Installment #3
Chapters 4 & 5
4
The town of Eden, Kansas sat smack in the middle of Eden County. And smack in the middle of the town sat a feed store. Two old men, up early, sat on the bench out front of the store.
Their heads turning in unison, following the unfamiliar pickup truck rolling into town. The old men watching the blue truck and its reflection in the storefront windows of the two- and three-story limestone buildings lining Main Street. The window displays inviting shoppers to come in and have a look around. The street lamp still decorated with red, white and blue bunting.
The old men watching the truck stop at the town’s lone traffic light blinking red. The truck turned around at the far edge of town; the town was so small the old men were able to see the U-turn. The truck stopping again at the traffic light before finally veering into the parking lot of the feed store.
The old men sizing up the young man as he stumbled from the pickup. Both old men noting the hole in the young man’s cowboy hat as he crossed the pavement.
“Howdy,” Walt called, walking toward the old men.
Howdy? Walt thinking, crimony, he’d never said howdy in all his life. Must be what a small town does to a person. Friendly people and all.
Neither old man – the round-headed one nor the rat-faced one – called back to Walt.
Walt offering another howdy when he reached them.
“Got a hole in your hat,” Rat Face said, squinting and jutting upward with his chin.
“Yeah, I know,” Walt said, rolling his eyes up toward his hat.
“How’d you git it?” Round Head said.
“Long story,” Walt said. “Wouldn’t want to bore you boys. Actually, I was wondering if you—”
“—Ain’t from around here, are you?” Round Head said.
Walt saying no sir, he was not.
“You talk different,” Rat Face said. “Whereabouts you from?”
“Tulsa,” Walt said with a smile. “Never realized we all talked so much different than all you Kansas folks up here that you could tell a difference.”
“Well, you do,” Rat Face said.
“Nice truck,” Round Head said. “What’ll you take for it?”
Walt turned to Round Head. “Not for sale. Listen. sir, I was wondering if you ole boys might help me out a bit?”
“I’ll trade you my truck,” Round Head said, “and a horse trailer for your truck. Horse died a few years back, so I don’t need the trailer no more.”
“Few years?” Rat Face said. “George, that was more like fifteen years ago.”
“Hush up, Lyle,” George said.
“Not for trading neither,” Walt said. “See, the deal is, I was wondering if you boys might be able to tell me if someone is living here in this town?”
“Truck needs a warshing,” Round Head/George said. “Your truck, that is. Always take piss-poor care of it like that? Makes me wonder maybe you’re trying to swindle me. Trade me a bum truck about to fall apart?”
Walt looked over at his truck, dust-covered and ticking as it cooled. Then turning back to take a closer look at George’s round head, searching for telling scars on his skull but there were none. No hard knocks on the noggin. Maybe the old man was deaf or senile. Or just nuts.
“I guarantee my truck’s up to date on servicing,” Walt said. “Got the paperwork. But that’s neither here nor there because it’s not for sale. Or trade. Like I said, I’m looking for someone. A woman.”
“Who ain’t?” Lyle said, his rat face snickering.
“Don’t get no easier the older you get, son,” Round Head/George said, joining in the snickering.
“Funny,” Walt said, having had about enough of these two. “See, I figure you old coots probably sit here all day, every day. Got nothing better to do than chew the fat, spit tobacco juice and watch what little goes on in this town. Am I right, gentlemen?”
The two men stopped snickering.
“So I’m thinking maybe you’ve seen her?” Walt said.
“Son, anybody asking for help ought to go about it with a nicer tone,” Rat Face/Lyle said. “Now, we was only funning you a little. No need to go and get all pissy about it.”
Pissy? Walt sighing. Thinking he was about to piss in this old man’s denture cup if this keeps horseshit up. In need of a kick, these two.
Walt looked up and down the quiet Main Street before addressing the men again.
“My apologies. Feeling a little tired just now. Been up a while.”
“Hell, that’s all right,” Round Head/George said. “What’s she look like? Pretty?”
“Redhead. Pale. Kind of skinny. Yeah, she’s pretty. Step-on-your-heart pretty. I heard she might be living here. Can’t be many like that in this town.”
“You insulting the fine women of Eden, boy?” Round Head/George said. “Tip for you—you’ll catch more flies with honey than vinegar.”
“Meaning?”
“Buzz-buzz.”
“What’s that?” Walt said.
“Buzz. Buzz.”
Round Head shot a hard look at Rat Face.
“Yeah,” Rat Face said, leveling his eyes at Walt, “buzz-buzz.”
“No flies on either of you two,” Walt said, turning to walk back to his truck. “You boys try not to die too soon.”
“What was that, son?”
Walt yelling over his shoulder, “I say, you gentlemen have a nice day.”
5
Walt prowled the side streets of Eden in his truck. The streets were made of brick that caused his tires to emit a low growl as they crept. Walt ducking his head left, right. Looking for Geri’s red Camaro. Dog-dick red, she always called it.
Most of the town was still asleep. Walt noticing how the neighborhood on the east side of Main Street was shabbier than one he’d already driven on the west side.
The west side was nice, the lawns edged neatly and free of litter. Here on the east the sidewalks, where there were any, were cracked and uneven. All colors of faded paint peeled and curled from the weather-worn faces of the houses.
Much better chance of finding her on this side of town, Walt thought. He blinked hard to keep himself focused.
Ready for that Camaro to jump out at him at any moment. His truck crept along. The steamy breath of morning blowing through the cab.
Shaking his head, scolding himself to stay alert.
Walt thought he caught a flash of red—then the red was gone, rumbling around a corner several blocks up ahead.
Flooring the truck, bumping down the brick street. Walt remembering too late the dips in the road at each intersection.
The front of his chassis banging into the dip, then the rear following with a crash. Walt wincing, picturing the oil pan beneath his truck cracked and bleeding hot oil. But when he checked his rearview mirror for oil streaks behind him he saw none, just the red bricks of the street running away from him.
Walt driving on as fast as the street would allow.
Taking a cornered hard, turning where he’d seen the flash of red. Seeing it again. Up ahead, turning onto Main.
Seeing enough of it to be pretty sure it could maybe be a Camaro. At least not enough to say it wasn’t.
Walt followed and caught up to the car on Main St. A red Camaro.
The car idling near the curb at the stoplight. Walt pulled his truck up alongside the Camaro.
This is it. Kiss her or kill her?
As cool as he could, Walt turning to peer into the Camaro. Seeing a skinny teenager, shirtless, sunburned and with a sparse mustache or a very dirty upper lip glaring back at him. Skynyrd blaring from the kid’s speakers.
The kid staring hard, challenging. Revving the engine and flexing the thin muscles in his sunburned neck.
Walt thinking this Camaro ain’t dog-dick red at all. More like dickhead red.
Walt the first to look away. At that, the kid laying rubber and blowing smoke, fishtailing around the corner.
Walt shutting his eyes, laughing at the kid. At himself. Wishing that way back when he’d been smart about and stayed too intimidated to ever strike up a conversation with Geri Templeton in the first place.