Motel. Pool. (26 page)

Tag didn’t know exactly where Jasper was. He drove into the darkness, looking carefully for any clue. When he came to a sign that said simply EXIT, he turned off the highway onto bumpy old asphalt.

And there they were—the remains of the service station, café, and a few small houses, all looking forlorn. And the big sign reading MOTEL. POOL. next to an empty gravel and dirt lot.

He parked the Camry on the old highway, got out, and put on his jacket. His footsteps crunched softly as he crossed the grounds of the old motel. There was no way to know exactly where the swimming pool had been; unlike at the Baja, not even its outline remained. Tag picked a likely spot near the center of the space and stood for several minutes, listening to the insect chorus of the desert night.

Earlier that day he’d wandered into a gift shop at the canyon and found a packet of desert wildflower seeds for sale. Now he opened the little paper pouch and sprinkled the seeds across the ground. He followed by lightly dampening them with water from a bottle. He had no idea whether anything would grow from his efforts. He’d never planted anything before. But it was worth a try. If even one little seedling took root, that would be something. A tiny spark of life. He was optimistic that something would grow.

He hadn’t sensed Jack’s presence when Jack was actually haunting the place, and he certainly didn’t sense him now. But it was still nice to be in the location where Jack had spent so many years, knowing Jack must have long ago memorized the scenery here.

“I miss you,” Tag whispered.

The walk back to his car seemed long and lonely.

Although he’d been longing for a hot shower and a real bed—not to mention a decent meal—and although the hour was still early, exhaustion fell on his shoulders like a lead cape. He crawled back into the driver’s seat, covered himself with the blanket, and curled up as well as he could. He fell asleep almost immediately. A dream of waterfalls in lush jungles woke him up before dawn with an urgently full bladder. He climbed out of the car and stretched and peed, but didn’t feel in any particular hurry to hit the road.

He was leaning against the driver’s side door and watching the stars dim when headlights appeared down the road. Soon he could hear the rumble of a big engine. He wasn’t at all surprised when a police car straight out of an old movie pulled up behind him. The cruiser’s motor stopped and the trooper got out. He slammed the door before stepping over to Tag.

“Mr. Manning! You look much better rested this time.”

“I just woke up. Could use some coffee, though.” Tag stuck his hand out. “Sorry, Officer. I didn’t catch your name last time.”

They shook, and the cop tipped his hat slightly for good measure. “Officer Mike Broderick at your service.”

“It’s a pleasure.”

Broderick had wonderfully deep laugh lines at the outer corners of his eyes. “Pleasure’s all mine, Mr. Manning.” He gestured widely with his arm. “Beautiful morning, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

Nodding happily, Broderick pulled cigarettes and a lighter from his coat pocket. When he lit one, Tag saw it was unfiltered. “Those things’ll kill ya,” Tag said.

Broderick winked.

It was nice to stand quietly with someone for a while, snug from the morning chill in a favorite jacket, listening to the desert wake up. There was more life out here than Tag had realized, both in quantity and variety. Even a jumbo-sized box of crayons wouldn’t be enough for the colors of the sky and the earth and the plants.

“This is a nice spot,” Tag said as Broderick lit his second cigarette. “It’s too bad hardly anyone comes here anymore.”

“Some places are kinda special, you know? I used to stop here almost every day for french toast at the Bluebird Café and a tankful of gas at Bob’s. An oasis. It was the kind of place that, if a fella was feeling a little turned around, he maybe could stay for a while till he got his bearings.” He scuffed a boot toe on the cracked pavement and looked unhappy. “I’m afraid that didn’t always work out so well, though.”

Tag blinked at him. “Did you—”

Broderick looked up at him and didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. Tag rubbed at his mouth with the palm of his hand. He didn’t know why he still insisted on feeling surprised over the weirdness in his life. He should have been over that long ago.

“He was still just a kid,” Tag said. “And he was screwed up and lonely and… and lost. I think he needed more than a temporary oasis. Anyway, he said he was glad how things turned out. Because this way we had a few days together.” He smiled. “They were a good few days.”

Looking relieved, Broderick smiled back. He stubbed the cigarette under his heel and walked in front of Tag’s car to look at the lot where the motel once stood. Tag moved beside him.

“I planted some flower seeds here last night. Do you think they’ll grow?”

“I figure they will. Place isn’t dead yet. Still has a little magic.”

Tag could believe that. Under the long rays of the morning sun, this place in the desert looked almost ethereal. Something from a painting of another world. He wouldn’t have been shocked if a flock of fairies had fluttered by or if a sleepy dragon had peeked over the hilltop.

“We have a mutual acquaintance,” Tag said. “Big biker dude named Buddy. I know he’d want me to tell you thanks on his behalf.”

Broderick looked delighted. “How did things work out for our friend?”

“Well. He found true love in Chicago. I think he’s really happy.”

Broderick’s boot traced small arcs in the dirt at the edge of the road. “You know, I’ve been on the job for a real long time. I love my job. Wanted to be a police officer about since I could walk. I had a tin star when I was a boy. I used to pin it on my shirt and spend all day as Sheriff Mike, rounding up cattle rustlers and desperadoes. I signed up for the Army straight out of high school and spent the war as an MP. And when I got back home, well, I joined the Highway Patrol.” He looked sideways at Tag. “I was always at my happiest cruising down the highway. Helping people stay safe. Making sure their journeys went well.”

He was silent for several minutes after that, but Tag didn’t say anything. He had the impression that Broderick wasn’t usually a voluble man. Tag wanted to give him space to have his say.

“What do you do for a living, Mr. Manning?”

“I’m between jobs right now.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“I don’t know. Haven’t decided what I want to be when I grow up.”

Broderick nodded and adjusted his hat. “I’ve been thinking about… retiring. Still love the job, but I reckon it’s time to move on. Worries me some, though, thinking of travelers who might need a hand now and then.”

“Isn’t there, um, somebody else?”

“Sure.” Broderick flashed him a smile. “There’s quite a few of us on the force. But the world’s a big place and we’re spread mighty thin.”

Two large birds flew over their heads and landed atop the motel sign. They ignored the men, focusing instead on the brush nearby.

Broderick pointed. “Those are Harris hawks.”

The extent of Tag’s ornithological knowledge was robins, cardinals, and crows. “Handsome birds.”

“They’re used in falconry. They’re just about the only raptors that hunt in pairs or groups. Like wolves. I had a friend once who told me he saw one with a missing foot. It couldn’t hunt, but it took care of the youngsters while the others were out, and so it still got fed.”

“Oh. Well, that’s nice.” Tag hadn’t been aware there were bird babysitters.

“Mm-hmm.” The birds flew away. After several moments of squinting up at the sky, Broderick turned to Tag. “Mr. Manning, what would you think about the idea of taking over for me?”

Tag gaped. “Me?”

“Sure. I bet you’d be good at it.”

“But I’m not—”

“Oh, I know. That doesn’t necessarily disqualify you. You could manage… as long as you had the right partner.”

Tag’s heart began to race.

Broderick walked a few steps forward onto the gravel lot, then turned around to face Tag. “What do you think, Mr. Manning? Are you up for the job?”

“I… I don’t know how….”

“Neither did I, at first. You’re a good man. If you go with your gut, you’ll do just fine.” He smiled broadly and spread his hands. “What do you think?”

Tag
thought
this was ridiculous. He wasn’t the type to do something like this. He wasn’t a hero. He was a fuckup, a loser, a nothing. Except… except Jack was really special, and Jack believed in him. Loved him. So that had to mean there was
something
good about Tag. A seed of worthiness. Jack had urged him to trust himself. It was time to give that advice a try.

“But h-how can you…?” Tag stuttered. “Jack….”

“I can pull a few strings, son.”

Strings. That sounded easy enough. “All right,” said Tag.

Broderick beamed like the sun. “That’s what I wanted to hear. Good man!” He backed away from Tag for several yards, taking off his hat and coat as he went and throwing them aside. He took off his brown uniform shirt and white undershirt, bent to pull off his boots and socks, unbuckled his belt, and tugged down his trousers and boxers. He stood with his legs slightly spread and his arms raised high. He was beautiful.

As Tag watched, openmouthed and frozen in place, Broderick began to glow. He was just as Buddy had described—so bright Tag had to squint. And then he was even brighter than that, a beacon of light that rivaled the sun. He was like the tower in the middle of the solar farm, collecting every photon of energy around him and concentrating it into one tremendous beam.

Tag had to look away.

When Tag dared to glance back, Broderick was gone. But a mirage had replaced him—a mirage of a slightly dumpy two-story motel. It was U-shaped, with a pool in the middle. The old sign was still at the edge of the property, but now the paint looked bright and shiny and the neon glowed.

With his heart beating so hard and so fast he worried about keeling over, Tag slowly walked across the parking lot onto the concrete deck of the pool. The water was opaque, but he stood at the edge, looking down. And when a hand surfaced—just a single hand—Tag bent, grasped it, and pulled.

Jack Dayton came out of the water naked and shivering. The hair he usually styled so carefully was plastered to his head. His eyes were so wide, Tag could see the whites all the way around the blue irises. But when Tag dragged him completely out of the pool and enveloped him in a close embrace, Jack held him just as tightly. The water soaked through Tag’s jacket. Even through layers of denim and cotton, he felt Jack’s heart beating as wildly as his own.

“You smell good,” Jack whispered.

2015

T
AG
LAUGHED
as he watched Jack stuff a second meat-filled pastry into his mouth. “You realize you’re going to need at least two hours in the gym to work that off, don’t you, Jacky?”

“I don’t care.” Jack slurped cola through his straw. “I haven’t had a Runza in sixty years. I might even eat another.”

“You go right ahead and do that, babe.”

Jack lifted an eyebrow. “Will you still love me if I’m fat?”

“Fat, bald, toothless… doesn’t matter. I’d still love you.”

“Bald?” Jack patted his head in alarm. He’d been delighted with the modern array of hair products. Tag was willing to bet that half their luggage consisted of bottles and jars of gel and other goop. On the other hand, Jack refused to allow Tag to do anything to his own hair except comb it. Almost every morning, Tag woke up to discover Jack gently running his fingers through Tag’s curls. It was a very nice way to wake up, and what often came next was even better.

Seemingly assured that his hair was intact, Jack took another bite. He wore blue jeans, a white tee, and a leather motorcycle jacket—very much the same outfit he used to wear before he died. He still looked movie-star handsome, even when his mouth was full.

Tag leaned back in the booth and settled his hands on the manila envelope. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Rick’s brother did us a big favor digging up this information.”

Rick’s brother had been a lot of help, actually. He’d also managed to get Jack a driver’s license and Social Security card so he could create a twenty-first-century existence for himself. “I know. But that doesn’t mean we have to use it.”

Jack wiped his mouth with a paper napkin, then crumpled the napkin and set it atop the empty sandwich wrapper. “This isn’t a big deal, Tag. We’ve faced scarier things than this. Like that group of haunts we ran into a couple months ago.”

Those had been very angry ghosts—a half-dozen spirits of young men who’d died in a gang war. They’d whirled and swooped around Jack and Tag in an old factory, overturning shelving units and causing a large light fixture to crash to the floor. Tag had become furious in return. Now that Jack was alive and well, the last thing Tag wanted was to lose him again. But Tag had managed to keep hold of his temper, and Jack had kept calm and unreasonably reasonable. They’d talked the ghosts down and even helped a couple of them move on.

Tag wasn’t scared about their upcoming task—he was worried. Jack might be pretending nonchalance, but he wasn’t a good enough actor to mask his anxiety. He’d even been having nightmares about it, waking up in the middle of the night to clutch Tag close.