Stone Butterfly (4 page)

Sarah pushed the supermarket cart along with Mr. Zig-Zag perched up front, as if he were in charge of navigation. She selected two cans of tuna so there might be some left over for her cat, three fifteen-ounce cans of store-brand pinto beans because they were the cheapest, a loaf of sliced pumpernickel rye because Marilee liked dark bread.

The man in the blue suit and red power tie watched the Ute-Papago girl move purposefully along the aisles stocked with canned goods, was pleased to see that the skinny child performed her shopping with an intense concentration that was unusual in one so young. For what he had in mind, it would help if the kid was smart. He grinned.
But not too smart.

Sarah pushed her cart to the fresh produce section, paused to eye shiny apples and purple grapes, passed these by to select a half-dozen red potatoes. Her shopping completed, the girl looked around to make sure none of the children from school were nearby to witness her poverty. But even as she showed the cashier Marilee's voucher from the welfare office, Sarah Frank's face was warm with shame.

The redheaded woman rung up the sale, stamped the voucher, gave the little Indian girl a pitying look, said what she always said. “How's your cousin and Mr. Harper getting along?” Thought what she always thought.
Not that I care a damn about that bottom-feeder Al Harper. But Marilee's a good egg.

The girl shrugged, mumbled her usual “Okay, I guess,” hurried away with her bag of staples. The cat followed his scarecrow mistress through the exit, into the parking lot.

Blue Suit was waiting outside. He emerged from a long, black automobile, removed a cigar from his mouth, presented the sort of frozen smile worn by used-car salesmen about to make their pitch. “Hey—ain't you Sarah Frank?”

Startled to hear her name spoken aloud, she stared up at the clean-shaven white man, noticed that he had a shiny red parcel tucked under his arm.

Mr. Zig-Zag rubbed up against the man's immaculate trouser leg.

The owner of the leg cringed, gave the cat a scowl, then reset the smile as he searched the thin girl's face for some sign of recognition. “D'you know who I am?”

Sarah shook her head.

“I'm Raymond Oates.” He saw a flicker of interest in the Indian girl's eyes. “I believe you know my brother Ben.”

A slight hesitation, then a nod.

“Well, ol' Ben's actually my
half
brother. We had the same momma, but different daddies.” He tapped off a clump of cigar ash, which landed on the cat's head. “From what I hear, you do some housework for the old sourpuss.”

Sarah managed another nod.

Oates didn't notice the nod; he had fixed his gaze on the Tonapah Flats Truck Stop, atop of which a twelve-foot-tall neon facsimile of a shapely Indian woman wielded an electric-blue tomahawk. (A passing tourist from Paducah—who had a half-dozen pink plastic flamingoes stuck in her flower bed and a husband who listened to every word she said—had offered the frank opinion that the sign was “garish.”) Oates looked down to smile upon the girl. “If you're not in a great big hurry, why don't we go into the café. I don't know about you, but I could do with a bite to eat.”

Sarah glanced shyly at the huge sign blinking on the peaked roof.

Thunder Woman Café—Open 24 Hours

Having no sense of propriety, her stomach growled. “I don't have enough money.”

“Hah!” Oates stuffed the cigar back into his mouth, it wobbled as he spoke. “You don't need any money. Whenever me and my friends eat at the Thunder Woman, they don't charge us a copper dime.”

She stared.
He must be lying. Or maybe he's crazy.
Searching for an excuse to refuse the unsettling invitation, Sarah pointed at Mr. Zig-Zag. “I don't think they'd let him in.” It was common knowledge that the café manager, a disreputable person (whose parents had named him Groundhog!) hated cats and dogs and what he called “snotty-nose kids.”

“Don't give your kitty cat a second thought.” Oates tilted his head back, blew a fair-to-middling smoke ring, watched the wispy donut drift upward. “Fact is, I own the café and bar and the liquor store. And for that matter, the whole truck stop. Including the gas station, the Laundromat, the video store, even the ladies' and gent's toilets.”

She heard herself say: “Really?”

“Dang tootin'. I am what the common folk call stinkin' rich.” He pointed the cigar over her shoulder. “I also own the Oates's Supermarket. Which is why it's named after me—Oates, don't you see?”

Sarah gave the Thunder Woman Bar and Café a hopeful look. “Could I have a cheeseburger?”

“A-course you can, little lady.
Double-meat
cheeseburger. And crispy-curly cheese fries and a great big chunk of coconut-creme pie. Plus a soda pop.”

She stared at the man in the blue suit and red tie, watched him launch another smoke ring into the sky. Only this one wasn't really a ring—it was a triangle.
Maybe he's the Devil.
She wondered what he'd want her pitiful little soul for.

Raymond Oates ushered Sarah Frank to his reserved booth in a corner, between a potted palm and the cigarette vending machine. The owner of the establishment gave his super-sized manager a drop-what-you're-doing-and-come-here-right-now look. All 268 pounds of Groundhog came lurching and heaving toward the boss. He offered his employer a sly, submissive smile, but as soon as Oates's eyes were focused on the menu, the manager of the Thunder Woman Café shot the skinny Indian girl a flat-eyed look that made Sarah's skin prickle. If she had known about the occasional “odd job” Groundhog did for Boss Oates, the child would have certainly lost her appetite.

Oates ordered black coffee with a tablespoon of vanilla extract, a ham steak, three eggs scrambled with sautéed onions, a side of biscuits and white gravy. After consulting with the girl, he ordered Sarah Frank a large Cherry Coke, a Momma Bear cheeseburger, and medium crispy-curly cheese fries. Oates selected a fish and chips plate for the cat, hold the chips and tartar sauce.

Groundhog scribbled on his order pad, ambled away.

Sarah half-listened to the white man's incessant chatter, which was mostly about how he and Ben had come to be half brothers, how Daddy Oates had made his money on land and cattle. Raymond also bragged about going off to the university where he got his law degree and made lots of important friends—which was how he got to be “stinkin' rich” and now owned half of Tonapah Flats. The best half.

His narrative was mercifully interrupted by a sleepy-eyed, footsore waitress who nodded deferentially at Oates, unloaded her tray without comment.

While the feline and the famished Indian girl attended to their meals with civilized delicacy, Oates attacked his ham and eggs with savage enthusiasm—but between bites he stole furtive glances at his potential business partner. As she put away the final morsel of burger, the last greasy cheesy potato, he asked: “You ready for some pie?”

Sarah shook her head. “I'm too full, but thank you.”

“No matter, you can take some home.” He shouted an instruction to the manager.

Groundhog opened a refrigerated display case, removed a whole banana-creme pie. Once again, he gave Sarah the eye.
Wonder what ol' Oates is up to now. Whatever it is, there must be some money in it for him.
After delivering the boxed pie to the boss, he began to wipe the counter at a location within earshot of his employer and the skinny girl.

From an inner jacket pocket, Ray Oates produced a fresh cigar and a fourteen-karat gold-plated lighter. Being a man who always focused on the work at hand, he went slightly cross-eyed as he touched a flame to the tip. “You like living with your Aunt Marilee?”

“She's my cousin.”

Okay, Little Miss Correct-Your-Elders, so she's your damn cousin.
He tried again: “Are you happy living with Marilee and Al Harper?”

Amorphous concepts like
happy
surfaced only in Sarah's dreams, melted away with the dawn. The orphan opened her mouth, closed it—stared at her enigmatic inquisitor.

Undeterred by her silence, Oates took a puff on the ten-inch stogie. “Way I hear it, Marilee works all day to support her live-in boyfriend.” He removed the
Arturo Fuente
Curly Head Deluxe from his mouth, pointed it at the girl. “Did you know Al was a sneak thief and a jailbird?”

The girl maintained her blank stare.

“Well he is.” He returned the cigar to its rightful place between his lips. “And they both drink too much. Don't take no offense, Missy—I'm just a straight-talker. And I'm here to tell you—those two are a couple of losers.” He exhaled a cloud of smoke, stared deep into her brown eyes, as if he saw something there. “But you ain't no loser—you're just down on your luck.” Without the least effort, he assumed a foxy expression. “And I'm also here to tell you—your luck is about to change for the better. You and me are gonna conduct some business.”

Having never encountered anyone remotely like Raymond Oates, Sarah was hanging on every word.

Aware of his advantage, Oates forged ahead. “Like I already said, I know about how you do some chores for my half brother Ben—like running a little errand now and then.” He affected a significant pause. “How much does he pay you?”

Sarah shrugged. “Fifty cents for making his lunch.”

Oates snorted.

She felt a sudden need to defend grumpy old Ben Silver. “He gives me a dollar if I bring him some groceries from the store.” It was a very long walk from the supermarket, across the highway, down behind Marliee's house and through the brush around the Little Sandy Dry Wash, then up the trail through Hatchet Gap, which was the only way through Big Lizard Ridge. And if you didn't go through the gap, you had to walk a long, long way down the highway, and take the dirt lane that went around behind the ridge, and that was also a long, long walk.

While she performed this mental review of the local geography, Oates produced another snort. “A measly dollar—what an old cheap-skate!” He pushed the pretty red package across the table. “This is for you.”

She gave the parcel a wide-eyed stare. “What is it?”

“Just a gift from one friend to another.”

She shook her head. “But I couldn't accept a present from—”

“It's just a little book.” His mouth twisted into a knowing grin. “And there's some bookmarks in it.” He glanced around the café to make certain some Nosy Parker wasn't eavesdropping. Didn't notice Groundhog, who was scrubbing at an invisible spot on the countertop. “But don't open it up until you get home and you're all by yourself. And don't tell Marilee or that crumb-bum Al Harper I gave you a little present.” Oates tapped his nose in a way he had seen Paul Newman do in an old movie. “This is just between you and me, see?”

Of its own accord, her hand reached out. Sarah's fingertips caressed the shiny paper, her eyes looked wonderingly at the generous man. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome as warm sunshine in January, kid.” Oates pointed his chin at the brown paper bag in the seat beside her. “Them groceries for Ben?”

Sarah shook her head. “That's for Marilee.”

Satisfied with slandering the girl's Papago relative, the attorney had no further words to waste on Marilee Attatochee. “How often do you go to see my half brother?”

“Now that school's out, almost every day.”

“Do you and Ben get along okay?”

Sarah frowned, shook her head. “When I don't do something right, sometimes he yells at me.”

“Oh, don't think nothing about that—grumping about anything and everything, that's just Ben's way.”
You may be the only soul on earth the nasty old bastard can stand to have around him.
Oates leaned across the table, gave the girl a goggle-eyed look. “What's he say about me?”

“Not very much.” Little Miss Frank lived up to her name. “Except that he's going to dance a jig around your coffin and sing ‘Happy Days Are Here Again.'” The Ute-Papago girl assumed this must be some kind of white-person funeral ritual.

“And he will if he gets the chance.” Raymond Oates's plump torso shook with chuckles. “Ben and me don't get along. Never did.” As he slipped back five decades, the half brother's eyes took on a glassy, faraway look. “It all started over that stupid lizard he caught and put in a shoe box. Made a reg'lar pet of it—even gave it a name.”
Lonnie Lizard. Now is that dumb, or what?
“After it turned up with its head chopped off, he claimed I was the one that killed it.”

Stunned at the thought of such a reprehensible crime, Sarah was unable to keep the question in her mouth. “Did you?”

The lawyer glared at the girl, saw the accusation in her tight lips, quickly looked away. “There was never a smidgen of proof.”

Being busy eavesdropping on the boss's conversation with the Indian kid, Groundhog was distracted by a husky truck driver who demanded “some service over here.” The manager of the Thunder Woman Café flipped a grimy dish towel over his shoulder, approached the customer—who shoved an empty coffee mug across the counter. “Gimmee a refill.”

Groundhog nodded. “You got it.”
But coffee won't be all you'll get in your cup.

A shadow of her appetite having returned, Sarah eyed the white cardboard pie box. She wondered whether it would be all right to have a piece before she took it home. Just a small one.

Oates looked through the fly-specked window, at what he could see across the busy highway. Above the peaked roofs of dismal frame houses, faded façades of failing businesses, and intermittent clusters of scrub pine, the long, jagged spine of Big Lizard Ridge dominated the skyline. Brother Ben's place was on the far side of the ridge, at the mouth of Hatchet Gap.
Well, it's time to stop beating around the bush, get down to brass tacks.
His brow furrowed.
Beating around bushes, getting down to brass tacks—why do we say stuff like that?
The intermittently intellectual fellow rolled a few possibilities over in his mind, terminated the process when his head began to ache. He focused his gaze on the girl. “Sarah, my half brother has something I want. And I'm ready to pay a pretty penny for it. But every time I bring the subject up, the old snapping turtle bites my head off.” The wheeler-dealer assumed an optimistic expression. “But I think maybe you could help.”

This unexpected request made her feel very important. “How?”

“By acting as a go-between.”

Sarah watched Mr. Zig-Zag lick grease off his paws. “What's a go-between?”

This kid gets right to the point.
Another scowl.
Right to the point—point of what?
Another thudding ache in the brain. He clenched his teeth on the cigar stub. “A go-between is a person who arranges a business transaction between two other parties—who for one reason or other, can't or won't talk directly to one another.” The attorney tried to think of just the right way to say it. “Ben has this…this
pretty
thing.” He described the family heirloom in some detail.

Having never heard of such a wonderful treasure, Sarah Frank wanted to see it. Hold it in her hand.
But Mr. Silver would never show it to me
…The half brother's booming voice jarred her out of the reverie.

“It belonged to my old man, but the day Daddy died, Ben made off with it and I ain't seen it since. If you could talk him into selling it to me, I'd pay him a pile of cash.” He grinned at the girl. “And you'd get a commission.”

“What's a commission?”

I like the way she cuts right to the bone.
“A commission's a piece of the deal. I'd pay you ten percent of whatever the pretty thing cost me.”

Sarah thought she was beginning to get the gist of it. “How much would it cost you?”

Oates grinned ear-to-ear.
This is my kind of kid.
“Hard to say. It'd be up to you to talk Ben into the deal. But just for starters, let's say we're talking ten thousand dollars for Ben. That'd mean a thousand to you.”

Her entire body went tingly numb. “A whole
thousand dollars
?”

“That's the least fee you'll get.” He leaned across the table. “Here's the way it'd work, Sarah. Let's say I put up eleven thousand bucks. The cut would be ten thousand for Ben, one thousand for you. But if you manage to buy it from my brother for a lower price, that's fine with me. You'll still get your thousand, and keep the difference.”

Sarah crinkled her face into a frown.

Looks like 'rithmetic ain't her best subject. I gotta make this simple enough so's a oyster could understand.
“Let's say you talk Ben into selling for five G's. You'd get your one plus five more. Which would make six thousand for you.”

The puzzled expression was stuck on her face.

I'm gonna have to spell it out.
“Okay, just for the sake of argument, let's say Ben likes you so much, he decides to
give
it to you. I wouldn't know that, and I wouldn't care. Soon as you deliver the pretty thing to me, you get the whole eleven thousand.” He raised an eyebrow. “Just
imagine
what you could do with that much money.”