Eye of the Burning Man: A Mick Callahan Novel (The Mick Callahan Series) (25 page)

Time passed, civilization fell away.

I drove on through the blistering heat of the desert, drinking in the scent of the sage and the eerie, vast emptiness that is central Nevada. Darlene slept in the passenger seat. An inflated headrest kept her neck erect. Jerry sprawled out on the back seat, his dusty boots resting on the expensive video camera's black padded case. From the CD player, woman with an Appalachian twang sang:
I only miss you when I'm breathing . . .

Finally, I noticed markers. Some were gaudy, homemade stick figures with arrows pointing due west. Some signs were painted on cardboard in large red letters stating: "Burning Man This Way."

As a cloud of dust cleared, I saw a nearly naked man in some kind of a thong waving cars into a crowded parking area. I pulled over and rolled down the window. The guy was clearly stoned and almost lavender from sunburn. He had a pistol hanging from his waist like a second phallus. He grinned and leaned in the window, pupils dilated and mouth reeking of pot.

"Howdy folks," he said. "Welcome to Black Rock."

"This is it, huh?"

"First time?"

"Sure is."

Jerry awoke and rubbed his sandy eyes. "What?"

Darlene let the air out of the neck brace. She looked out the window at the huge rows of cars. A few hundred yards away sat a massive expanse of flat white sand, littered with hundreds of tents of all shapes, colors, and sizes. Green portable toilets seemed randomly placed throughout the camp. Towering over it all was a grotesque, massive stick-man, built of wood and neon piping.

"What the hell is that?" Darlene asked.

The man laughed. "Why, that there is Black Rock City. It's a tent city, ma'am." He eyed the camera on the seat. "Now, hold on here," he said. He put his hand on the gun. "Ain't no press allowed."

Darlene almost reached for her own weapon, but I motioned for her to be still. "No press? Exactly, my man."

"Huh?"

I beckoned him closer. "Shit, dude, that's our whole act. There's no film in that camera. My friend here, he doesn't even know how to run the fucking thing. Our act is that we pretend to be from the press, and get people confused and pissed off, but all the while it's all just a put on. Get it?"

The man grinned. "That's pretty cool. I won't tell."

"Great," I said. "Where do we park?"

"Anywhere along in here. There's only one rule, folks. Live and let live. People are here to break out and be free, so don't judge anybody and they won't be judging you."

"Sounds great to me," Jerry said. He meant it. "Total freedom."

"It's about love," the man said solemnly. "Real love between the brothers and the sisters."

"Cool," I said, at a loss for anything else to say. "Thanks a lot."

"Sure thing."

We drove away, spewing dust. Darlene shook her head. "Did I just see what I think I saw?"

"What was that?"

"Some sunburned dumb-ass running around in a thong with his butt cheeks hanging out, carrying a loaded weapon?"

"Well, we don't actually know that it was loaded."

The sound of gunfire peppered the ridgeline. Faint rebel yells floated across the empty sand. A line of cars was driving by some scarecrows and paper targets, calmly blowing them to pieces. A cardboard sign introduced the event as DRIVE BY SHOOTING. More distant gunfire, more voices screaming.

Darlene looked at me, eyebrows raised. "You were saying?"

"Nothing."

"I was under the impression firearms had been banned from this event years ago."

"Maybe they're shooting blanks."

She considered. "Maybe. You want to be the one to find out?"

"You first."

Jerry yawned. "We'd better find a place to camp. It will be dark in just a few hours. I need a drink."

"They kind of frown on alcohol," Darlene said.

"So, I'll have a hit on a joint."

I frowned. "Take it easy, Jerry. I need you to have your head on straight, okay?"

"No problem, boss."

We walked along, our senses gradually overwhelmed by organized chaos. People painted various colors went dancing by, many clearly on psychedelics. A few were openly smoking marijuana, others just carrying sticks of incense. Small fires were lit everywhere, and attendees were cooking everything from hot dogs and veggie burgers to fish steaks. Coolers overflowed with cans of non-alcoholic beer, diet soda, even some contraband wine coolers and pre-mixed cocktails. Loud music flowed from every conceivable direction; we heard drumming, rap songs, country music, and amateurs randomly picking at amplified electric instruments.

The largest tent had "Black Rock City" spray painted on the side of it in large black letters. Darlene and I exchanged looks and shrugged. We walked in, carrying our small suitcases and sleeping bags. I looked backwards and noticed Jerry was not following us. I tapped Darlene on the shoulder.

"Watch these," I said, not too concerned. I marched back outside and looked around. Jerry was standing near a pile of old mattresses that lay off to one side, away from the main path. He was shooting something with the video camera. I jogged over. A moaning couple was having sex in the shadows; her legs were wrapped around his waist and they were both oblivious to the world around them.

"Turn that off," I whispered.

Jerry sighed and spewed a plume of smoke. His eyes were already red. He'd bummed a hit, and was faded. "Can't blame a guy for trying."

"Yes, I can, and for getting stoned, too. Do you want to get yourself killed? You'd best stay sober and remember what we're here for, Jerry. Keep your mind on the job."

"Sorry," Jerry said. "I just can't quite believe this place."

I surveyed the area. "Me, neither."

The afternoon sun was cooler, allowing more movement. Three nude girls rode by on bicycles with neon tubes threaded through the spokes. A mime performed in the middle of the walkway, wearing only a makeshift codpiece and facial makeup.

We passed an open tent and peered in. A group of men wearing feathered Native American headdresses were solemnly passing around a giant bong instead of a wooden pipe.

We walked into the largest tent, scanning the interior for Darlene. She waved us over to a small space she had cleared. She had unrolled the three sleeping bags and then surrounded and marked off an area with our extra clothing and gear. She spread her hands.

"Welcome to our hotel suite."

Jerry wriggled his eyebrows. "No mini-bar?"

"I'll call room service," Darlene said dryly. She sat down on her sleeping bag and stretched. "Maybe they'll send one up."

"You do that," I said.

"Mick, I do have a small piece of news."

"What's that?" We sat down next to her. Stretching suddenly seemed like a very good idea. I straightened my legs, bent forward and reached for my toes. It hurt. My bad knee popped.

"See that strange looking creep over there?"

I looked around the tent. "Can you narrow that down some?"

"I mean that white-haired old guy, the one in the top hat and tails and green swimming trunks."

I found him, taking cash from some new arrivals. "Got it."

"He takes the camping fees and coordinates the cleanup tomorrow morning. He said he thinks he might remember having seen Mary in here yesterday."

I blinked. "Go on."

"I gave him the description, and he said he thinks he saw her with three other people. He remembers because she looked like she didn't want to be there. One guy kept slapping her and pushing her around. He was talking in English, or sometimes in pretty bad Spanish."

"Why does he think it was Mary?"

"He used her name. More than once."

I pondered. "This guy who hit her, what did he look like?"

"Big bastard, all buffed out. That's why nobody had the guts to stand up to him. Guy had his head shaved clean, and he wore some kind of a nose ring. Sound like anybody you know?"

Oh great, just great, some mountain of a skinhead.
"Not really."

"There was a woman along, too," Darlene said. "Brunette, glasses. He doesn't remember anything else about her."

"You said three."

"That is the weirdest part. There was a child with them, too. A little boy."

I felt it in my bones. "How old?"

"He didn't know, Mick. He guessed nine or ten, maybe. The kid only spoke Spanish, from the sound of it, so it could be our kid."

"Could be." I thought for a moment. "One thing worries me; they're not exactly hiding from us, are they?"

"Lot of guns around here."

"That crossed my mind, too."

I suddenly realized Jerry hadn't spoken. He was sprawled out on a sleeping bag with his head on the camera case, one hand wrapped around the handle for protection. Once again, he appeared to be sleeping . . . or passed out.

"Jerry?"

Groggy. "Huh?"

"You stay here and watch our stuff, okay? Darlene and I are going to go see what's going on."

"Yes master," Jerry said, "whatever you say." He yawned and closed his eyes again. "Wake me if you need something."

"One hour, okay?"

"Got it."

Darlene asked: "Or what?"

"Or he blows the whistle and calls the local police to come looking for us. What did you think?"

"Oh."

As we walked away, Darlene looked back. She seemed puzzled. "He's not really going to sleep again?"

"I sure hope not. Jerry is a lot smarter than he looks. He can take care of himself."

"Except when there are naked women and drugs around."

The afternoon sun was a reddish, watercolor smear on the skyline. An oval mirage shimmered on the northern desert, and vultures circled carrion to the west. The sweating, teeming mass of inebriated humanity had compacted upon itself and become one giant canvas-covered bacchanal. Something stirring and primitive was taking place, and the incessant drumming, low and rhythmic, felt wildly erotic.

After a moment, I stripped off my shirt and grabbed her hand. "Let's look natural."

I was only partly serious. Darlene leaned into me, and I felt an electric charge. We walked briskly, surreptitiously scanning the surroundings. The nude oddities increased and were by turns amusing, overwhelming, and then finally just deadening. We passed bottomless mock-priests and nuns in white collars and body paint, a wagon that served lemonade directly from the tap spigot or in a paper cup, three beautiful young topless girls who sat reading magazines.

There was an intelligent symmetry to the camp's layout, although at first glance it seemed to have evolved by accident. The improvised "tent city" patterned out from the center in an interlocking series of squares. The toilets were well placed; each served one long row of "art" exhibits. Despite the apparent chaos and confusion, the vast majority of celebrants seemed playful and harmless. We saw two young men begin to argue, but the people around them intervened and broke up the fight before it got started.

"Okay, I give up," Darlene said. She had moved up on her toes to whisper in my ear, and her breath gave me chills, despite the blistering heat. "What are we looking for?"

"Damned if I know, just anything that could be linked to Mary, Loco, or Fancy, child pornography, or even some big, ugly bastard with a shaved head and a nose ring."

I realized we were nearing the outer rim of the tents and approaching rows of parked vehicles. I turned and scanned the horizon. A small trail led off into some low dunes. I tugged Darlene's hand.

"That way."

"Any particular reason?"

"Mostly because it doesn't look so crowded. Look, I'm betting the clues were meant to bring us to Burning Man tonight. And whoever took Mary didn't even try to hide, right?"

"They wanted us to know they were here."

"But if you plan on harming somebody, do you want to do it in public, or in private?"

"Point taken," Darlene said. She tilted her head and looked up at me with an impish grin. "Jesus, Callahan, for a minute there I thought you actually wanted to be alone with me, for some reason."

"Oh. Well, maybe that too."

"God, that's so sexy," Darlene said. "The word maybe is such a turn on for a woman."

"Oh, cut me some slack."

We moved away from the crowds and into the last row of parked cars, still holding hands. Two handsome young gay men strolled twenty yards ahead of us. They were clearly lovers.

"I get the feeling there's no privacy anywhere," I said, a bit more regretfully than I'd intended.

"Mick?" Darlene whispered. She tugged on my arm. I bent down and turned my head. She grabbed my face, adjusted it, and kissed me. The moment lasted.

I finally pulled away. "Yes."

Darlene grinned. "Yes what?"

"To whatever you were thinking."

I will never understand how I noticed it. After all, the late afternoon was filled with the smoke of cooking fires and the sound of firearms discharging. Somehow, an atavistic dread clutched at my stomach when I saw a small plume of smoke rising from an indentation in the cracked, white ground at the far outskirts of the parking area.

"What is it?" Darlene asked.

The two men who had been walking ahead of us came racing back, shouting something.

I jogged ahead of Darlene, who had already slipped the handgun into her fist. One of the young men was crying and waving his arms. People responded from various angles and began to flood into the area. Meanwhile the other boy cried
"Jesus"
over and over again.

When we got to the top of the small rise, I looked down into the gully at the source of the smoke and my gorge rose. A blackened human figure lay in the middle of the indentation, curled in the fetal position. The clothing was burned off; the flesh roasted dark in places, cracked and meaty red in others.