didn’t know exactly how he’d have accomplish that, but he supposed he could have walked with Katori to Phil Ramsey’s house and asked Phil to use his phone. But Rudy hadn’t done that because of the dead man by the side of the road.  And now too much time had passed. The police would wonder why he’d kept the boy, and what he’d done to him during the two days Katori had been with him.

Didn’t do nothin’ but feed him and take good care of him, but they’ll never believe me.  It’ll be just like that time in the mine.  They won’t believe me, and they’ll ask a lot of questions, and then they’ll accuse me of doin’ stuff to him I’ve never even thought of, let alone would carry out.

Rudy didn’t have a plan in mind yet as to how to get Katori to someone who could, in turn, get him back to his parents, or to the mysterious Uncle Johnny he still spoke of, or to whomever it was the child belonged to.  For now, he had to take care of immediate needs – like getting the boy a few changes of clothing, and picking up an extra gallon of milk and another jar of peanut butter.

The boy remained in the kitchen while Rudy walked to the back of his house.  He could hear Katori winding up the old Disney toys, then letting them walk across the table.

Rudy stepped onto his back porch.  It hadn’t been enclosed when he bought the place.  Twenty years ago, he’d done the necessary work himself to make it part of the inside of the house.  It gave him just the space he needed for his washing machine and housecleaning utensils.  He crossed the floor to the metal cabinet that contained six shelves. He opened the doors, pushing aside a box of laundry detergent and a bottle of bleach.  He lifted the shelf paper and reached beneath it.

Rudy pulled out a white envelope.  He opened the flap and slipped out a wad of twenty, fifty, and one hundred dollar bills.  He didn’t trust banks any more than he trusted cops.  He’d been a child of the Depression.  He’d seen what happened to hard working folks when the banks closed.  He had a checking account at the First National Bank of Nipton, but he kept just enough money in it from month to month to pay his utility bills. He used cash for almost anything else he purchased.  He couldn’t see having to pay five cents for every check he wrote like the bank had started charging last year.  Seemed stupid to be charged to draw your own money out of your own account, which only further emphasized to Rudy that you couldn’t trust banks.

Rudy counted out one thousand dollars.  He folded the bills and shoved them in the front pocket of his jeans, then closed the flap on the envelope and put the remaining cash back where it belonged.  He wasn’t exactly sure how much money he had hidden around his place, but he supposed he’d amassed about forty thousand dollars from years of frugal living and the belief that it was important to have cash available for a rainy day.  He had a lot of hiding places.  After all, he wasn’t foolish enough to put all of his eggs in one basket.  It drove Farley nuts because while he knew Rudy hid money around the house and out in his shed, Rudy had never told him exactly where the money was located.

More than once, Farely had grumbled, “Ya’ keep tellin’ me I’m supposed ta’ clean yer house out when ya’ die and take all the money.  How’m I supposed ta’ take the money if I don’t know where it is?”

To which Rudy always answered, “Look for it, ya’ lazy ole’ coot.  If ya’ want it, you gotta put some sweat into finding it.”

“Maybe if you’d just deposit it in a bank like normal people do, I wouldn’t have ta’ put some sweat into findin’ it.”

“And just what fun would that be for me when I’m sittin’ up there on a fluffy white cloud lookin’ down and watching you hunt for it?”

“Fluffy cloud my ass.  You’ll be lookin’ up, ya’ ole’ buzzard, not down.”

Rudy always laughed after Farley said that, and then reminded him once again that the money was to be his.

“Don’t send it to Ellie.  I love her, but she doesn’t need it.  She and her husband have done fine for themselves.  Those no-good kids a’ hers will just get their hands on it.  You keep it.”

“What am I gonna do with it?”

“Don’t know and don’t care.  I’m just tellin’ you, it’s yours.”

And it was.  Rudy’d had a will drawn up a few years ago that left his assets to Farley after he died.   Rudy wasn’t a rich man, but the cash he had on hand, combined with the sale of his house and all of the things in the house and the shed, plus his vehicle, would give Farley all he needed and then some until he passed on as well.  If Farley died before Rudy, then Rudy’s assets were to be divided between Kip, Dale and Gwen Taylor, and Big Bob.  They didn’t know that, and never would unless the day came that the lawyer phoned them with the news.  They were about the only other family Rudy had besides Farley, and though they were people he did business with, they’d grown to be friends too.

Might as well leave your money to people you like, instead of to people you hardly know, even if those people you hardly know are your relatives.

Katori looked up when Rudy returned to the kitchen.

“My friend’s gonna be here in a minute to pick me up.  Remember what I told you.  Stay right here in the kitchen until his truck is gone.”

“Why?  Is he mean?”

“No, he’s not mean.”

“Then how come I can’t go with you?”

Rudy heaved a big sigh.  Kids sure could be persistent.  He was about to respond with, “Just because I said so,” once again, when he thought of something else that might work better. Something that might convince Katori remaining here alone in the house was a good idea.

“You need to stay here in case Uncle Johnny comes to get you.”

Rudy felt bad for offering the child false hope when Katori’s eyes lit up.

“You really think he might?”

“Uh…yeah…yeah, I do.”

“Okay.  Then I’ll stay here and keep a look out for him.”

“Good idea.  But don’t be lookin’ until me and Farley are gone.  I’ll be back just as soon as I can.”

“All--all right.”

“You’re not scared, are you?”

“I…uh…no.  I…it’s just that I’ve never been home alone before.”

“You’ll be fine. No one ever comes out here, and you’ve got all of these toys to play with.  Just stay in the house.  If you get thirsty, pour yourself a glass of juice, or have some lemonade.  I put some cheese and crackers on a plate in the refrigerator if you get hungry and want a snack. You’ll see it. It’s on the bottom shelf, covered with waxed paper.”

“O--okay.”

Rudy heard a truck pull in his driveway.

“Farley’s here. I gotta go.  You be quiet and stay right here at the table until we’re gone.”

The boy gave a reluctant nod.  Rudy reached out and tousled his hair.

“You’ll be okay, Katori.  I’ll be back in a little while.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Rudy tweaked the boy’s nose, not realizing he was mimicking a gesture John Gage often used when John DeSoto turned sad eyes on him.

The old man hurried to the front porch.  As Farley got out of his truck, Rudy greeted him with a big wave and an exuberant, “Good morning! Good morning!”  He scooped up two boxes he had stacked on the porch and hurried to the bed of Farley’s truck.

“I’ll put these back here, get the others, and then we can go.”  Rudy held up a hand as Farley started to follow him to the house.  “No no.  Don’t need any help.  You just stay there and rest.”

“Rest?  I just got outta bed.”

“Well…rest anyway.  You shouldn’t work so hard.”

Farley watched with wonder as Rudy scurried back to the porch where he had two more sets of boxes stacked.  He’d never seen Rudy scurry that he could recall. 

“Work so hard?  You’re always tellin’ me I don’t do nothin’ but watch TV and put puzzles together.”

“Then I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Was that an apology?”

Rudy hoisted two more boxes that held his wares into the bed of the truck.  “If it needs to be one, sure.”

Farley crossed his arms over his chest and glared at his friend.  “Okay, what’s goin’ on?”

“Whatta ya’ mean, what’s goin’ on?”

“Why the hell are you so chipper this morning?  You’re never chipper.  Matter of fact, you’re usually downright grumpy.”

“Maybe I’m turnin’ over a new leaf.”

“Yeah, or maybe you’ve been smokin’ some of that wacky tobaccy all the young kids use these days.”

Farley’s brows knit together when he saw Rudy waving a frantic hand at the screen door while bending over to pick up the remainder of the boxes.  Farley took a step forward.

“What the hell’s the matter with you?  Ya’ havin’ some kinda spasm or somethin’?”

Rudy stood and whirled around, his body blocking Farley’s view of the door.  “No. Just shooin’ away flies.  Get in the truck and turn on the air conditioning so it’s nice and cool for us.  I’ll put the rest of these boxes in the back while you do that.”

Farley cocked one ear toward his friend.  “Did I hear ya’ right?  Did you jus’ tell me ta’ turn on the air conditioning?”

“I sure as hell didn’t tell ya’ to turn on the heater.”

“You sure yer feelin’ all right?”

“I’m fine.”

“Then why’re ya’ walkin’ backwards and talkin’ to the door?”

“I’m not talkin’ to the door.”

“Are too. I hear you mumblin’ over there somethin’ about ‘git back,’ ‘git back.’”

“What I said was, ‘Git outta here.’  I was talkin’ to the flies.”

“Talkin’ to flies now, are ya’?  Wouldn’t be the first sign you’re goin’ loopy in the head, now would it?”

Rudy shot his friend a dirty look before subtly eyeing the front door again. 

“The only sign that I’m goin’ loopy in the head comes from having you as a friend.”

“That’s more like it.”

Rudy placed the last of his boxes in the truck’s bed.  “What’s more like it?” 

“You. You sound more like yerself now.  Grumpy.”

Rudy opened the driver’s side door and practically shoved Farley into the Ford.

“I am grumpy.  Grumpy and hungry.  Now git in the truck and let’s get a move on.”

Rudy hurried around to the passenger side.  He climbed in the vehicle, never taking his eyes off of the outside rearview mirror until his house was out of sight.  He’d seen no further signs of Katori since shooing the boy away from the door. Rudy prayed the child would do as he’d ordered and remain safely inside the house until he returned.

Chapter 24

Johnny kept his eyes closed as they got him settled on the gurney.  Despite the pain meds he’d been given, the jostling hurt.  One of the nurses must have noticed his involuntary grimace, because she said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Gage. We’ll be finished in just a minute.”

Johnny might have nodded an acknowledgement, or mumbled a, “Tha’z all right,” had his head not hurt so damn much.  And had he cared.  But he didn’t care.  Or at least not about the discomfort that came from being prepared for transport.  What he cared about was John.  About being able to give the police and Roy information that would help them find the little boy.  But he couldn’t give them information, because he couldn’t remember any of the events surrounding John’s disappearance. 

Each time Johnny’d been awake since Roy left for Carson with his family the previous morning, he’d tried so hard to remember anything…just one little tiny thing that might be of help, but he couldn’t.  All he could remember was eating dinner with the DeSotos on Monday evening – or at least Dr. Patel had told the paramedic chief his last memory was of events that took place on Monday evening, because Johnny wasn’t even sure of that – and then telling John the legend of Katori as they sat around the campfire roasting marshmallows. 

Most of Wednesday had passed in a drug-induced haze for Johnny.  It wasn’t until midway through the evening that he’d been cognizant enough to focus on his surroundings. It was then that he noticed he was alone, and that although medical personnel made frequent trips in and out of his room, Roy was noticeably absent.  He finally questioned a nurse about Roy in a weak raspy voice that caused her to hold a cup of water to his mouth, place a straw between his lips, and encourage him to take a few sips of the cool liquid.

When she’d placed the cup back on his nightstand, he tried getting the words out again.  There wasn’t much volume to his voice, and it took effort to collect his thoughts, but she understood him.

“My…my friend.  Roy…Roy DeSoto.  He ‘round somewhere?”

The nurse’s eyes remained on the second hand of her watch as she took Johnny’s pulse.

“Mr. DeSoto left for home with his family shortly after he visited you this morning.  He asked us to tell you he’d see you after you arrive at Rampart.”

“Rampart?”

The woman gently laid Johnny’s right arm on the bed, then recorded his pulse rate on his chart.  “Don’t you remember Dr. Patel talking to you about it the last time he was in here?”

“ ‘Bout what?”

“Provided you remain stable, you’re being transferred to Rampart General tomorrow morning.”  She smiled at him and teased lightly, “Your check-out time’s scheduled for ten a.m.”

“Who…who says?”

“A man by the name of Dr. Kelly Brackett.  I take it you know the infamous Dr. Brackett?”

“Uh…yeah…yeah, I know ‘im,” Johnny acknowledged, though he was confused as to how Brackett had found out he was here.  Normally he’d have assumed Roy contacted the man, but considering Roy had left without saying goodbye – not that Johnny could blame him – Johnny didn’t think Roy was currently in the mood to go the extra mile for him.

Not Roy’s fault.  I’m the jackass who let someone take his boy.  Can’t blame him for wantin’ to get outta here when I couldn’t give ‘em any clues about where John is.

The nurse had straightened Johnny’s blankets then and asked if he was comfortable; he’d lied and said he was.  She never thought to tell Johnny that Dr. Patel declared he was to have no further visitors that day.  If Johnny had known that, then he might have realized that Roy leaving for home had more to do with the “no visitors” rule, than it did with any anger he harbored toward his friend. But Johnny didn’t know his doctor refused to allow visitors after that police detective upset him, so he lay silently fretting Wednesday evening while trying to force even the slightest memory of the carjacking to come forth.

Johnny’s fretting almost earned him another twenty-four hour stay at Loma Linda.  Based on the nurses’ reports, Dr. Patel knew the paramedic hadn’t rested well overnight, and on Thursday morning his blood pressure was slightly elevated. Johnny didn’t argue with the man when he mentioned canceling the scheduled transfer.  That would have been a sure sign to Kelly Brackett something wasn’t right with John Gage, but Dr. Patel didn’t know his patient like Brackett did, and therefore didn’t pick up on the first signs of depression.

The only thing that prevented Dr. Patel from keeping Johnny another day was the news he received when consulting with Kelly Brackett by phone that morning.  Patel felt better about transferring his patient upon discovering someone far more skilled, medically speaking, than an ambulance attendant, would be taking care of John Gage on the hour long ride to Los Angeles.

With an IV still in his right arm, and with his injured knee propped on a pillow, and with a paper bag containing his personal effects resting against his left calf, and covered with a light blanket and strapped to the gurney, Johnny was pushed to a waiting elevator.  The paramedic’s eyes remained closed, but he sensed a nurse holding the elevator door open, and then getting in the car with him and an orderly.  

Johnny didn’t bother to open his eyes during the entire trip to the main floor.  It’s not as though that act would help him to discover where John was.  Besides, if he acted alert, then the nurse would try and carry on a conversation with him, which would take Johnny’s concentration from his attempts to remember the carjacking.

Johnny ignored the headache that had been growing more severe as the morning went on.  He knew the source of the pain.  He was doing exactly what Dr. Patel had cautioned him not to – try and force a memory that just wasn’t there. 

“You will have more success with your memory if you first relax and rest, Mr. Gage,” the doctor had said during his final visit with Johnny an hour earlier.  “It is much too soon after the assault for you to expect results.  Your body is telling you not to tax it.  It is sending you a warning you need to heed.”

Johnny’s throbbing head was telling him to listen to Dr. Patel, but his aching heart was telling him something else.  It was telling Johnny that he’d been responsible for John.  That Roy and Joanne had entrusted John to him, and that somehow, Johnny had let them down.  He’d let those boys who’d carjacked him take John.  He didn’t remember allowing that to happen, but obviously he must have since everyone said John was with him when the Land Rover was stolen, and now John was no where to be found.

Oh God, what if they’d killed him?  What if they killed him and dumped his body somewhere in the dessert?  The heat…with how hot it is out there, they’ll never find any trace of him.  A body won’t last long in temperatures like that, and then animals…animals will carry the bones away.

Just the thought of John’s little body being desecrated like that made Johnny shudder. 

“Mr. Gage?  Mr. Gage, are you all right?”

Johnny wanted to ignore the woman, but he knew it would cause him less trouble if acknowledged her, so he gave a slight nod.

“We’re almost there.”

Where “almost there” was Johnny didn’t know, but he didn’t ask, either.  He assumed she meant to some set of double doors on the main floor that he’d be wheeled through before being placed in a waiting ambulance.

Johnny had guessed correctly.  He heard the doors slide open when the gurney got close enough to their electric eye, and then he felt the transition from the cool air inside of the building, to the sweltering August heat.

The paramedic heard his nurse giving someone an update on his condition, including his most recent set of vitals.  He assumed she was speaking to an off-duty paramedic hired by the ambulance company to ride with him at the direction of Dr. Brackett.  It wasn’t an unheard of practice when a seriously ill or injured patient was being transported to another hospital.

“And this envelope contains a copy of his chart.  His personal effects are in the bag there on the gurney.”

It wasn’t until Johnny heard the person’s response to his nurse of,  “Thank you.  I appreciate the good care you’ve given one of my favorite paramedics,” that he opened his eyes.

He squinted into the bright sunlight that made his eyes water and the throbbing in his head intensify.  

“D--Dix?”

The sun glared off the ambulance windows, obscuring the woman’s features until she moved to the left side of the gurney.  She laid a hand on Johnny’s shoulder.

“Hey there, tiger.  I hear you’ve had a rough couple of days.”

Johnny gave a half-hearted shrug with his right shoulder.  He didn’t want to talk about his “rough couple of days” as Dixie had phrased it.

“What…what’re you doin’ here?”

“I don’t suppose you’ll believe me if I say I just happened to be in the neighborhood and thought I’d drop by.”

Despite his pain, Johnny couldn’t help but smile a little at the gentle teasing.

“Nah.  Don’t believe it.”

“All right then, how’s this?  Kel wanted to make sure you were well taken care of on the ride home, so I volunteered to be your private duty nurse.”

“Can’…” Johnny squeezed his eyes shut against a renewed stab of pain while still trying to complete his sentence.  “Can’t ask for much better treatment ‘an that.”

Johnny heard Dixie’s, “No, you can’t,” but didn’t see her nod at the orderly and ambulance driver, indicating to the men they should load the patient into the vehicle.

The gurney’s legs were released, then Johnny felt himself being lifted.  The men tried to be careful, but there was still enough jostling to make the paramedic chief inhale a sharp gasp of pain.

He drifted a little then from the combination of pain and painkillers, as the men got him secured in the back of the ambulance.  He was vaguely aware of Dixie standing outside the vehicle talking to the ICU nurse, then that nurse’s voice forcing him to focus when she stuck her head in the back and said, “Goodbye, Mr. Gage.  Take care of yourself.”

Although Johnny hurt too much to be in the mood to exchange pleasantries with a woman he’d never see again, he managed a subdued, “Bye.  Than…thanks for everything.”

“You’re welcome.”

Johnny felt Dixie climb in beside him.  She sat on the bench seat as someone closed the rear doors.  The door to the cab opened and shut, then Johnny heard the small glass door slide open that was between the cab and rear compartment.

“Ready to go, Miss McCall?”

“We’re ready,” Dixie confirmed to the driver.

The glass door was slid shut once more, then the driver started the engine.

Johnny felt a B/P cuff being wrapped around his right arm but he didn’t acknowledge it, anymore than he acknowledged feeling Dixie’s fingers at the pulse point of his wrist a few seconds later.

“Johnny?” the nurse called softly.  “Johnny, open your eyes for me.”

Johnny heard the worry in Dixie’s voice, as though his demeanor had her concerned.  He didn’t follow her instructions until she said in a firmer tone, “Johnny, come on.  Open your eyes for me.”

The paramedic finally did as the woman ordered.  There were a lot of things he wanted to say to her.  He wanted to thank her for being such a good friend.  He wanted to ask her if she’d spoken to Roy.  He wanted to tell her that his head hurt like hell, and now that the ambulance was moving, his stomach didn’t feel so great either. 

When Johnny did speak, it wasn’t any of those things that he voiced, though.  Instead, he said in a hoarse broken tone, “I let something happen to ‘im, Dix.  Something bad’s happened to John, and it’s my fault.”

“It’s not your fault, Johnny.  No matter what happened, none of us doubt that you did all you could to protect him.”

Johnny didn’t say what he was thinking.

None of you but Roy and Joanne.  John’s parents.  My closest friends.  The people who trusted me with their child.

Johnny closed his eyes again, blocking out all other images but John DeSoto’s face as he concentrated on trying to remember anything, anything at all, that might tell him what had happened to his best friend’s son.

­­­­­­ Chapter 25

“Here you go, Rudy.”

“Thanks.”

Rudy took the cash Big Bob gave him for the hand-made jewelry and woven throw rugs Rudy had put on shelves in the storage room.  When he had time, Bob would arrange the jewelry in a glass display case, and stack the brightly colored rugs on a set of shelves that lined one wall of the Trading Post.  

Big Bob leaned his fleshy arms on top of one of the display cases.  He thrust his cannon-sized rear end outward to make room for his monstrous stomach to rest against the edge of the case. 

“You fellas hear about all the excitement the other day?”

Farley nodded.  “Saw it on the news. That was somethin’, wasn’t it?”

Rudy kept quiet.  He had a feeling he knew what excitement Bob and Farley were talking about.

“I hope that guy pulls through.  Someone should beat those punks with a tire iron just like they beat him.”

“That’s what I say too.”  Farley turned to his friend. “I bet you don’t know nothin’ about it, do ya’?”

“What’s that?”

“The poor fella who got himself beat half to death just a few miles outside a’ town here.  If yer car hadn’t broken down, you’d have probably driven right by him.”

“That so?”

“Yeah.” Farley looked at Bob again.  “He’s a fireman?”

“Paramedic I think they said. From down in L.A.”

A part of Rudy wanted to keep quiet, but a part of him wanted to know more about the mysterious man he’d taken for dead.

“What happened?”

“A couple a’ kids carjacked him,” Bob said.

“Carjacked?”

“Rudy, you have to get a TV.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Then you’d know what a carjacking is.”

Rudy waited, but when no further explanation was given he was forced to ask Big Bob, “Well, what is it?”

“It’s when someone wants your car and beats the crap outta you to get it.  They said on the news that the kids had stolen a car in Huntington Beach.  Seems they wanted to dump it before the cops were on their tail. When they came across this paramedic changing a tire they saw their chance.”

“So they beat him with his tire iron?”

“They sure did.  He’s damn lucky to be alive.”

“Sure is,” Farley agreed. “I heard on this morning’s news that he’s probably gonna be okay.”

“That’s good,” Bob said.  “But what’s better is they caught the punks who did that to him.  I get so tired of always hearing that the crooks get away.  It’s about time a couple of ‘em are locked up.”

“Too bad about the boy, though.”

“Yeah, that’s a shame.  I wonder if they’ll find him.”

“Not alive.”

Again, Rudy didn’t want to act interested, but he couldn’t keep his heart from racing at the mention of a boy.

“Boy?”

“The missing boy,” Farley supplied.  “The guy had a five year old kid with him. Cops can’t find him, and the punks ain’t talkin’.”

Bob shifted his bulk to take weight off of a bad knee. “I heard they keep denying they ever saw the boy.”

“They saw him,” Farley stated with authority, as though he’d witnessed the carjacking and knew exactly what happened.  “They took that poor little feller, and then they killed him and threw his body out somewheres.  By now, the coyotes have eaten whatever was left of ‘im.”

“Was the boy his son?” Rudy asked.

“Whose son?”

“The paramedic’s.  The guy who was beaten.”

“Nah, don’t think so.”  Farley looked to Bob once more. “Wasn’t he campin’ with some friends or something?”

“Yeah.  I talked to one of the deputies.  He stopped in here for a soda and a bag a’ chips.  Said the paramedic had been on a two-week camping trip with a good friend and his family.  They were all headed back to L.A.  The little kid wanted to ride home with the paramedic instead of ridin’ with his folks.”

“Big mistake,” Farley said.

“No kidding.  Sure makes you realize how one little choice can change your whole life.  Gotta feel sorry for those parents.  They must be worried sick about the boy.”

“Must be.”

Several seconds passed before Rudy realized the other two men were looking at him.  Evidently his silence on such a tragic topic seemed out of character.

“Yeah,” he hastily agreed.  “They must be.”

A family passing through the area looking for souvenirs entered the store then.  Rudy was grateful for a reason to shag Farley by the arm and say in a low voice, “Let’s go,” as Big Bob rounded the counter touting all the fine items he had for sale that were handcrafted by a genuine American Indian named Cloud Jumper.

The two men got into Farley’s truck and headed down the street to the Nipton Hotel.  After Gwen Taylor recorded Rudy’s stock in an inventory log and her husband Dale paid him, talk swiftly turned to the carjacked paramedic.

“Biggest thing to happen here in Nipton since I was a kid and Marv Ollison blew half his hand off with firecrackers one Fourth of July,” Dale said.

Farley chuckled.  “Yep.  We didn’t call him Two Fingers Ollie down at the mine for nothin’, did we, Rudy?”

“Nope, we didn’t.”

“We’ve sure done a lot of business the last two days,” Gwen said.  “Our rooms have been filled with police officers staying in the area to search for the little boy.  It’s been great for the bottom line, but it’s a sad way to make a few extra dollars.”

Softly, Dale said, “They don’t think they’ll find him. I overheard a couple of the cops talking at breakfast.  They think he’s already dead.  They think those kids killed him.”

“But I read an article in this morning’s paper that said the boy might have snuck out of the vehicle when the kids stopped for gas in Barstow,” Gwen said, “or at that McDonald’s in San Bernardino where they were caught.”

“I suppose that could have happened,” Dale agreed. “All I know is what I overheard the cops say.”

Hearing that cops were making the old hotel their base made Rudy anxious to leave.

“We gotta get a move on. See ya’ later.”

The Taylors didn’t seem to notice Rudy’s anxiousness.  But then, they were busy getting their day underway.

Dale turned to answer the ringing phone. “See ya’, Rudy.  Farley.”

Gwen smiled at the men as she headed to the back office.  “So long, guys.”

Farley limped toward the dining room, where the Taylors employed a cook and several waitresses.

“Come on,” Farley urged as he limped toward a table that sat two.  “Let’s order up some breakfast now that yer done.”

Rudy handed his friend a ten dollar bill.  “Here ya’ go.”

“What this for?”

“Breakfast.”

“Aren’t you eatin’?”

“Not right now.”

“Whatta ya’ mean, not right now?  You said you’d take me out for breakfast if I brought you to town today.”

“And I am takin’ you out for breakfast.  I just gave you ten bucks.  That should be enough for breakfast and lunch.”

“But normally when we got out together for breakfast, that means we eat together.”

“Not today.  I got some more business ta’ take care of.”

“It can wait until after we eat.”

“No it can’t. I need to get it done now.”

“Get what done now?”

“I gotta see a man about a car.”

“Rudy, gol’ darn you.  Now just sit here and eat break--”

“I gotta go, Farley.  I’ve got some errands to run.  I’ll stop over and see you in a few days.”

“But how you gonna do that?  Kip won’t have the Bel Air ready by then.”

“I already told you, I gotta see a man about a car.  Enjoy your breakfast.”

Before Farley could say anything else, Rudy walked out the door.   As the old man sat down at a table, he mumbled, “I think he really has been into some wacky tobbaccy.”

­­­­­­~ ~ ~

“This one’s fine.”

“Don’t you even wanna drive it?”

“Any reason I can’t trust you?”

“Aw, Rudy.  You know damn good and well there’s not.”

“Okay then.  How much?”

“Seven hundred.”

Rudy walked around the olive green 1970 Buick Estate Station Wagon again.  It had a dent in the front passenger side door, and one hundred and twenty thousand miles on the odometer, but Kip said it ran good and had new tires.

“Six.”

“Six-fifty,” Kip dickered.

“Six.”

“Six twenty-five.”

“Six.”

“Six fifteen.”

“Six.”

“Rudy, give a guy a break. At least make me feel like I’m gettin’ something from this deal.”

“You are. I told you I’d give you the Bel Air.”

“Some deal that is. I gotta tow it, figure out what’s wrong with it, and replace the window you said had been smashed.”

“So? Then you’ll sell it for a couple hundred bucks and make yourself a nice little profit.”

“There won’t be any profit on that old thing unless I find a classic car buff who wants it.  Otherwise, I’ll have to take it to the junk yard and be lucky to get all of twenty bucks outta it.”

“Do with it what you want.  Makes no difference to me. Now I’ll give you six hundred for this one.  That’s my final offer.”

“So far it’s been your only offer.”

“Yeah, and it’s my final one, too.”

Kip looked up and squinted into the mid-morning sun for a moment, then sighed. “Okay, okay.  Six hundred it is.  I’ll transfer the title and plates over to you when I go to Barstow next week.  I’ll stop in at the DMV then.”

“That’ll be fine.”

“I’ll send Jeremy out later to tow the Bel Air.”

“Later when?”

“Today.  Around noon.  That okay?”

Rudy thought a moment, then nodded.   “That’s fine.”

Rudy followed Kip into his small cluttered office.  The smell of grease and gasoline mixed together as one.  A bell dinged twice, indicating a customer had pulled to the pumps out front.  Kip glanced up briefly from the bill of sale he was writing to make sure Jeremy, his seventeen-year-old son, was waiting on the customer.  Kip still believed in pumping a customer’s gas, just like his father had before him, and his grandfather before him.  None of these new self-service stations for him like populated all the decent sized towns and cities across America now.

When Kip was finished, he tore the white slip of paper from its pad and handed it to Rudy.  In turn, Rudy took his cash from his pocket and peeled off six one hundred dollar bills.

“There ya’ go.”

“Thank you.”

The two men shook on the deal, then Kip turned to a row of small hooks behind his desk that held an assortment of keys.  His right index finger traveled in mid-air from row to row until he found what he was looking for.  He handed Rudy a ring with two keys on it.

“One key opens everything – all four doors and the cargo hold.  That other key’s a spare.”

“Thanks.”

As the two men walked back out into the heat, Kip said, “Hey, you never did tell me how your window got smashed.”

“Don’t know,” Rudy shrugged.  “The car broke down, so I walked to Farley’s. When we got back to it, the window was busted.”

“I bet it was those kids.”

Rudy wanted no part of this conversation, but he knew it would seem odd if he didn’t say something.

“What kids?”

“The ones they arrested for beating that paramedic and stealing his Land Rover.  You hear about that?”

“Uh…Big Bob and the Taylors said something about it a little while ago.”

“You should probably tell the police, Rudy.”

“Tell ‘em what?”

“About the smashed window.”

“I don’t know for sure who smashed it, and besides, what difference does it make now?  I’m not keepin’ the car, and if it was those kids, they’re already sittin’ in jail.”

“Yeah, I suppose. But still, there’s the missing boy.”

“I can guarantee you he’d not hiding in the Bel Air.”

Kip laughed.  “I didn’t think he was.  Even a five year old would have better taste than that.”

Rudy opened the Buick’s door and slipped behind the wheel.  “Thanks again, Kip.  Appreciate it.”

“I’ll bring the title and new plates out to your place after I get ‘em.”

“No need. I’ll come into town and pick ‘em up.  Think you’ll have ‘em by next Friday?”

“I should.”

“Then I’ll stop by here on Friday. I’ll have some more stuff to bring to Big Bob and the Taylors that day.”

“Okay. See you then.”

“Yeah, see you then.” Rudy started the Buick’s engine. “Oh, and tell Jeremy I won’t be home when he comes by to get the Bel Air.  I’ve got some errands to run in Essex. I’ll leave the keys under the driver’s seat.  The title’s in the glove box.  I’ll stop at home and sign it.”

“That’ll be great.”

Rudy gave Kip a wave, then put the gearshift in drive and headed for the road.  It would take him a while to get used to driving an automatic transmission.  The Bel Air had been standard. 

Rudy stopped at Jim Stafford’s insurance office on his way out of Nipton.  It took just fifteen minutes to get the minimal coverage required by law on the Buick, while at the same time dropping the coverage on his old Bel Air. 

“Never thought I’d see the day when you got rid of the Bel Air, Rudy,” Jim teased as he filled out the paperwork.

“Never thought I would get rid of her, but she’s startin’ to nickel and dime me, so I guess it was past time.”

“I’d say so.”

Rudy made the initial insurance payment in cash, then headed out to his new car.  If it hadn’t been for Katori, he wouldn’t have gotten rid of the Bel Air, but with the boy at his place, he needed reliable transportation of his own.  Somehow he had to get the boy back to where he belonged.  He still wasn’t sure how he was going to do that, but he didn’t want to get Farley, or anyone else involved.