Whiskey Sunrise - a Christian Suspense Novel: A chilling tale of a desert that buries its secrets. (21 page)

The Tahoe hit a bump, and Rye groaned and caught his breath.

“Dad,” said Manny from the back seat. “You awake?”

“Yeah, bud, I’m awake. The way your mom drives makes it difficult to sleep.”

“Get outta here,” Dee said, laughing. “I had to turn the radio on because your snoring reminded me of a badly oiled chainsaw. I couldn’t hear the music, so I pushed you to get you to face the window.”

“You could have turned the radio up.”

“I didn’t want to blow your speakers.”

“Dad,” Manny said, “you sounded like a jet taking off.” He performed a mock snore imitating his father.

“I was that loud?” Rye feigned shock.

They came to the exit for Whiskey, and Dee took it, heading south. With the sun hanging low over the mountains to the west, the storm clouds to the south lit up in a display of reds and purples. Distant flashes of lightning flickered in the roiling storm clouds.

“Looks like the hurricane approaches,” Rye said, brushing imaginary dust motes from his Stetson’s brim.

“The radio said it built in intensity before slamming into the Baja
coast,” Dee replied. She risked a glance out the side window. “It’s been awhile since I’ve been here. The land never changes, does it?”

“Nope. Hey,” Rye said pointing to the storm clouds. “Check out that lightning.”

“My geography teacher said it’s global warming causing all the bad storms,” Manny said from the back.

“Just ’cause you put your boots in the oven,” Rye said, “don’t make ’em biscuits. Same with global warming. The climate and weather constantly change. In fact, it’s said to be getting colder.”

“If some of my colleagues at the Sun heard that,” Dee said, glancing at Rye, “they’d hand your head to you on a platter.”

“Well, your colleagues are just plain weak north of their ears.”

They drove for a while in silence.

“Rye.”

“Dee.”

They had started to speak at the same moment. They laughed, and Manny added, “Sheesh.”

“Go ahead,” Dee said.

“No, ladies first.”

“Okay, then. I want to apologize for behaving badly at the convention center. I just … it’s that … well, when I saw you leaning on Chee, it brought back bad memories. Then I smelled the beer on you … I didn’t realize it was literally on you. Sorry, can you … can you … forgive my stupidity?”

Rye stammered, “I … I wouldn’t expect you to react any differently. Not after what I put this family through.”

“I won’t hide it. It’s been tough.”

“I won’t hide it either.” Rye reached over and touched her hair.
“I … I try to stop drinking, but I’m not successful. Yet I’m sober more than I’m drunk.”

“Glad to hear it.” A smile flashed across her face.

With rising hope, he decided to give it a full court press.
No sense holding back.
“Does that mean we can consider reconciliation?”

Dee shook her head, and Rye could see she struggled not to cry. “Oh Rye. I don’t know. I want to, but …” Her voice trailed off. “I can’t. Not now. We’ve had one really, really good day. Let’s just have that for now.” She looked at him. “We can try to have another one tomorrow and build on it.”

He risked a glance at Manny, who was staring out the window, earphones in place leading to an iPod in one relaxed hand. “I need to tell you something, Dee. Something that happened the night you left.”

She nodded, keeping her eyes on the road. “OK … go on.”

“I’d had a rough and bloody day, so I ended up in some dive reeking of sweat and spilled beer.” Rye stared at the road ahead, finding it difficult to stare at her profile. “A juke box played beer-drinking country songs. A couple of girls squatted on barstools close by. Guys played pool in the back room, the clack of balls striking one another. The bartender was talking with a guy at the end of the bar. And me, I sipped rum and coke. Then, the door opens. The bartender shouts, ‘Hey, kids, get outta here!’

“Two kids. The older one, a girl, maybe thirteen or so, wearing a ragged dress draped over a bone-thin frame, she says, ‘We’re looking for our pa.’

“The bartender opens his mouth to say something, but the guy with him turns and looks at the two kids, saying, ‘Whadda you want?’

“The girl says, ‘Pa, there ain’t no food in the house. Me and Jason’s hungry.’

“He says, ‘Whadda you want me to do? I ain’t got no money. It’s your mother’s fault.’

“The bartender yells, ‘You heard the man. Now get out before I call the cops.’

“The boy, Jason, his eyes tear up. A snarl flashes on his sister’s face, and she turns him around. She takes his tiny hand and says, ‘We’ll find something to eat. We don’t need his stinking money.’ The door shuts and cuts off anything else she might have said.

“The father downs the glass he was drinking, reaches into his wallet, and pulls out a twenty. ‘Give me another,’ he says to the bartender.

“I was so angry, Dee. I marched over to the father, tapped him on the shoulder, and said, ‘You’re really something, you know that.’

“He turns to me and says, ‘Yeah, well it ain’t none of your business, buddy.’

“I say, ‘Maybe I should make it my business.’

“The man gets up from his stool, fists clenched tight, and says, ‘Try it.’

“The bartender says to me, ‘We don’ want no trouble here. Scram before I call the police.’

“I open my jacket and flash my badge. I say, ‘I am the police. And child neglect is a crime.’ I grab a fistful of the man’s shirt and say, ‘If I ever hear of you doing this again …’ I let the threat trail off and let go of the man’s shirt with a shove. The drunk father stumbles backwards, slamming into the bar. Then I head to the door.

“And the father yells, ‘Screw you, pig. If you’re so righteous, what’re you doing here?’”

Rye paused and swallowed.

“Oh, Rye …” Dee said, swiping at a tear sliding down her cheek.

He turned to look through the side window. Too late to stop now. “So out in the parking lot, I spot the two kids as they passed under a street lamp a half a block away. I dashed after them, yelling to get their attention. They turn around, and I catch up to them. I pull two twenties out of my wallet. I say, ‘Get you something to eat, then buy some groceries.’

“The girl looks at me, suspicious, but the brother says, ‘Take it, sis.’

“She reaches out, takes the money, saying, ‘Thanks, mister.’”

Rye closed his eyes. “I looked at their faces, seen that same haunted look in adult women abused by their men.”

“That’s so awful, Rye.” Dee’s knuckles gleamed white, hands gripping the wheel.

“I told them, ‘I’m a cop,’ and I showed them my badge. I handed the girl my card. Told them if they needed anything, anything at all, to call. The girl turns to her brother and says, ‘Let’s go get us McDonalds.’”

Rye shook his head. “Seeing those kids hurry up the street made me think of Manny. That I needed to start being there for my family. But when I got home, the house was dark, cold, and empty. You and Manny were gone. Your note said you couldn’t handle my drinking anymore. I was too late.” Rye’s voice cracked. He whispered, “And ever since, the drunk’s words never left me: ‘If you’re so righteous, what are you here for?’”

The car came to a halt, and Rye recognized his gravel driveway. Dee pulled him into an embrace, sending agony down his stiff body, but he didn’t care.

“I wish you’d told me sooner,” she whispered against his cheek. “But now I see I couldn’t hear anything you had to say before today. Rye, I am still gonna need a little time.”

Rye took a deep breath and released it with a long exhale. “Okay. Today’s fine. We’ll do it your way. I lost you once. I don’t want to jeopardize the delicate balance we’ve established.”

She pulled back to look at him. Tears left wet trails on her cheeks. She mouthed, “Thank you.”

As Rye eased his way out of the Tahoe, Chee drove up in his old pickup. Rye nodded to Sunflower and Chee in the truck.

He gave his son a hearty hug then mussed the boy’s hair. “I want you to know you made your dad very proud today.” A grin spread across the boy’s face. “You done real good getting your next belt. But I also want you to know you don’t have to do anything to earn my love. You got that free of charge.” Rye hugged Manny again, relishing his son’s embrace. Then, Rye gave Dee a long embrace.

She whispered, “Thanks. That means a lot to him. And me. I pray for you, Rye, every night, for you to defeat this demon you face with the booze. I … I still … love you.”

They held each other for several seconds.
Why not?
He leaned over and kissed her. A light touch of the lips first, then, a deeper kiss. She melted into him.

“Mmmm,” Dee murmured, pressing against him.

Manny coughed. “Will you two get a room?”

They broke the kiss, laughing. Rye shot a one-eyed stare at the boy. “Where did you hear that?”

“At school.” But he refused to say more. Instead, he pointed at the roiling clouds. “Wow. Look.”

An explosion of lightning filled the sky with spidery tentacles. Thunder rumbled.

“Nice,” Rye said while he took both of Dee’s hands in his. “Y’all best be going, but I wish you would stay. At least ’til the storm passes.”

“I’ve got work waiting for me,” she said in a regretful tone. Rye drank in the gaze of her dark brown eyes. “Call me tomorrow.”

“Will you answer if I do?” he mumbled.

“Sure.”

He released her hands.

Sunflower opened the passenger door, scooted out of Chee’s pickup, and drew close to Rye. Over her shoulder, he watched Manny and Dee climb into the truck and work their way to the middle of the seat.

He glanced back at Sunflower, and she stared at him in silence for several seconds. He wondered how his life would have been different had her family not suddenly disappeared the night the two of them shared an intimate rendezvous in the forest. She touched him on the arm, the tips of her fingernails lingering on his sleeve.

“Rye Dawlsen, you take care and watch your back. Remember, a great evil follows you. Even Navajos,” her voice dropped to a whisper, “fear this evil Skinwalker.” After a quick survey of their surroundings, she added, “He comes for you. This man to the south has great power, and he looks this way.” She pressed something into his hand.

A glance at his opened palm revealed a square cut from leather with a glyph of twins made of beads sown into the square. A leather necklace dangled off the side of his hand.

“Did you get this from the museum?” he asked, suspicion rising in his voice.

“You need to wear it,” Sunflower urged. “It will protect you.”

“Sunflower, answer my question.” He gave her a stern look. “Did you or did you not break into the Whiskey Navajo Museum two nights ago and steal this from one of the displays?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she answered, her voice going cold. “Just … wear it.” She paused and her eyes searched his. “If you want to live, do what I say.”

<><><><><><><><><><>

“Stop right there, mister.”

Johnny Batts leveled his AK-47 at the approaching limo, aiming it where he assumed the driver’s head would be.

The vehicle rolled to a gravel-crunching stop in front of his cabin. The tinted glass prevented Johnny from seeing the car’s occupants, but he figured he’d fire a couple of bursts at the window if they didn’t stop.
Some SOB stole my Winchester and kilt my sheep. And they’re gonna pay.

“Git outta the car.” Johnny motioned with his rifle.

Thunder rumbled in the distance. He took quick notice of the storm moving in from the south.

“I ain’t asking y’all again.” He fired a burst at the ground in front of the car. Thunder drowned out the echoing gunfire.

The back door opened, and a young Mexican senorita stepped out.

Nice
. Johnny eyed her.
For a fourteen-year-old
. She wore a slinky black dress, revealing much of her light brown legs. Johnny spit into the dirt.

“What?” Johnny asked. His AK never wavered from the front windshield.

She started to speak and choked on her words. Johnny noted the fear in her eyes.
Go easy on her. Someone’s putting her up to this.

“He wants to buy your land, mister.” The girl struggled with her English.

“Who wants my land?”

“He do.” She nodded to the open door. Johnny heard a smattering of Spanish coming from within the car. She opened her mouth to speak.

Johnny turned his gaze to the limo. “I know enough Spanish,” he yelled at the car. “It must take a real man to kill a poor man’s sheep and frighten a teenage girl. I’m keeping my land. Now git off of it.”

This time the Spanish from the back of the limo hissed like a snake.

“What did he say?” Johnny demanded.

“He say when he returns, it won’t be to kill livestock.”

Watching as Chee backed out the driveway, Rye’s heart staggered under the weight of regret. He wanted to chase after them, stop the truck, and compel Dee to stay. But he didn’t. Fear of making the wrong move and ruining today’s precarious start froze his feet.