Borderland (2 page)

Nolan
put the phone to his ear and watched as the dark-haired, dark-eyed Vic strode
out to the car and took command of his spawn.

His
daughters' faces were pouting as they slid out of the car. The younger one
slammed the door hard enough to make Nolan wince.

Mean
little shit.

This was
going to be loads of fun. Oh yeah. He must have been—no, he knew he was drunk
when he agreed to this. Drunk and stupidly sentimental when it came to good old
Vic. Sure, he felt sorry for him. But those little girls were a different saga.
Nolan wished there was some way to immobilize them for the duration of the
trip, give them something like those tranquilizers you could get for dogs and
cats. It might save his upholstery.

He was
still holding the phone and watching Vic deliver a lecture to the two sullen
girls when he saw the bright yellow two-seater MG pull into the drive behind
his Buick.

"Oh
shit," he said into the receiver. Love of classic automobiles aside, there
had been little regret on Nolan’s side when he left her place that morning. Her
take was obviously different.

Nolan
wanted to hang up the phone and hide, but at that moment a voice in his ear
said, "Pardon me?"

"Sorry,"
Nolan said. "The 'oh shit' wasn't for you."

"I'm
so glad," was the chilly reply. "How may I help you?"

Nolan
had no idea. "Who is this?" he asked.

"Will
you be connecting or disconnecting service?"

"I'm
not sure…wait a second, okay?" Nolan put his hand over the phone and
yelled for Vic. The lecture ceased and Vic moved toward the house, a seriously
pissed off Carrie right behind him. Her red hair looked flat on one side, which
made Nolan smile to himself. She must've rolled out of bed, read the note, and
hopped in the car. He recognized the steely look of determination in her face.
He was in for an ass-chewing of epic proportions.

He tried
not looking at her as Vic took the phone, but Carrie put herself directly in
front of him, making it impossible not to see the dark flecks of dried mascara
under her sleep-puffed eyes.

"You
forgot these." She shoved a pair of worn Nikes at him. "They were
under the bed."

"Thanks,"
Nolan said. He tucked the Nikes under his arm and waited. It didn't take long.

"You
bastard. You leave me a note? A three-line note after three months?"

"Sshh!"
Vic turned his back on them and went on talking to whomever from wherever.

Nolan
fought hard not to shrug; he knew she hated it. "I told you where I was
going and why."

Carrie
put a hand on her hip, and Nolan suddenly realized it wasn't a cute little summer
romper she was wearing. She was still in her pajamas.

"You
failed to mention when you were returning and just why you'd packed up all your
things. What is this, Nolan? What's going on?"

Nolan
turned his head to look out the window and give himself time to think of what
to say. Vic's oldest girl was sitting on the hood of Carrie's MG. The little
one was behind the wheel. He rubbed his mouth to hide his smile.

"I'm
just going, Carrie. All right? I've still got a month of disability left and Vic's
invited me to spend it with him at his dad's place out west. His dad left him a
stud farm or something."

"You
should fit right in," Carrie said. "And why shouldn't he invite you
to stay? They repossessed his car, so he had to sucker someone into giving him
a ride out to collect his inheritance." She ignored Vic's sudden glare.
"What about your hands, Nolan? You're supposed to be letting them
heal."

"We're
going to take turns driving."

Carrie
put her other hand on her hip. "When are you coming back to
Kansas City
? I want a
specific date."

Nolan
let his chin do the shrugging. "I'll be back when my disability is up in
August."

"And
what happens when you come back? Will you be moving in with me again?"

"Why
don't we talk about that when—“

He left
Carrie standing slack-jawed as he bolted for the door. The MG was in the middle
of the street and the brakes of approaching cars were screeching as he reached
the shrieking little girls. The one on the hood was crying, and the one behind
the wheel was trying to climb out over the driver's door. Nolan shoved her back
in and plucked the bigger girl from the hood. He wasn't aware he was shouting
until both of them stopped crying and stared at him.

"You
never ever touch an emergency brake or anything else!" he railed above the
honks of the waiting cars. The girls looked at each other as he started the car
and drove back up into the drive. They decided to cry again as their
white-faced father flew out the screen door.

"We
don't wanna go with him," wailed the little one. "He yelled at us,
Daddy."

Vic
swatted her on the bottom. "I'll do more than yell at you. Get your butts
in the house right now."

The
bigger one stood firm. "I didn't do anything. Andy did it."

"Christa,
go. I mean it." Vic turned to Nolan. "Dammit, I'm sorry. I don't know
how to thank you."

"Don't
worry about it." Nolan was watching Carrie, the insurance investigator.
She was examining her car for signs of damage. He hadn't seen her come out of
the house. "Well?" he said when Vic returned inside.

Carrie's
lip curled in a way that he'd initially thought was kind of cute. Now it grated
on him.

"They
were lucky," she said. She took a tissue from her purse and wiped
something that looked like snot from the passenger seat. "I can't believe
you're doing this, Nolan. Are you leaving just to get away from me?"

"No,"
he said. "Jesus, Carrie, I haven't had a real vacation in ten years. Give
me a break, would you?"

"I
will," she said. She got in the car and started the engine. "What
should I do with your mail?"

They
both knew he didn't get any, maybe the occasional newsletter from the fire
department or a reminder from his dentist to come in for a checkup. His checks
went directly into his account.

"I'll
call you when I get there and give you the address," he said.

"You
do that," she said with a sniff. Then she backed out of the drive.

Nolan
was glad. She looked awful when she cried. He walked back into the house to
find more tearful females. The bigger one—she was nine or ten, Nolan couldn't
remember which—was wiping her eyes and trying to look tough. The little one,
five or six, was boo-hooing with fervor. He was tempted to return to the yard,
but Vic asked him for help in hauling out three suitcases and a dozen bulging
sacks.

"We
can't take all those," Nolan said, pointing to the sacks. "What's
inside?"

"Toys,"
Vic said. "Girls, pick out one sack apiece. The rest we'll leave for the
Salvation Army truck."

More
sobbing ensued.

An hour
later the Buick was loaded down and Nolan was behind the wheel. "I figure we
can take 1-35 to
Wichita
and then head west," he said to Vic.

"What
day is it?" Andy asked from the back.

"Saturday,
dummy," Christa answered.

"No,
I mean what day. Where will we be when it's the fourth of July?"

"That's
Monday, honey," Vic said. ''We'll be at Dad's place by then."

Nolan
asked: "Does everyone have their seatbelt on?"

A flurry
of activity followed his query. When Nolan was satisfied that squirming bodies
were buckled in, he backed down the drive and said a silent and unsentimental
goodbye to
Kansas City
, for the time being, anyway.

Twenty
minutes later they were in a gas station on the edge of town letting Andy pee.

Forty
minutes after that, both girls were snoozing in the back seat, each of them
straining in her seatbelt to lean over and use the other as a pillow. Nolan
wished he'd thought of bringing one along. He glanced over at Vic and saw the
same worried expression that had lined his friend's face for the last year. He
remembered a different Vic. He remembered a laughing, practical-joking guy with
an oncoming beer belly and a great future with
Kansas
City
's finest.

Now Vic
was skinny, withdrawn, out of a job, and broke. Connie's cancer had done it.
The hospital and doctor bills, the medication, the mortgage payments and just
watching his wife die used up everything in him. Nolan knew why Vic stole
confiscated coke and sold it. He knew why Vic took cash from certain members of
certain gangs to look the other way. Vic from Vice had needed the money.

There
wasn’t enough evidence to bust him, but he was kicked off the force and told to
take a long hike. Nolan knew how it worked, because he'd joined the police
academy with Vic over a decade ago. Nolan lasted only five and a half years on
the force. Three bullets from the gun of a ten-year-old on crack had taken care
of him, leaving him with permanent nerve damage in his right leg, a gouge in
the left cheek of his ass, and a dangerous attitude toward other human beings.

They
took his badge away after his second psychiatric evaluation and told him adios.
After the initial anger he decided he didn't blame them. Vic was a different
story. Nobody understood. Nobody cared about the why. And now, just ten months
after Connie's death, Vic's father was dead. The guy couldn't get a break.

Nolan
glanced over again and caught Vic looking at his bandaged hands. The gauze was
dirty and needed to be changed. Soon it would begin to stink.

Nothing
like the smell of pus and fried flesh in the morning," he joked.

“Hurt
much?" Vic asked.

"Like
a sonofabitch."

Where
was the lab? Did they make the bust?"

"Can't
bust a dead guy. He was one of these jerks who liked to inject it into his
pecker. His girlfriend bought it in the first blast."

"Oh.
Look, about what Carrie said back there—"

"Forget
it," Nolan said. "She's history."

Vic's
mouth curved. "Just like that?"

"Just
like that for about the last two months. She was a blast until I moved in, then
it was `no, let's stay home and save up for new furniture.' She sent me running
to the store for toilet paper and tampons, and she expected me to fix things
that have been broken since the hope chest opened."

Vic was
smiling openly now. "Sounds like marriage."

"I
know," Nolan said with a feigned shudder.

"You're
what? Thirty-six?" Vic asked.

"Thirty-five."

"Okay.
In the last decade you've gone through five roommates and twice that many
girlfriends."

"So?"
Nolan said.

"So
when are you going to—"

"Don't
even ask. I don't want to get married and I don't want to have kids."

"Why?"
asked a small voice from the back.

Nolan
glanced in his rearview mirror and saw Andy eyeing the back of his head with a
wary expression.

"Just
because," he said, wondering how much she'd heard.

"Is
it because your hair is dirty yellow?"

Christa
sat up. "That's blond, Andy."

"I
know what blond is," Andy said immediately. "But his hair is dirty
yellow."

"No
it isn't. It's blond, just like my teacher, Mrs. Shellhammer. Only hers was
curly."

"Why
isn't his curly?" Andy asked. "And how come it looks dirty yellow if
it's blond?"

Nolan
looked at Vic with a pained expression. Vic turned to face the backseat.
"It's just the light in the car, Andy. Why don't you talk about something
else?"

"He's
embarrassed," Christa whispered to Andy.

Andy
eyed the back of his head again. "He doesn't want any kids, Christa."

"Girls
…” Vic warned.

"When
I grow up I want a boy and a girl," Christa said. "And two dogs and
three cats."

"Ooh,
kitties," Andy said. "Daddy, will there be any kitties at Grandpa's
house?"

"I'm
sure we can get one," Vic said absently.

Andy
turned her attention to Nolan once more. "Do you like kitties, Mr.
Woof?"

"Wulf,"
Nolan said automatically. Then he glanced at her in the rearview. "I used
to have a cat. A big tom."

This
caused Andy to reconsider her earlier opinion. "What happened to
him?"

"He
got sick and died."

"Hmm,"
Andy said. "Just like Mommy. Mr. Woof, if you and my Daddy are friends,
how come you never came to visit us before?"

"Andy,
please . . ." Vic said.

"He
doesn't like kids, remember?" Christa murmured.

Nolan
cleared his throat loudly. "Just call me Nolan, would you? And I didn't
visit because I worked third shift. When all of you were in bed asleep, I was
at work."