A Thousand Falling Crows (15 page)

Blue limped after Sunny, then swerved off to the right, stopped about ten feet from the root cellar door, and peed on the biggest rock he could find.

Martha would have never tolerated a dog in the house, but Sonny didn't think much of her concerns these days. Martha was dead, and, left to his own devices, Blue couldn't have fended off a coyote if he'd wanted to, not in the shape he was in. It would have worried Sonny to no end to tie Blue up and leave him unattended for the night. He knew himself well enough to know that rest would come to him hard, and he'd be up looking out the window every five minutes, checking on the dog's welfare. One night inside wasn't going to hurt a thing.

Once inside the house, Sonny piled up some blankets on the floor at the end of the counter, just under the water pump. “There you go, boy,” Sonny said, pointing at the impromptu bed.

Blue just looked at Sonny and stood as still as a statue.

“All right, suit yourself,” Sonny said. He pumped some water into a small pan, set it on the floor for the dog, and went out to the truck to retrieve more of the groceries. A bag of rice, more Van Camp's, and a loaf of bread.

When he returned to the kitchen, the water pan was empty, and Blue was standing in front of it, water dripping from his flues to the floor, with an expectant look in his eyes.

“I guess you might be thirsty and hungry after the day you've had.” Sonny filled up the pan again, then set about making himself—and the dog—a meal.

He fried a few thick strips of bacon for himself and heated up a can of the beans, then cooked a bit of rice for the dog. Sonny topped the rice with a cracked egg, shell and all, drizzled it with half the bacon grease, saving some in the crock that sat next to the stove, and crumbled up some bacon on the mess of food. He'd seen a fox rob a rattlesnake nest once, and the fox had eaten the eggs shell and all. Sonny figured it would be good for the dog's bones.

When Sonny put the plate on the floor, Blue wagged his tail for the first time since he and Sonny had met.

Sonny stood back and allowed Blue to get to the food. He felt guilty feeding decent food to a dog, especially when there were so many people in the world struggling from one meal to the next, but Sonny felt responsible, sad for the dog. It needed some strength to help it heal. It was the best reason he could come to, and it would have to do. Besides, he wasn't going to go around telling folks how well he'd fed a stray dog. They'd think he'd lost his mind right along with his arm.

They both went after their meals like the starving animals they were, though Sonny stopped and looked up from his food from time to time, taking a moment of enjoyment, and watching the dog eat.

Blue wasn't a slob. Nothing hit the floor, and by the time he was done eating, there wasn't a scrap of egg, bacon, or rice left. The plate was licked clean.

After he finished his own meal, Sonny put Blue out to relieve himself, then let him come back inside. Dusk had settled, and darkness would come soon.

“You can sleep in here tonight, you understand? But don't go getting used to it. Once you're healed, I‘ll find a place for you out back.” At that moment, Sonny realized that he was, for all intents and purposes, talking aloud to himself. He didn't care. The dog had to know his voice. “Don't go taking advantage of my kindness, you understand?” he added.

Blue offered no clue as to whether he understood or not. He just remained standing, watching every move Sonny made.

Sonny made his way to the chair next to the radio in the parlor and sat down. Blue limped after him, keeping a decent distance.

The dog didn't seem bothered by much of anything, wasn't timid or skittish about going into other rooms or different places, and that encouraged Sonny about their future together. He wasn't sure he could keep a dog that was scared of everything that moved or was uncertain about his surroundings. Not that he planned on keeping Blue forever. Once he recovered from the day, he figured he'd run out to Vern Maxwell's place and see if Blue belonged there or if they knew where he did belong. It was the only clue to ownership he had. As it was, Sonny was just glad the dog seemed to be comfortable and wasn't making a nuisance of himself.

The radio remained off. Sonny thought about turning it on, but he was tired, had had enough bad news for one day the way it was. Just as he settled into the chair and got comfortable, just before he dozed off into the nether land of sleep, he felt Blue ease up next to his leg and lay down at his feet.

A loud knock woke Sonny up. At first he thought he was dreaming, lost somewhere in a land where he was whole. It was wishful thinking. The knock came again, louder, more insistent, forcing his eyes open.

Blue was still at Sonny's feet, a quiet sentry standing stiff, staring straight into the kitchen. The dog did not bark. Sonny wasn't sure what to make of that. Pete had said the Maxwell dogs were supposed to be good watchdogs. Maybe he was wrong about it being a Maxwell.

“
Señor
Burton, are you home?” a man's voice called out from beyond the door.

It sounded familiar.

“It is me, Aldo Hernandez. Are you all right?”

Sonny pushed himself up with his left hand and turned on the floor lamp that sat next to the chair. Light flooded into the room, hurting his eyes, causing him to squint.

It was dark outside, late into the night. The mantle clock said it was near midnight.

“I‘ll be right there,” Sonny called out. Even though he recognized the voice, he grabbed up the .45, stuffed it into his back waistband so it would be out of sight, then made his way to the door, flipping on lights as he went. Blue followed at his heels, the limp noticeable as his nails skipped across the hardwood floors.

Sonny turned on the outside light and peered out the curtains that covered the window in the door. Martha had sewn them just before she died. They were starting to fade and get dry rot. “It's awful late,” he said through the door.

“I‘m sorry,
señor
, it is important that I speak to you. I fear my daughter is in serious trouble. I am certain that it was her that was driving the car for the Clever, Clever boys when they robbed the market today.”

Sonny exhaled, dropped his head, unlocked the door, and opened it—but he didn't open it wide, just a crack, so he could talk to the man face to face. “You should go to the police, Aldo, there's nothing I can do to help you, especially if it was your daughter driving the car today.”

The night air had cooled, and the sky was clear of clouds. A thumbnail moon hung midway in the sky, and silver pinpricks peppered the blackness for as far as the eye could see, offering a bit of diffused light behind Aldo. The porch light burned brightly in front of him, casting a hard light across his face. The porch light attracted flying insects almost immediately.

Aldo looked older than Sonny remembered him being when he had driven him home from the hospital, more hunched over, worry lines folded deeper into his face, like a flood of emotion had eroded his skin, cutting deep crevices on every inch of flesh it could find.

“I have been to the
alguacil
,” Aldo said in Spanish. “He is of no help. If Carmen is with those
criminales
, then she is a villain, too. That is what he said. It is not true,
Señor
Burton. Carmen is a lot of things, but she is not a bad girl. She has a good heart. If she did anything wrong, they made her do it. I am sure of it. Just as I am sure that the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. Carmen is not a bad girl. She has just made bad choices. That is my fault and I know it. I will set things straight if I see her. I have to see her again.”

“The sheriff is a good man,” Sonny replied, speaking English. Blue stood behind him quietly, almost as if he wasn't there. “I can't get involved in this. Have you spoken to my son?”

Aldo shook his head. “I would rather have your help.”

“I have no position, no authority. You must know that.”

A large moth swooped toward the light and flitted across the front of Aldo's face. He swatted it away. “Please,
señor
. There is nowhere else for me to turn. I am afraid of what might happen to her if they go on a hunt. I beg of you, please. I do not want to bury my daughter.” Aldo continued to speak in Spanish.

Sonny sighed. “All right, come in. But I don't think there's anything I can do to help you. I‘m useless these days, if you haven't noticed.”

“You know Frank Hamer, the Ranger who helped find Bonnie and Clyde. Maybe if you ask him, he will know where to look?”

Sonny opened the door to let Aldo inside. “I‘m not a Ranger any more, Aldo. I don't know if that'll mean anything to Frank. He's a busy man these days, from what I hear.”

“You will always be a Texas Ranger,
Señor
Burton. Everybody knows that but you,” Aldo said, stepping inside the house, taking off his hat as he crossed the threshold. “They did not cut your courage out when they took your arm. There are still plenty of things you can do. You are still a man. You are still everything that you were before. Maybe more.”

CHAPTER 16

The inside of the small church was warm, like someone had lit a coal furnace and opened the flue wide. It smelled like a library of books had gotten wet—musty, old, uninhabited. And the light was dimmer, like the sun had gotten eaten by a cloud outside.

Carmen gripped the letter opener tighter. She never thought she would die in a church. She hadn't really ever thought much about dying, until today. “I‘ll use this if I have to,” she said. Her voice cracked, and she wasn't convinced of the threat herself.

“Put it down, Carmen,” Tió said. He was standing at the lip of the font, holding the shotgun tightly but keeping the aim away from her. One of the double doors stood open behind him.

Where's a priest when you need one?
Carmen thought.
It must be time for confession
. She drew in a deep breath and shook her head. Tió was scaring her. His left eye was swollen and bruised, there was a jagged scratch on the opposite side of his face, and he had a fresh tear in his shirt. It looked like he had run through a wall of thickets. “Where's Eddie, Tió?”

“Out lookin' for you. Same as me.”

“You're lying, I can tell.”

“You don't know anything.”

“You killed that man.”

“I don't know if he's dead or not.”

“You shot him. You said he was dead.”

“He was hurtin' Eddie. You would've shot him, too.”

“Maybe.” Carmen's arm was getting tired. The vigil candles flickered from the breeze pushing in the open door, the light glinting off the letter opener. It still smelled inside the church, even with new air. She didn't know how to escape. There had to be another way out, behind Jesus. The nave was small and there was no attached rectory like the bigger churches in town.

“Put it down,” Tió said again.

In the shadows it was almost impossible to tell Tió from Eddie—until he talked, then there was no question it
was
Tió, that it was the damaged twin standing before her.

The only thing she had other than the letter opener was being a girl, just like with that
cerdo
at the motel. She could close her eyes and pretend Tió was Eddie, let him touch her. But not here. She had to get out of the church.

Carmen lowered the weapon, let her arm fall gently to her side. “Okay,” she said, softening the edges of her tone. She looked Tió in the eyes and held his gaze. His eyes were different than Eddie's. Hard, impenetrable, a dark fortress with secrets buried in the dungeon. It was hard to tell what he was thinking, whether it would be possible to distract him with the offer she was about to make him. All she wanted to do was stay alive. Dying scared her.

She let go of the letter opener. It bounced on the terra cotta tile floor, metal against hard-fired red clay. The sound echoed into the rafters. A pigeon fluttered, announcing its existence, alerting Carmen that there were other creatures like her, seeking refuge in the Sisters of Mercy church.