Texasville (65 page)

He saw Briscoe racing across the courthouse lawn with an egg in his mouth. It was probably the only unbroken egg left in town.

“There’s a simple solution to the problem of the fire truck,” Bobby Lee said reasonably. “It’s not the truck that’s stuck to the courthouse, it’s the ladder. All we gotta do is chop off the ladder and we’ll have us a usable fire truck.”

Before Duane could critique that solution he saw the BMW streaking back into town from the direction of Aunt Jimmie’s Lounge. He immediately ran down the sidewalk, waving his arms and trying to slow the car. If Dickie was driving his usual eighty-five, bad things were going to happen when the car hit the egg slick.

But Dickie wasn’t driving, or even in the car. Karla was driving, and no one was with her but Jacy. She stopped well clear of the eggy area.

Duane picked his way to the car, Bobby Lee close at his heels.

“Willie Nelson was just here,” Bobby Lee said breathlessly.

“You’re lying,” Karla said. “You’re just trying to make me feel bad, as usual.”

“He was here, livin’, breathin’ Willie Nelson,” Bobby Lee insisted.

“Oh, get in, we’re starving,” Karla said. “Let’s go to the Dairy Queen.”

“I’m not shitting you, Karla,” Bobby Lee said. “Your biggest idol in the world passed right through town. I think he’s thinking of buying a house here.”

“Just ignore him, he was the one spread the rumor about Steve McQueen, too,” Karla said to Jacy.

Duane got in. Both women were in high spirits. They had started to put on lipstick, then had decided to trade lipsticks and were admiring their new looks.

“What’s wrong with you, gloom puss?” Karla asked.

“You’ll know when you read the paper,” Duane said. “Today’s the day we finally went broke.”

“Duane, you just need a good breakfast,” Karla said. “There’s people in the oil business who’ve been broke five or six times. It’s no big deal.”

“Karla, Willie Nelson spoke to me,” Bobby Lee said.

Jacy reached back and gave Duane a pat on the knee, the only part of him she could reach.

“Cheer up, honey pie,” she said. “It’s a beautiful day and you’re riding around with the two best-looking women in Texas. That’s something.”

“It sure is,” Duane admitted. “I never intended to go broke, though.”

“Well, things don’t always work out,” Karla said. “Hitch up your belt, Duane. You’re just forty-eight. You got plenty of time to get rich again.”

The women’s high spirits were irresistible. Duane felt a lot better, just being with them. Probably he
could
get rich again, if he could figure out a way to steal some of their energy.

“He seemed like a real modest man,” Bobby Lee said. “He grinned his little grin.”

“Yeah, and I’m gonna kick your little dick if you don’t shut up,” Karla said. “Willie’s too much of a gentleman to come to town the one time I wouldn’t be here to meet him.”

They parked at the Dairy Queen. Several bleary-eyed celebrants were standing around in the parking lot, scraping egg off their Levi’s with pocketknives.

As they were at the door, Ruth Popper whirled into the parking lot in her dusty old Volkswagen. Her hair was wet and she looked distraught.

“I’ve lost Sonny,” she said. “He snuck out while I was showering.”

“Oh, well,” Duane said, “I doubt he’ll go far. Come in and eat breakfast with us.”

“No, I have to look for him,” Ruth said. “I just don’t know what he might do, and I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to him.”

“Okay, I’ll come with you,” Duane said. “The rest of you go on and eat.”

“Let’s all go look,” Karla said. “I can’t eat on a worried stomach. Sonny might need a good breakfast too. We’ll find him and all eat together.”

“He’s not at the hotel or the Kwik-Sack,” Ruth said. “Genevieve hasn’t seen him.”

“Maybe he went back to the rodeo arena,” Jacy said. “He might have forgotten something last night.”

“He could have even left with Willie,” Bobby Lee said.

The women looked at him sternly.

“I’ll ride with Ruth,” Duane said.

CHAPTER 97

O
N THE TOP SEAT OF THE BLEACHERS, ABOVE THE
empty arena, Sonny was watching movies on the great silver screen of the dawn.

He was watching
Rio Bravo.
The great gun battle at the end would soon begin. An exchange of prisoners was about to take place. He saw Dean Martin step into the dusty wagon yard, blinking in the bright sunlight. He saw Dean Martin, he
was
Dean Martin. He was Dude. He started walking toward the distant adobe buildings, where John Wayne and Ricky Nelson waited. Joe was walking to meet him. Joe was the killer he was being exchanged for. Dude saw a broken adobe wall to his left. It gave him an idea. He had a chance to redeem himself, to make things up to his friends. He would tackle Joe and roll him behind the wall before the gunmen in the warehouse could shoot. He hunched forward a little. Joe was only a few steps away. Joe was sneering. He thought he had won. Dude got ready to tackle him. Another second and Joe would be in reach.

Then Duane caught his arm. Ruth Popper caught his other arm. Dude tried to struggle. They were ruining everything.
The picture was fading. He would never be redeemed unless he could tackle Joe, but Joe was gone. The only images left were wisps—they were little clouds. Duane and Ruth wouldn’t let him tackle Joe.

Then the screen was the sky over Thalia, over the courthouse, over the plains. Sonny felt hopeless. The movie was lost. His chance was lost. He began to cry from disappointment.

“Just sit down a minute, honey,” Ruth said. “Sit down and rest.”

“I’m not tired,” Sonny said. He saw two women climbing into the bleachers, Karla and Jacy. He didn’t know why everyone had come back to the arena. The pageant had ended the night before.

“We’re starving,” Duane said. “Let’s all go eat breakfast.”

“You want to, Luke?” Karla asked.

Sonny felt a little better. It was nice that they had all come to take him to breakfast. Karla and Jacy looked beautiful, so beautiful that it made him feel shy to look at them. Ruth’s hair was wet and stringy. She seemed upset. Duane still held his arm.

“Okay,” Sonny said. “I am a little hungry. I guess it’s breakfast time.”

CHAPTER 98

“D
ID YOU THINK HE WAS ABOUT TO JUMP?”
J
ACY
asked, as Ruth and Karla led Sonny to the BMW. They were talking to him quietly.

“Well, he was kind of crouching,” Duane said. “I guess he might have jumped.”

“Karla’s never going to believe Willie Nelson was here,” Bobby Lee said. His failure to convince her of the miraculous visit worried him more than Sonny Crawford’s problems.

“Oh, get off it about Willie Nelson,” Jacy said. “Who cares about Willie Nelson?”

Bobby Lee looked hurt.

“Anybody in their right mind would care about seeing Willie,” he said.

Sonny got in the back seat of the BMW, with Ruth on one side of him and Karla on the other.

Duane was about to get in and drive when he looked up the street and saw the twins. They were on their bikes and coming like blazes, preceded by a blue blur that proved to be Shorty.

“Oops, they’re after your dog,” Bobby Lee said. Jacy turned to look.

The twins were definitely after Shorty. Their aim seemed to be to catch his tail and flip him over. The threat was not lost on Shorty, fleeing down the dusty road for all he was worth, his ears flattened against his head. Duane had never seen him run so fast, but more than that, he had never seen the twins ride as they were riding. It was as if they had trained as a precision biking team for months, honing the techniques that would be necessary to catch a small blue dog.

Racing into the open, empty acres of the parking lot, Shorty began a series of brilliant, desperate maneuvers. He ran in tight circles, he doubled back on himself, he ducked, he dodged, he executed figure eights. No matter what he did, the twins hung tight on either side of him, a hand’s length behind. When he circled, they circled. Several times Jack almost had his tail—Shorty, sensitive to the peril, kept it tucked tightly between his hind legs. Spotting the cars, he stopped dodging and raced for them with a last blazing burst of speed. The twins came on relentlessly, right at his heels, blinding glints shooting from their mirror sunglasses.

“Look at those kids!” Jacy said. “Look at those kids!”

She stood just behind Duane, watching the race.

“Oh, look at those kids!” she said a third time, with a breaking note in her voice.

To Duane’s surprise she suddenly flung her arms around him, from behind. He felt her lips against his neck, then her teeth—her sudden tears wet his skin. She bit his neck as she cried, sobbing and sobbing. Bobby Lee turned away, shocked and embarrassed. Duane didn’t move. Shorty slid to safety under the BMW, the twins parting at the last second, one going on one side of the car, one on the other. They coasted far out into the empty parking lot.

Jacy stopped biting, her crying slowed, it was only her lips he felt against his wet neck. He put his hands over her hands.

“I need them so, Duane,” Jacy said, her face still tightly pressed against his neck. “It’s like Benny’s here—it makes me feel something of him’s alive when I see kids doing things like that. All children don’t die—maybe the ones that live carry the lives of the ones that die. You know what I mean?”

“Can I turn around?” Duane asked.

He turned and hugged her, and, as he did, saw his wife
watching through the rear window of the car. Karla’s face was partly in shadow. He could not tell what she might be thinking, and he would have liked to know.

“Of course you don’t know what I mean,” Jacy whispered. “Your little boy and your little girl are right here. It’s just that for a second now and then, when I see your kids, I feel like Benny’s here too. You don’t know how precious that is to me.”

She hid her face against his chest. The twins wheeled up. From the back seat, Karla still watched. Julie wheeled up and looked in the car.

“What’s wrong with Uncle Sonny?” she asked.

It didn’t seem unusual to either twin that their father was hugging Jacy.

“I guess he’s a little tired in his mind,” Duane said.

Julie got off her bike and crawled into the car. Through the window he saw her get in Sonny’s lap. Karla put her arm around them both.

Jack sat on his bike, watching Shorty, whose head was just visible under the BMW, his tongue hanging out.

“If he makes a run for it now I’ll get him at once,” Jack said, with a brilliant smile.

“I don’t thinks he plans to make a run for it,” Duane said.

Jacy stepped back from him, wiping her eyes.

“These centennials are awesome,” Jack said. “I think we should have one every year.”