A Thousand Falling Crows (29 page)

“Are you sure?”

“Of course.” She walked up to him and straightened his shirt at the shoulders. A big smile flashed across Betty Maxwell's face. “You look fine. Just fine,” she said, as she headed for the door, preparing to leave; her job finished.

“I was out at your house a little bit ago,” Sonny said, still standing.

Betty had her hand on the knob but let it fall away. She tensed up, then turned around. “Leo's not in any trouble, is he?”

“Not that I know of,” Sonny said. “He was decent enough to let me use the phone.”

Betty exhaled, relaxed a little bit, though she stared at Sonny curiously, obviously trying to figure out what the problem was. “He can be a handful, sometimes.”

“There's nothing to worry about.”

“Okay, then why bring it up?”

“Just figured I ought to tell you.”

“What'd you need the phone for?”

“Sheriff needed me to make a call.”

“Where to?”

“Rather not say. Not my place to spread news before it gets out.”

Betty Maxwell walked up to Sonny and stopped about a foot in front of him. “You're bein' awful coy, Mr. Burton. I know things about half the people in this town that nobody else knows just by the benefit of where I sit and the job I do. Privacy is part of my job. It's not an expectation; it's a demand. Do you understand?”

“I do, ma'am. It's just that it was for police business, so I‘d best not say much more. You'll be able to piece things together come tomorrow,” Sonny said. He was eyeing her as intently as she was him. It was easy to tell that he had upset her, and he felt bad about doing that, but there was something in him that he couldn't stop—the curious investigator, the Texas Ranger, all focused on that poor dead girl laying out in the field.

“I‘ll read the paper tomorrow, then.” Betty turned away again.

“I guess I was expecting to see a child at your house,” Sonny said. He felt bad as soon as he said it.

She stopped and spun around. “I only have one child, thank you very much, Mr. Burton. And I don't see what business it is of yours.” Tears suddenly welled up in Betty Maxwell's eyes, and the room felt like the inside of an oven.

The bad feeling got worse, like Sonny had just made a horrible mistake. He was embarrassed, ashamed. He pushed by her, hardly able to breath. “I‘m sorry,” he said. “I don't know what I was thinking. I should go.”

Betty Maxwell didn't say a word. She just let him pass by—but Sonny heard her break into a sob as he hurried out the front door. The depth of her cries echoed behind him like those of a grieving mother of a dead soldier, standing over her son's grave for the last time. Sonny had been to too many of those kind of funerals. He knew that kind of pain when he heard it.

CHAPTER 27

Silence sat between Carmen and Tió like a giant boulder fallen squarely in the middle of the hunter's shack. They could hardly look at each other. Soft candlelight lit the inside of the shack, exposing floating dust that looked like the sparkle had fallen off an old flapper's skirt—small pinpoint diamonds of no value that hung suspended in the air like prom decorations. Beauty and tenderness had been replaced by fear and guilt.

The bread was gone, and only a swig of Dr. Pepper remained in the bottom of the bottle. Tió had offered it to Carmen, but she'd refused.

There was no sign of Eddie. It was like he had vanished, ran off, and left them there without the intention of returning. Each new sound outside the shack caused Carmen to jump with anticipation. She knew he would come back. He had to. He just had to.

Tió, who had been sitting on his bunk, finally stood up. “We need water.”

“The lake's too far away. You're not up to it.” The blood had dried on his shirt. It looked like a big brown spot, like Tió had rolled in a deep puddle of mud and just left it there on the shirt that had come from the donation bin at St Michael's.

“It only hurts a little,” he said.

“I don't want to be here alone.”

“We need water.” Tió was a little more stern. “I have the gun. I can kill a rabbit.”

“Have you ever killed a rabbit?”

“Just chickens. We were hungry. Like now. We are hungry. We shouldn't have left Mercury behind.”

“But you didn't like killing the chicken,” Carmen said. It wasn't a question.

Tió shook his head, then made his way to the door. It was open so the air could pass through the shack, offering whatever comfort it chose to bring. “I won't go too far. If there's a lake, there's a stream somewhere close. We need water.”

“If it's not dried up.”

Tió stared at Carmen for a long second, like he wanted to say goodbye or remember how she looked. Even with his bloody, torn shirt and the dirt that had collected on his skin, he still looked innocent to Carmen, like a little boy trying to do the best he could without having all of the moving parts. God, she thought, what had I been thinking?

The words were obviously lost in Tió's mind, and he walked away silently, disappearing into the night as easily as he had slipped into her bed.

The loneliness of the shack was almost immediate. Carmen fell back on the tiny bed, pulled the sheet up and hugged it tight, like it was another human being or a teddy bear like the one her father had won at the carnival and given to her proudly. That was a long time ago.

Hugging the sheet gave her no comfort. Tears came to her eyes, and she let them fall, did nothing to restrain them. Or the sobs that soon followed. She cried heartily. Cried until she fell back to sleep, back to the land of dark nothingness where she longed to stay—safe from the realities of the world and the two boys who orbited around her.

Heavy footsteps on the plank floor startled Carmen awake. She opened her eyes, blurred by sleep. In the light from the still-burning candle, it only took her a second to realize that it was Eddie. His near-perfect boots, blue work pants, and St. Christopher medal that dangled from his neck made him unmistakable, hard to confuse with Tió. There was no way she could do that now.

Carmen sat straight up in the bed, tossing the sheet to the side—the smell of her and Tió's tryst along with it. “Where have you been?” It wasn't a demand or anger but concern. At least, that's what she wanted Eddie to hear—sweetness and concern.

“It took longer than I thought,” Eddie said. He had an open box tucked under his right arm. It was full of food—a loaf of bread, a bottle of milk, and some canned goods that Carmen could see. “There were cops everywhere. I had to hide until the middle of the night, then try and sneak back here without bein' seen.” He sat the box down next to the bed, then leaned in and kissed Carmen. She kissed back, but not as hungrily as he obviously expected her to. Eddie pulled away instantly, an odd look crossing his face as he stood up straight.

“I was worried about you,” Carmen said.

“You're sure?”

Carmen nodded.

“Where's Tió?” Eddie asked, looking around, his eyes stopping on Tió's unmade bunk.

Carmen didn't answer. She didn't have to.

“I‘m right here,” Tió said from behind Eddie, standing on the door stoop just outside the shack. He had a Dr. Pepper bottle full of water in his left hand. His right hand dangled free.

Eddie strode over to Tió and tapped the toe of his boot against Tió's. “I told you not to leave her.”

“I went after water, Eddie. We didn't know if you was comin' back. I was scared and thirsty. There weren't no rabbits, Carmen.”

Eddie drew back. “Carmen? You call her Carmen now?”

“It's her name, Eddie.”

“You have never acknowledged her presence, Tió. You wouldn't call her anything. You didn't want her here.” Eddie spun around to face Carmen. “What'd you do to him?”

She didn't answer.

Eddie lunged toward the bed, reached out to grab Carmen's foot, but she scurried back out of his reach, cowering in the corner like a trapped animal.

“Nothing. I didn't do nothing, Eddie. I swear. I swear to God,” Carmen said.

Eddie stood up at the end of the bed and kicked the box of food, sending it crashing into the wall. It tipped sideways. Cans rolled across the uneven floor and the lid pushed off the milk, spilling it like a faucet of white water had been fully opened.

“You're a liar, Carmen. A goddamned liar. I always knew you were nothin' but a little whore.”

Carmen pushed herself into the corner, burying her head in her arms. She couldn't see Eddie or Tió. “I want to go home,” she whimpered. “I just want to go home.”

Eddie crawled up on the bed, enraged like a tiger on the attack. “Look at me, you little bitch. Look at me and swear to God you didn't do nothin' to him.” He pulled her arms apart, and Carmen screamed. Screamed so loud it hurt her own eardrums.

But Eddie didn't relent. “Tell me!” he screamed. “Tell me what you did!”

Carmen couldn't answer. Tears poured out of her eyes, and she was hyperventilating, couldn't catch her breath. Her lungs burned like they were on fire, and her nose was clogged. She thought she was going to suffocate. She couldn't tell him what had happened. She just couldn't.

When no answer came, Eddie slapped her, slapped her as hard as he could.

At first, it stung, like he had electrocuted her with the tips of his fingers. Then her head hit the wall and the pain came, followed by teetering wooziness. Her stomach lurched, and, since it only had bread and Dr. Pepper in it, the puke was minimal, almost like a dry heave.

“What did you do!” Eddie screamed again. A shadow crossed her face, like he was reloading, pulling his hand back to hit her again.

But the strike never came.

A gunshot echoed inside the tiny room.

Carmen blinked her eyes open, could taste the gunpowder. Tió was just inside the door, with the gun that Eddie had given to him before he'd left pointed at the ceiling. The Dr. Pepper bottle was on the floor, water draining, mixing with the milk.

Eddie stood over Carmen on his knees, arm cocked back, frozen like he was posing for a statue. “Put the gun down, Tió,” Eddie said, lowering his voice so he was calm. But it was also an order, a command that Carmen had heard Eddie use a hundred times.

Tió shook his head. “You shouldn't hit girls, Eddie. Momma always said that. You know why.”

“I know why. Poppa hit her and she didn't like it.” He slung his leg off the bed.

“Don't,” Tió said. “Put up your other hand, Eddie. This is a stick-up.”

Eddie glared at Tió and finally did what he was told when Tió dropped the gun from the ceiling, pointed it straight at him, and nudged the barrel upward.

“Did you steal my girl, Tió?” Eddie said.

“Didn't steal nothin', Eddie. She was nice to me.”

“I bet she was.”

“Don't be mean, Eddie. I don't like it when you're mean.” Tió stepped toward Eddie. “Keep your hands up. I‘m not as stupid as you think I am.”

Carmen wiped her eyes clear with the back of her hand, then wiped off her face with the sleeve of her dress. She could hardly believe what she was seeing; Tió standing up to Eddie. He never had before. Never.

The small, single-room shack suddenly felt hotter. All Carmen wanted to do was run, run as far away as she could. But she was trapped. Eddie and Tió blocked her way out.

Tió stopped a foot in front of Eddie and raised the gun to his brother's head. “How's it feel now, Eddie? You think you should have shot me a long time ago? Put me out of your misery?”

“I was mad, Tió. I didn't mean it when I said those things. Come on,
me'jo
. I am your brother, what are you thinking? We're a team, me and you. The Clever, Clever boys, that's us.” There was an unmistakable tremor in Eddie's voice.

“You're the clever one. It should have been Clever and Stupid. It was always like that.”

Eddie didn't answer straight away. “I didn't mean it,” Eddie whispered. A third fluid mixed with the other two. Fear had propelled Eddie to lose control of his bladder.

“Just like you didn't mean to hit Carmen?”

Tió pressed the gun against Eddie's temple, then leaned in and said, “You're not so tough now, are you, Eddie?” He pulled the hammer back. The click of it sounded like dynamite had gone off in the small room.

Carmen shook, tried to scream at Tió, tell him not to shoot.
Stop
. But the words were stuck in her throat. She couldn't speak. By the time the one word—“Stop!”—came out, it was too late.

Tió pulled the trigger.

CHAPTER 28

Night covered the world in a welcome blanket of darkness. Relief from the brightness of the sun was one thing, but the arrival of coolness was completely another.

Sonny slept with the window open. A soft breeze fluttered the curtains, a mix of the oscillating fan and the air from the outside, all making it comfortable in the bedroom.