No offence Intended - Barbara Seranella (28 page)

"I'll show you in a bit," Deb promised,
sliding her rifle into the gun rack behind the bench seat.

They drove south. Signs on the road indicated that
they were heading for Grants Pass.

"Where are we going?" Munch asked.

"Just a mite farther."

They drove for twenty minutes, then turned off the
paved highway

"Now I'll show you some country" Deb said,
grabbing her rifle as she got out of the truck. Munch slid out on her
side.

They set off through the forest. Deb carried the
rifle slung casually across her back; the webbed sling crossed her
chest. Munch trailed behind, negotiating around thick brambles of
blackberry bushes. With each step, the soft, wet blanket of pine
needles underfoot released a fresh scent. The cold invigorated her.
She decided that if she lived up here, she would quit smoking. It
would be too much of a sacrilege to fill her lungs with anything but
this clean fresh air. "I see why you like it here," she
said.

They hiked down a narrow path through the dense
forest. Deb pointed out black deer droppings. Ferns curled out from
the hillside. The path led to a waterfall that fed a pond large
enough to swim in. She scrambled after Deb down the large boulders
that surrounded and trapped the water. Numerous paw and hoofprints
were embedded in the surrounding mud.

"Taste some of that," Deb said when they'd
reached the water's edge.

Munch crouched and cupped some of the cold water in
her hand. It was surprisingly sweet. "We've got the world to
ourselves here, don't we?" she said, looking around at the
uninterrupted vista of forest and sky "This is God's country"

"Plenty of room for you," Deb said. "What's
keeping you in Los Angeles?"

She had to think a minute before she answered. What
was keeping her there? "Well, for one, I'm still on probation.
I've also got a pretty good job."

"You could get a job up here," Deb said.
"They're always hiring at the logging camps if you're willing to
work. Especially you, once you tell them you're a mechanic. Can't you
get your probation transferred?"

"I don't know if they'll do that to another
state and all. I've also got these meetings that I go to."

"Do you have to go to them?"

"Yes and no. Listen, Deb, there's another reason
I came up here," Munch said.

"Shhh," Deb cautioned. "Did you hear
that?" She slipped the rifle off her back.

Munch listened, but all she heard was the water
tumbling over the rocks. "What?"

A deer broke free from the bushes and looked their
way He was a buck. Twin-forked spikes of antlers sprang from his
head. His eyes were large, brown, and unblinking.

Deb took aim.

Munch yelled "Shoo!" The deer bolted,
bounding gracefully on his thin legs.

Deb fired twice. The first shot threw the deer's head
back, the second tore his throat out. He crumpled to the ground.

"Why'd you have to do that?" Munch asked.

"You always want to avoid a body hit," Deb
said, misreading Munch's question. "It can ruin the meat. I've
seen where the bullet nicked the intestines and dumped shit all
through the stomach." She took off towards her kill. Munch
followed reluctantly

"Now what?" she asked when they reached the
animal. His eyes were still open. Blood from his throat wound soaked
the ground.

"This is good," Deb said.

"Why is that?"

"When you dress the carcass, one of the first
things you do is cut the jugular and let the animal bleed out."

"What's the other first thing?" Munch
asked.

"You slice open the belly and roll out the guts.
To preserve the meat, you got to get it cooled down as quickly as
possible."

She looked at the fallen animal. It had to weigh at
least eighty to a hundred pounds. "How are we going to get it to
the truck?" she asked, not relishing the idea of dealing with
the dead animal.

"We'll bind its legs together and pole—carry
it. C'mon, where's your imagination?"

While Deb tied together the deers hooves with some
twine she had in the truck, Munch found a branch long enough and
strong enough to support the animals weight. Together they
half-dragged and half carried the dead animal up to the road and
slung it into the back of the pickup truck.

Deb started the motor.

"Now where?" Munch asked.

"Same place we're going tonight—for the party
"

"What party?"

"It's Friday night"

"Of course." Like one day is different than
another; Munch thought. It wasn't like Deb worked a straight job or
anything.

"And Tux is coming home," Deb added.

"So where is this party?"

"At the clubhouse."

"I don't want to go to a Gypsy Joker clubhouse,"
Munch said. An unescorted female visiting a bikers stronghold was
ill-advised. She should know.

"You don't have to worry" Deb assured her
"They know who my ol' man is and they respect him. You'll be
safe."

"But right now we're just dropping off Bambi,
right?"

"Well, there is one other thing I promised Tux
I'd do before he got back," Deb said. "Besides, I thought
you were so hot to get your hands on Asia."

"I am," Munch said.

"So quit your bitching."

The clubhouse was closer to Grants Pass than
Canyonville, Munch soon learned, and would require an additional
twenty-minute drive. Deb shoved a Leon Russell cartridge into the
eight-track and cranked the volume up full bore. Fifteen minutes
later, they turned off the paved highway and headed up a narrow,
deeply rutted dirt road.

"Is it much farther?" Munch yelled over the
music. "I've got to pee."

Deb pulled over. "Go ahead. I need to stop here
anyway"

"Check out this boulder," Munch said as
they both got out. "Doesn't it look like a big old turtle?"

"I guess so." Deb reached for one of the
boxes in the back of the truck. "Give me a hand."
 
Munch grabbed one of the wooden crates and together they shimmied
down the embankment. Munch found a bush to squat behind while Deb
unpacked the contents of the boxes. Each crate held two olive drab
steel ammo boxes. Deb slipped open the latches and removed Styrofoam
packing. The Styrofoam fell away to reveal cylinders of black
cardboard, each the size of a small aerosol can. One at a time, she
carefully slit the tape wound about the cardboard wrapping.

"What are those?" Munch asked.

"Grenades," Deb said.

"Lovely" she said, 'just fucking lovely "

"Don't worry" Deb said, "they're not
the kind that go boom."

"What other kind is there?"

Deb held up the gray can with the yellow stripe for
Munch to read what was written there: NO. 35, WHITE SMOKE, HC
GRENADE. Beneath the words there was a military insignia.

"That makes me feel much better."

"Give me a hand with this stuff, will you?"

"You sure I'm not going to blow off some
fingers? I might need them later"

" know what I'm doing," Deb said. She
dumped out the contents of a backpack on the ground. Several pieces
of pipe started to roll away She collected them and stacked them
beside her. Next to these she placed the other contents of the
backpack: a box of dental floss, a hammer, and a pair of scissors.
The pieces of pipe were large enough in diameter to accommodate the
spoon end of the grenades.

"Check this out," Deb said, unwinding a
thin strand of dental floss from its plastic case. She hammered the
sleeves of pipe into the ground at the base of several trees. Then
she slipped a grenade into each pipe and ran dental floss from the
top of one grenade to the other, tightening the floss until it
stretched taut. "When I'm ready to set it, I'll pull out the
pin. If someone or something trips the string, the grenade pops out
this sleeve and goes off. Instant alert."

"What if I just cut the string?" Munch
asked.

Deb unwound additional strands of dental floss.
"We'll run a second line in the opposite direction, making it
spring-loaded," she explained. "You cut the one side and it
releases the tension."

"Ah," Munch said, understanding. "Then
it pulls out the grenade from the other side."

"Exactly," Deb said. "Not too shabby
huh?"

"Oh, yeah," Munch said. "Just great. I
guess a simple NO TRESPASSING sign is out of the question, huh?"
She didn't ask just who they were so anxious to be warned of, but it
wasn't hard to figure. The weed from the other night had been green
and still damp—obviously grown locally and recently harvested.
"What's to stop a deer from tripping the line?"

"It's a risk we have to take," Deb said. "n
'Nam, pigs set off perimeter alarms all the time."

She said it like she was talking from personal
experience, Munch noticed. Had she always been so full of shit?

"Give me a hand," Deb said. " promised
my ol' man I'd do this yesterday We got word that the Forest Service
was going to clear-cut this section last week. Had to do some
hurry-up harvesting. Now our south flank is exposed. Can't have
that."

They worked a moment in silence and then Munch said,
"So what's the deal with your ol' man?"

"Like what?"

"You said Tux takes Boogie on road trips."

Deb didn't look up, but Munch saw that she had
stopped working. "Pretty nice of him, don't you think?"

"Almost too nice, don't you think?"

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that he isn't doing it out of the
goodness of his heart."

"How do you know? You haven't even met him."

"I've met all your ol' men."

"He wouldn't hurt Boogie."

"Using him for things he doesn't understand is
hurting him. Having a man who doesn't really care about him call him
son will hurt him. Can't you see that?"

Deb flinched. "Why'd you come up here? To preach
to me?" She set up two more trip wires. As a finishing touch,
she used a stick of camouflage grease to make the white dental floss
disappear into the surrounding foliage.

"I came," Munch said, "because I care
about you two. I don't want any more friends of mine getting hurt.
You need to get out of here. Come back to L.A. with me."

"Why would I want to come back to the city when
I have all this?"

The two women climbed back up the hill.

"How about for the sake of your kid? You used to
put him first."

"I still do, but I got a life, too." Deb
climbed up to the hood of the truck, whistled, and waved her arms. A
minute later, two bikers materialized from behind a bend in the road.

"We felled a buck back there by the swimming
hole," Deb told them. Then she made introductions. One of the
men went by the name Spider, the other called himself Count. They
sized Munch up as if she were the carcass in question.

"You coming back tonight?" Spider asked as
he and Count lifted the deer from the back of the truck.

'Yeah," Deb said, "and I'm bringing
friends."

They grunted, which Munch took to mean, "That
sounds great. Look forward to seeing you."

The two women headed back down the hill.

Munch watched the two men grow smaller through the
sideview mirror. "How'd you know those guys would be there?"

"They always have sentries posted," Deb
explained. "You see? It's perfectly safe here, so cool it. You
sure it was worth getting off dope if it meant you'd have to turn
into such a poop butt?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. How about you? You were going
to be different, remember? You were going to be the best mom ever.
Remember that?"

"Shut up," Deb said. "Just shut up,
okay? God, woman, it's like I don't even know you." They drove
for a few miles in silence and then Deb said, "This is about
Sleaze, isn't it? I'll miss him, too, you know."

"Didn't sound that way on the phone."

"I guess I was still pissed at him for
snitching."

"Don't say that, you don't know for certain."

"Why do you think he got it in the throat?"

"Did Lisa tell you about that?"

"I don't talk to that cunt," Deb said.

"Then how did you know about—?" She
stopped mid-question. The answer was obvious. Deb knew about Sleaze's
throat wound because she had heard about it from another source. She
sure hadn't read about it in the paper.

"Look, let's just drop it, all right?" Deb
said.

"Fine. If you see a pay phone," Munch said,
"Let's stop. I've got to call my PO's recording. I've got a
funny feeling that she's going to want to see me."
 

25

BLACKSTONE AND MOODY spent the morning going over the
transcripts of all the conversations that the feds had had since
moving into Motel 7. The two cops were seated in Moody's front room.
Blackstone was wearing his new suede coat with the sheepskin lining.
He'd also bought a pair of cowboy boots and a hat.