Gifts and Consequences (11 page)

An hour after nightfall he took the I-15 off ramp to head west on St. George Boulevard toward his hotel, two blocks from the freeway.  The day’s travel was one of the longest he had attempted, and his body was ready for a bath and sleep. 

The exit at St. George Boulevard was sprawling and poorly lit.  The freeway lay to the east, with a small industrial area on the west, separated from the off ramp by a small grove of desert trees.  To the south of the industrial area, on the other side of the trees, was a fast food restaurant.  He could grab dinner and it would still be warm when he reached the motel.

He cut across the red gravel hill on the west side of the off ramp, making a beeline for the restaurant.  Shortcuts saved him valuable minutes which translated into extra resting time.

As he walked across the dirt toward the trees he spied an El Camino pulled off the road at the bottom of the off ramp.  It was white, or had been at one time.  Rust-colored was probably more accurate.

Just before he reached the trees he saw both doors of the car open.  Two men stepped out and walked toward Allen.  The driver was a hulking man with a flannel shirt, full black beard and shaggy hair.  The passenger was in his early twenties with unkempt, sandy hair and bug eyes.  He fidgeted as he walked.  He grinned and glanced frequently at the larger man.

A few seconds later Allen was walking among the scraggly mesquite trees.  He didn’t like the looks of the men so he jogged, glancing over his shoulder to catch glimpses of them through the trees.  When he spotted them running after him he reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone.  Only thirty yards separated them from the small grove.

Allen picked up his speed as much as his pack would allow and began dialing 911.  Just as he reached for the send button, the phone slipped from his hand and skittered to the ground.  He didn’t even think about stopping to pick it up.  His other options ran through his mind.

The freeway was too far to reach; going that direction would only bring him back toward the men and separate him from the closest people.  He might be able to reach the lighted parking lot, but that would be a crapshoot.  Hiding and hoping the men would pass wouldn’t work; the leafless mesquites offered no shade from the moonlight. 

Trying to keep up his pace, he stripped the backpack and let it fall, but he had waited too long.  Even though he was in great shape, Allen had already walked twenty miles that day with a forty-pound backpack.  Sounds of pursuit came from only a few yards behind.

He carefully placed each footstep between the clay-colored rocks that littered the ground.  Forty yards to safety, but the men seemed much too close.

A burly voice called, “Get back here!  We don’t want to hurt you.” 

The other squealed, “Yeah, we don’t wanna hurt ya.   Just talk to ya.” 

Allen dodged mesquite trees and crossed a small, dry wash.  Thorns tore through his thin shirt and raked his skin.  The desert smell was thick, especially with his rapid breathing. 

Twenty yards from the parking lot.  He might actually make it. 

In his excitement he tried to spread his pace out, and stretched to clear a grapefruit-sized rock with his left foot.  His heel caught the rock and his ankle twisted under his weight.  Allen hit the ground hard and rolled across the rough dirt, coming to rest on his back

Almost instantly one of the men knelt on Allen’s midsection.  He was larger than Allen by a hundred pounds or more.  Allen looked up into a black, unkempt beard and cruel smile. 

The smaller man moved toward Allen’s head.  He said, “You make a sound and I’ll gut ya.”  He held a bowie knife.

Despite his duress, Allen couldn’t help but wonder how the scrawny man would gut him if he was crouched next to his head.

The larger man barked, “Shut up, Spider.  Go get his pack.”

Adjusting his weight as if searching for the most uncomfortable position in which to put Allen he asked, “Whatcha carrying in your pack there?” 

“Just…walking and camping stuff.”  He struggled to breathe with so much weight on his gut.  “Food.  Clothes.”  The smell was overpowering—man sweat and rotten breath.

The smaller man returned with the pack.

“Is that so?  We like walking and camping, don’t we, Spider?”

 “That’s right, we walk all day sometimes.”  With another giggle he said, “All day and all night sometimes.” 

“You wouldn’t mind sharing your goodies with a couple of fellow walkers, would ya?” 

Allen nodded, but apparently the man didn’t hear because he jabbed his thick walking stick onto the back of Allen’s hand, pinning it to the ground. 

He shifted his weight onto the staff and repeated, “Would you?”

Allen’s only answer was a groan.  He wasn’t sure if he heard or just felt bones cracking in his hand.  The pressure eased and Allen said, “Take it.  It’s yours.”

“So kind of you,” said the man, with a vicious smile.  He knelt and opened the pack and pulled out some clothes and an MRE.  He stuffed them back into the backpack and reached into the largest side pocket.  When his hand came out he held Allen’s travel-sized Bible.  He tossed it to the ground and came to stand over Allen.

Spider watched Allen closely, chewing on his lower lip.  He seemed to be waiting for any excuse to skewer him. 

“Hey those shoes look like they’re just my size,” said the larger man.  “I’m sure you wouldn’t mind giving those up also.” 

Allen didn’t say anything.  He didn’t dare point out that the huge man’s shoes had to be two or three sizes bigger than his own. 

“Spider, our friend seems a little attached to those shoes.  Maybe you could help him out.”

“Yeah, sure, George.”  Spider’s eyes grew wide as he moved toward Allen’s ankles.  George knelt again on Allen’s gut, but his legs were free. 

It took all the self-control Allen could muster to keep himself from kicking Spider’s teeth in.  “Take em,” he said. 

Spider cursed when George prevented him from using his blade.

“How kind of you, Sir.  I see you are a Good Samaritan after all, just like it says in the Good Book.  What else do you have to offer fellow travelers?”

Nothing but throbbing pain came to Allen’s mind. 

George stood and said, “Tsk, tsk.  Some people just can’t learn charity, eh, Spider?”  Without warning he took a two-handed, chopping wood swing at Allen’s chest with his walking stick.  This time Allen was sure he heard bones crack.  He rolled reflexively onto his uninjured side, giving George easy access to the wallet in his back pocket.

The pain in his ankle was forgotten, overshadowed by his throbbing hand and crushed ribs.  Deep breathing was impossible.

George made a low whistle as he riffled through the wallet then stuffed it in his own pocket. Allen concentrated on breathing at just the right depth to make the pain almost bearable. 

Without warning, George rained down blows with his makeshift staff.  Not a single, solid blow like before, but repeated strikes to his legs, back, and head.  Allen thought he felt kicks mixed into the assault as well.  He tried unsuccessfully to cover both his head and ribs. 

When the attack stopped it took Allen a second to realize it was over.  He opened one swollen eye to see Spider looming over him.  The spindly man was fidgeting with excitement and even did a little jump in the air.  His buggish eyes were as prominent as the full moon overhead.  Emboldened by George’s attack, Spider ventured near enough to land one weak kick on Allen’s thigh.  It felt kind compared to the beating he’d received from George.  He stepped back to a safe watching distance. 

George paced slowly next to Allen.  “Are you ready to be a little more forthcoming?”

What else do I have?
thought Allen.  It was no longer an issue of getting roughed up and losing his gear.  Allen looked at his hands for an answer and saw his watch.  He fumbled for a few seconds in pain, but couldn’t grasp the strap with his crushed hand so he extended it to George. 

Using his stick, George motioned to Spider, who crept closer with the large blade extended.

“That won’t be necessary, my over-anxious friend,” said George.  “He’s making an offering to us in goodwill.  Seems he’s finally learning the meaning of charity.”

Spider deflated and sheathed the blade.  He removed Allen’s watch with a pout on his face. 

Before George could instruct or nudge him, Allen reached into his pockets with his uninjured hand.  He offered cash totaling seven dollars and change.

Forty cents
, he thought. 
That’s how much I had.  A quarter, a nickel and a dime
.  Anything was preferable to thinking about the pain.  Blood from a head wound ran into his eye and he had to open his right eye, even though it proved extremely painful.

“How kind of you,” said George with a mock bow.  “Why don’t you see if our friend is being totally honest, Spider?”

The young man stared at his partner through long sandy bangs.

“Find out if he’s holding out on us,” repeated George.

“Oh!” said Spider and jumped to roughly pat down Allen.  He had nothing of value left. 

“Set him up against that tree,” ordered George, motioning to a nearby mesquite tree.

On a scale of one to ten Allen’s pain was a twenty as he and Spider worked to get him propped up against the rough tree.  In the meantime, George dug into the backpack and produced four sections of bungee rope.

“Now take his belt off,” said George.

“Uh, what for?” asked Spider recoiling.  “We’re not gonna do anything, uh, anything weird, are we?”

George just showed Spider his hefty stick.  That was all the urging Spider needed. 

As soon as Spider began fidgeting with his buckle, Allen remembered the $300 hidden in a pouch on the inner sleeve. 

Should I mention it?
he wondered. 
They might not find it, but if they do, George will think I was holding out on him.  I can’t survive another beating. 

The buckle was loose and Spider was sliding it out of the belt loops.  Allen’s head was still fuzzy from the beating, but he felt the belt clear each loop as if counting down to his execution.

Undecided until the belt was free he exclaimed, “It’s a money belt.  I forgot about the money in the belt.”

George walked to where Spider held the belt and ripped it out of the smaller man’s hands.  Spider danced back out of George’s reach then edged forward with wide eyes and fidgeting hands.    

It only took George a second to discover the cash.  He counted it deliberately then put it in his pocket.  “Still holding out on us?”

“I forgot about it until he started taking off the belt,” he panted.  “I swear.” 

George paced in front of Allen.  He stroked his beard.  “What do you think, Spider?” 

“He held out on us, George.”  Spider’s head bobbed and he couldn’t stand still.  “He didn’t tell us about the money in his belt.”

“You’re right.  He didn’t.”

In one fluid motion George turned sideways and took a baseball swing with the staff aimed directly at Allen’s face.  Allen flinched and closed his eyes, expecting to be on the other side when he opened them. 

No pain.  No crushing of his skull.  He opened his eyes, half expecting to see angels or a light at the end of a tunnel, but only the pale moonlight greeted him.  George held his staff an inch in front of Allen’s face, waiting for him to notice it.

“On second thought,” said George, “we’re fair folk.  We should let the punishment fit the crime.”

He handed his stick to Spider and folded the belt in Allen’s view.  After snapping it like a father intimidating a child before a swat, he laid into Allen.  If it would have been the staff Allen wouldn’t have survived the first couple blows.  The pain was severe, and though Allen cringed behind upraised arms, it was pain he could survive. 

I made the right choice
, he told himself even as the blows rained down.  Eventually the attack stopped and Allen thought,
No new broken bones.   I’m going to survive this.  I’m going to make it back to Detroit.  Back to Yvonne. 
His entire body stung, throbbed, and ached. 

Spider’s giggling was out of place in the dark night of violence.  Squirming in the shadows he looked like an evil stork.  He was eyeing Allen’s pants.  “Can I have his pants, George?  They’re Dickies.  And they look clean.” 

George considered the request, annoyed.  “Those will never fit you, Spider.  You have no ass.”

“It’s OK.”  Spider seemed excited that George was even considering it.  “Besides, he won’t be able to get away.  He’ll be too embarrassed to walk away.  Cause he won’t have pants on.”

“Fine, take ‘em.” 

Spider clenched one fist and clapped his hands before retrieving the pants.

The pair said no more as they tied Allen to the tree using the belt and the bungees.  The last bungee was used to bind his ankles.  George found the small roll of duct tape and used most of it to secure Allen’s wrists behind the tree, then reinforced the ankle tie. 

George pulled Allen’s sweaty socks off, folded them deliberately and forced them into Allen’s mouth.  He used the last of the duct tape to cover Allen’s mouth and tape his head to the tree.