A Thousand Falling Crows (24 page)

Sonny stared at Jesse as the wind whipped up around and in between them. The ferocity of the gusts had steadied out into a constant blow. Rocks kept the sheet from blowing away, cornered and put in the middle for stability. Only the girl's feet stuck outside of it. One foot had a shoe on it, sensible and scuffed, while the other was bare. The sole of her foot looked tender, stark white against the dirt and dead grass, like she had never gone barefoot a day in her short life.

Sonny shuddered and wondered where the other shoe was, then turned his back to the wind to keep from being pelted by the bits of sand. It was a lesson that he'd learned from horses and cows a long time ago. “Hugh Beaverwood's on his way, Jonesy.”

Jonesy looked up and nodded. “That'd be fine. I figure by the time he gets here, she'll be stiff as a board.”

Jesse glared at the sheriff, then looked away once he got the same look back.

“If it wasn't a rock, what was it?” Sonny asked Jesse.

“Just ran into a little trouble out by the state line, that's all. Can't really say more than that.”

Jonesy wandered away and started to look for a new piece of grass to chew on. It hadn't been that long ago that the sheriff was fond of chewing on a cigar. Sonny couldn't remember a time when one of the half-smoked stogies wasn't angled out of the corner of the sheriff's mouth. But one day it wasn't there, and it hadn't been since. When Sonny had asked about it, Jonesy had said, “Had to give that up.” And that was it. No more commentary other than that. The tone of the answer shooed Sonny off quicker than being told he was trespassing on land that wasn't hospitable.

Sonny squared his shoulders. “Looks like a bullet hole to me.”

“I‘d say you ought to know one when you see one.”

There was a temptation bouncing in Sonny's mind to reach out and twist Jesse's ear as hard he could and cause the boy to crumble to the ground on his knees. Jesse'd always been a willful child and that was fine, Sonny could respect a man with an independent streak. But what he couldn't respect—and wouldn't tolerate—was a man who showed him no respect. Especially when that man was his one and only son.

The small pellets of sand and dirt that were being shotgunned out of the southwest finally convinced Jesse to turn his back to the wind so he was standing shoulder-to-shoulder next to Sonny.

“You going to tell me what your problem is?” Sonny eyed Jonesy, who was still within earshot.

Jesse looked into Sonny's eyes harshly and didn't say a word.

There were times when Sonny had completely forgotten what Martha looked like, how she had acted, how angry she was all her life, until he had the opportunity to look into Jesse's eyes. The boy had inherited a lot from his mother. More than her eyes, which Sonny found to be a damn shame.

“You've done what the sheriff asked you to,” Jesse finally said.

Sonny didn't flinch. He grunted, “Um,” and didn't blink, either. “You haven't seen Frank Hamer around these parts, have you?”

“Why would I?”

“Just asking.”

“Last I heard he was in Dallas.”

“Word of him comes around the office, you'll let me know?”

“Yes, sir, I‘ll be sure to do that.”

Sonny studied Jesse's face and tense body language and knew right away that his son was lying to him. “All right, Blue, I suppose it's best to get you and Aldo home. There's a storm brewing, and I don't want to be caught out in it. Jonesy,” he called out, “You know where I‘ll be if you need anything.”

“Sure enough, Sonny. Thanks for callin' Hugh for me,” the sheriff said, as he bit down on a short stalk of perfect grass, a dead seed head dangling at the end of it.

“You, too, as far as that goes,” Sonny said to Jesse. “I‘ll be around if you need anything.”

Jesse offered a grunt back, mocking Sonny's earlier response without offering anything else.

A sudden thrust of energy pulsed through Sonny's body, and, for a brief instant, he felt the tips of his right fingers. It was like he was clenching his hand into a fist but when he looked down there was nothing there. Phantom pains. Only now, he really wished his fist was there. Or at least, the back of his hand.

Instead of offering anything more, Sonny ignored the impulse and walked away. He headed directly into the wind, his head down so his eyes were safe from blowing dust. Blue followed along the best he could.

It didn't take long to reach the truck. “Get in the cab,” he said to Aldo. “You don't need to be out in this crap any more than I do.”

“
Sí
.” Aldo eased himself out of the bed of the truck and into the truck like he had been instructed. A person would have had to have been deaf to mistake the tone or offer an argument to Sonny of any kind.

The wind whistled and cut along the ground with a growing intensity. Sonny's pant legs flapped harder, and the sand and dust felt like insects stinging through the fabric. He opened the door, scooped up Blue, and helped him up to the seat as best he could. The dog hustled over and sat down next to Aldo without an ounce of hesitation.

“Let's get out of here,” Sonny said, as he watched the sheet fly off the dead girl's body. It blew up into the air like it was a soul departing for heaven.

“This dust storm looks like it's going to get a lot worse before it gets any better,” Sonny said, as he went through the motions of starting the truck.

They drove without speaking for a long time. Blue sat comfortably between Sonny and Aldo, staring straight ahead, turning his attention to them every once in a while, but mostly just content to be in the truck.

The wind had not subsided, nor had the dust storm that it had created. It was like driving inside a brown cloud. Sonny had his headlights on and could only see about a car length ahead of him. He drove very slowly.

“Your son looks like he is uncomfortable,” Aldo finally said.

Sonny shrugged without taking his eyes off of the road. “He's just trying to do his job. I understand. Me and Jonesy go back a long way. Jesse is just trying to stake out his claim. I get it. My time is past.”

“It is something we must all face.”

Sonny looked over to Aldo. “Regret's a heavy burden to bear.”

“
Sí
, it is. I‘ve made plenty of mistakes with my
niños
.” Aldo looked away, out the window, then back quickly. “I have a confession to make,
señor
.”

Sonny focused his eyes on the road ahead even more than he already was. They were getting close to Aldo's house, and the Mexican knew that. There was no letup in the storm. The dust swirled around them like it was plentiful, here to stay, never leaving. There had been storms like this before, but not as long in duration. They were getting worse, lasting longer in Texas and Oklahoma, offering more misery than was necessary. He had nothing to offer Aldo. No forgiveness, no absolution, nothing. He had no power of any kind. If that was not evident to Aldo by now, then there was nothing Sonny could do to enlighten him.

“I have done some bad things in my life,
señor
. Things against the law. Man's law
and
God's law.”

“We have all made mistakes, Aldo.”

“No mistakes. I ran gin for a lot of years.”

“But those days are over.”

“
Sí
, they are. But there will be other ways to sell under the law. The Clever, Clever boys, they are runners, too. They will have to find another way to make a living now that Prohibition has ended. They are desperate.”

“They've taken to armed robbery. The change has already come.”

“A very bad thing. Especially since my Carmen is with them.”

“If she is there because she wants to be, Aldo, it will be a problem. You know that, right?” Sonny looked as far ahead as he could and downshifted the truck. He had to nudge Blue out of the way. He turned slowly onto Aldo's road and missed the shift. The gears ground loudly, and the gearshift jumped away from Sonny's left hand. “Goddamn, it,” he said, wrestling the handle back in place, while trying to orchestrate his foot on the clutch at the same time. It took a second or two, but the gear slipped into place, and the truck lurched forward to the third house on the road.

“I know,
señor
. It is because of me that Carmen is with them. She stole my recipe for gin and gave it to Eddie, the oldest.
Ella está enamorada
. She is in love. It was her way of showing me up, of getting even.”

“And you forbade her from seeing him?”

Aldo nodded yes and held his head down. “I wanted to keep her away from him. I was very much like him when I was young. She could do better, my Carmen. Better than that
pandillero
and his half-wit brother.”

“I don't have a good feeling about this, Aldo; I have to be honest.” Sonny brought the truck to a stop in front of Aldo's and let the engine idle.

Just as suddenly as the dust storm appeared, it ended. The wall of brown dirt passed by, and the wind died down, like it had run out of energy, just plain tuckered itself out. There was dirt and sand everywhere—on the floorboard, in the seat, on the dash, even in Blue's ears. But the sight of everything had come back, and the sun shone again, beating down on the earth with the same ferocity as before the storm had come on. The sun looked like it was determined to burn up everything it touched—or crash into it, if it could break away from whatever was holding it back.

“I‘ll call around and see if I can't get ahold of Frank Hamer. My son's not going to be any help with that at all.”

“You do not think it is too late?”

Sonny exhaled deeply, then looked at the floor between his knees. “Those boys have to pay for killing Tom Turnell, and your daughter might have punishment coming for her part in it, you know that. But there's a family out there, Aldo, that doesn't know their girl is dead. All they know, I imagine, is that she is missing, and they want nothing more than for her to return. When she does return, it will be in a pine box, and that will have to be enough. They will consider their regrets, just like you have,” he paused, then looked directly into Aldo's eyes. “We'll bring your
chica
back home, Aldo. One way or another, we'll bring her back home. I promise you.”

CHAPTER 23

The crows had gathered at the base of a dead sycamore tree. The wind-torn bark looked like white skin that had been violently peeled off the tree in spots, exposing dark brown bits of bone. Like a lot of things in this part of the world, the tree had most likely died of thirst, brought on by the unrelenting drought. The crows, on the other hand, weren't worried about finding drinking water. There was plenty of moisture to be found inside the carcass of a fresh kill or something that had died from natural causes. The birds were mostly worried about surviving the dust storm. Stray grains to the eye could permanently blind them, making it more difficult to hunt, to see danger coming their way. One-eyed crows never lived long.

As it was, they were all huddled together, a black apron of death around the trunk of the sycamore, waiting for the wind to subside. They were afraid. Being on the ground with their heads tucked down made them vulnerable. Coyotes, or a man, could sneak up on them unseen, unheard in the thrusts and groans of the wind. It would be too late for them to take to the air. They felt safe in the sky, nervous on the ground.

Fear was as unnatural to the crows as a white feather among all the black. They would do anything to get rid of it. Even kill one of their own, if it came right down to it, if it meant surviving another day. But for now, they had no choice. No choice but to wait and hope nothing came along with the intention of killing them, eating them, using their feathers to down a nest.

Carmen raced up the trail, hoping that her childhood memory was accurate, that there was a hunter's shack just over the rise. She couldn't be sure, since most of the markers she thought she could rely on were gone, but the high, rounded rock at the top of the trail looked vaguely familiar.