When Pigs Fly (29 page)

Ursula smiled. “Just kidding, city boys. Just relax and I’ll take care of it.” She doused Ace and Frosty with water and brought them around, then turned on a ceiling fan that brought a breeze that Ace thought saved his life.

That night they had deep-fried Fred and Ethel with mounds of slimy okra, refried beans and guacamole. Ugly but free, Ace reasoned as washed his meal down with beer and listened to the old Elvis vinyls, the small ones that looked like a .45 blew a hole in the middle—hence, Ace supposed, the name. Frosty ate with enthusiasm, like he’d quickly forgotten that the chickens had names just this afternoon. Ursula watched some TV show called
Crotchfire
where people yelled at each other and Ace couldn’t tell what the hell anybody was talking about. Rude people was all he knew.

Ace bunked out on the living room floor while Frosty got the ratty green couch. Ursula and Elvis pushed their way past the floor-to-ceiling beads, and the grunting started up practically right away. Ace’s heart began racing. He held his breath to calm himself.

“Frosty?” he said. “Do you think Elvis still wants to kill that woman he’s been chasing?”

“Hell, no. I’m guessing he forgets why he’s out here.”

Why he was here was a good question for Ace too, being thousands of miles from home. Could this whole experience be worth it? They came all the way out here, and for what? Ace and Frosty had no more idea what treasure Mack Durgin had than when they started, and now they were stuck with Elvis Hornacre, who was the worst imitator of anybody, ever. A couple of screams came out of the bedroom, a love duet that ended in giggles and silence.

Frosty looked at his watch. “Three minutes,” he said. “Man, they’re good.”

“You think we’ll ever find that treasure of Mack’s? Or do you think we’re stuck here listening to barnyard sounds and looking at big stupid red rocks forever?” Ace picked up the TV remote and turned up the volume. A woman was holding a microphone in front of a police station.

“—shot and wounded this afternoon by a retired Massachusetts policeman, reportedly rescuing his parents in a raging gun battle after an alleged kidnapping attempt by Mister Kohl.”

Frosty and Ace looked at each other, stunned. Ace was pretty sure that was Diet Cola they were talking about. The reporter went on to talk the alleged incident, as though maybe it might not have happened and the reporter had yet to check it out.

“Earlier we spoke with former Officer Mackenzie Durgin as he exited the station…” The reporter was trying to stick a microphone in Durgin’s face. “Officer Durgin, is it true that your victim fired ten shots at you?”

“Don’t call him that. He’s no one’s victim.”

“And that you rescued your parents from certain death? Do you feel like a hero?”

“My parents are the heroes.” Mack Durgin kept walking. The camera followed him for a few seconds, capturing Zippy and Cal Vrattos in the background. “Durgin’s crazy,” Ace said. “He’s famous and he’s walking away from the cameras.”

Frosty sat up straight and pointed at the TV. “There’s his parents too, and Zippy hasn’t been arrested. That’s weird.”

“We’ve gotta find them. Maybe Ursula could take us into town.”

“Sure she can, and maybe pigs can fly. She’s way too busy getting porked by Elvis.”

“Right, I knew that. We’ll borrow her car.”

The TV reporter had it wrong: Mack had missed every shot. A rattlesnake had sunk its fangs into Dieter Kohl’s lower left cheek and deposited enough venom to kill most men. But he’d come out of E.R. and landed in a private hospital room guarded by a state trooper. Kohl was hooked up to oxygen and an IV as well as a monitor that apparently just refused to flat-line. When he was well enough, he would be arraigned on charges of kidnapping, assault, multiple auto thefts, b and e, shoplifting, smelling bad and being an overall waste of space on planet Earth. He seemed to drift in and out of consciousness, occasionally mumbling something about a ticket.

“You can’t stay in here,” the trooper told Mack.

“You couldn’t make me stay,” Mack said. “I just had to see the jerk with my own eyes.”

“He’s scum, but he’s my scum until my shift is over.” The trooper checked his watch. “What’s the story with that urn they say you have?”

“In the morning I’m spread my friend’s ashes over the Grand Canyon.”

“You flying out of Vegas?”

“No, right here in Sedona. Airport Mesa.”

How much time had passed here in the hospital? The painkillers had allowed Diet Cola to drift off to sleep, but he woke up in the middle of a nightmare that involved a hundred million dollars fluttering out of an airplane and him jumping out after it without a parachute. When he crashed, his crater would be deep enough to fit a Wal-Mart.

He blinked. Not that real life was any better than his bad dreams. He kept his head still, but angled his eyeballs so he could see Mack and the trooper. No doubt about it—Diet Cola had to get out of this damned hole soon, or that lottery ticket wouldn’t be worth a sheet of Charmin.

Down the hall, Zippy sat up in bed. He had a pair of black eyes as well as a bandage that covered most of the tattoo on his head. His nose had been bent and purpled. Juanita sat by his side and held his hand, showing him cleavage that she claimed had mystical healing power. “Don’t be mad at Mack anymore, baby,” she said. “Just put your hand right here.”

“You’re looking great,” Mack said.

“You talking to me?” Zippy asked. “Or are you talking to Juanita’s tits?”

“You’re looking good too, Zippy. My parents say they won’t file charges.”

“Your Mom is solid gold. I’m not so sure about you and your Dad, but I suppose you’re both all right.”

Juanita smiled at Mack, the kind of smile that had so entranced him that night when he’d been drunk. She held up a limp wrist to show him a diamond ring. “We’re getting married,” she said.

“Yes, I know. Congratulations. My folks will be glad for you. When’s the big day?”

“Soon. When your Mom and Dad are better.”

“What do they have to do with it?”

“Best Man. Matron of Honor.”

Mack was stunned. “They
agreed
to this?”

“Your Mom did. She’s a lot of fun. I think your Dad’s just like, whatever.” Mack suddenly felt dizzy. Mom and Dad honoring Zippy and Juanita at their wedding? Were they completely nuts? Was Juanita wearing white?

He had a sinking feeling that his troubles weren’t over.

The doctor looked up from his clipboard and spoke to Mack. “I’m afraid we need to release your parents a bit early. They’re coming along so well that she keeps threatening to jump his bones.”

Mack laughed. When he was a boy, he’d accidentally walked in on his lovemaking parents. Forty-five years later, who would have thought that was still a worry? He knocked on the open door and found them dressed and ready to leave.

“Mom. Dad. Is it true about your being in Zippy and Juanita’s wedding?”

Brodie clasped her hands to her chest. “Best Man and Matron of Honor! Isn’t that wonderful?”

“Not really,” Carrick said. “The man kidnapped us and threatened us. He should be prosecuted.”

“Oh, piffle. He was just showing off his macho side. Juanita will straighten him out. Don’t you think so, son?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes. He’s no Boy Scout, though.”

“I don’t want to be Zippy’s Best Man,” Carrick said, but he sounded like a man trapped by his fate. There was more that Carrick wasn’t telling Mack.

“But it’s going to be wonderful, dear.” Brodie turned her face to Mack and offered him a bright, excited smile. “We’re getting married too!”

“What!”

“Married. You’re not hard of hearing, are you?”

“You mean you haven’t taken care of that, Mom and Dad? I’m not legitimate?”

“Of course you are, son. What Mother means is that we’re renewing our vows.”

“At the Grand Canyon?”

Carrick made a face as though he’d just bitten down on a clove of garlic. “I couldn’t talk your mother out of it.”

“But it’s a great idea! Why would you want to talk her out of it?”

“Zippy and Elvis and their girlfriends are getting married at the same time. She had the bright idea—”

“After all we’ve been through together,” Brodie said.

“To make it a group affair,” Carrick said.

“Thatp>

“Because it’s Juanita’s suggestion, dear. She invited us to join them, and her offer is too lovely to turn down.”

“Who’s Elvis marrying? He just got here, and he’s stalked Cal for three thousand miles!”

In his motel room, Mack showered and toweled dry, then mowed his day-old whiskers with an electric razor. He put on pressed tan slacks, a blue shirt and tasseled loafers, then checked himself in the mirror: tanned face, crow’s-feet at the corners of the eyes, a cluster of small gray hairs growing out of each ear in mirrored patterns like synchronized swimmers. He wasn’t going to make
People’s
list of sexiest men alive and probably wouldn’t make Cal Vrattos’s list either. Maybe if he dazzled her with brilliant conversation, she wouldn’t notice that he was too old for her.

Then he shrugged. This is the package, he thought. Take me or leave me. He walked into the bedroom and saw Mary sitting in a wicker chair, wearing a pleated blue dress that reached from her collarbone to her ankles. Her legs were crossed, and a sandal dangled from her right foot, showing crimson toenails. Her eyes were pale blue and full of intelligence; her hair was chestnut brown, swept back and short; her pursed lips held a smile full of secrets. There was a shining gold band on her ring finger and jangles of bracelets on her wrists. Her whole being glowed as though a light were shining above her head.

“
Hello, handsome. It’s been a while.”

“Mary. I’ve missed you.”

“
I’m gone. Let go of me, Mack.”

“With you looking so beautiful? Never.”

“
Don’t be foolish. You’re still young.”

“I don’t know if I’m ready to date yet.”

“
Seems to me you’re dating tonight. That’s good.”

“This isn’t a date. I’m having dinner and so is she.”

“
That’s a weak dodge. Anyway, Calliope Vrattos is a good woman, not like that strumpet you slept with.”

“That strum—?”

“
Juanita. At least you didn’t get a social disease.”

“All I remember is waking up with an aching head and an empty wallet. I was so damn drunk.”

“
You don’t owe me an explanation. Our deal was ‘til death, and we both kept it.”

There was a soft rap on the door. “Mack, it’s me. Cal. Are you ready for dinner?” Mary arched her eyebrows—she never had been able to arch one brow at a time—and nodded toward the door, her lips moving, saying something he couldn’t hear, perhaps wasn’t meant to hear, and it probably didn’t matter anyway. Mack wanted just another minute with Mary, maybe another two. Okay, twenty tops. Of course she was an illusion, how could Mack not know? And he knew that once he walked out the door he would never see her again. He reached out to take her into his arms one last time, to taste her lips one last time, to feel her warmth one last time, but she shook her head no. She shimmered in the incandescent light that seemed to come from everywhere. Suddenly she grinned as though remembering a splendid joke, the kind you told only when the children were tucked safely away in bed. There was another rap on the door. Mack reached for the doorknob and greeted Cal. Behind him, he knew, Mary was gone.

Mack and Cal walked down a flight of stairs to the parking lot, and he opened the passenger-side door for her.

“You’re very quiet,” she said in the car.

“Mmm-hmm,” Mack said.

“You sure had a tough afternoon.”

Mack let his silence speak. He was thinking about those fleeting dreams that were so intense you feel you’ve lived them, like the dream that he’d just seen Mary again. He had to let go, which was not by any means the same as forgetting.
Forgetting
was out of the question, but Mary had insisted that he get on with his life.

They drove downtown to the Golden Burrito, where a hostess seated them in a corner table after a short wait. They ordered a pair of margaritas and ignored the menus as they talked. The restaurant was full; customers chattered and laughed as waitresses kept pace. Cal asked about Mack’s family and tilted her head while she listened to him talk. He took out his wallet and showed her a photograph. “Ladd, my newest grandson,” he said.

She held his forearm and said, “Oh-h-h-h-h-h, isn’t he handsome! He looks just like you!”

Ladd was just hours old in the picture and looked like a prize fighter wearing a baby-blue robe, so Mack hoped she didn’t mean it. Then she excused herself for a trip to the ladies’ room. He perused the menu: tortillas, enchiladas, burritos, chili, quesadillas. One of everything sounded good.