The Bird Saviors (25 page)
After Ezra leaves, Page fixes himself a bourbon and Coke, savoring the syrupy burn. He takes out a bottle of Windex and sprays the glass counter above the sidearm display, where Jack was slouching. He's not one to countenance smudges or slouches. As he wipes the glass clean he muses that he puts the odds of success for this little caper at a hundred to one. But the odds it works in his favor? Four out of five, maybe.
    The worst that could happen? Brown is caught and fingers him as the kingpin. Unlikely result. Brown knows he has friends of friends, in prison and out. Plus, he's family. In case Brown does squeal, he denies it all, of course, makes his cousin out to be a disgruntled relative trying to blackmail one of his more successful kin. He resells the truck, makes more money, the ball keeps rolling.
    One way or the other Ruby Cole gets a taste of just what the word
vulnerable
means. Could be she falls into his lap like ripe fruit.
vulnerable
means. Could be she falls into his lap like ripe fruit.
Whatever God requires is right, no matter what it is, although we may not see the reason thereof till long after the events transpire. If we seek first the kingdom of God, all good things will be added. So with Solomon: first he asked wisdom, and God gave it to him, and with it every desire of his heart; even things which might be considered abominable to all who understand the order of Heaven only in part.
â
Joseph Smith
D o w n  t o w n  i n  t h e  s h a d o w s  o f  interstate 25, prickly pear cactus grows in dusty vacant lots and the fat symbols of loopy- script graffiti decorate concrete highway pillars. As the traffic whines like a chain saw running in his brain, Officer Israel James finds himself ticketing parking violations, which is pretty close to the lowest of the low. What next? Scraping the gum off benches in Gnome Park? Elray scribbles a love note of bad news on a car parked too close to a fire hydrant, wondering exactly where and when he took a wrong step in life. What has led to thisâ this what? Dwindling? Step down? Christ, two floors down, it sometimes feels.
    He doesn't want to admit it but secretly he knows his undoing occurred the night he failed to get the name of Rebecca Cisneros's ex- boyfriend, the yahoo intent on reclaiming the engagement ring she mock- swallowed, when her pretty face and come- hither invitation made his head spin so fast he forgot to ask the man's name, returned to hear of her abduction, and then the whole matter was taken out of his hands. Later to be covered up like the sins of a favorite uncle.
    So it goes. He stands on the corner of Abriendo and Polk Street, tucking a pink parking ticket under the windshield wiper of a bent- fendered Nissan, when a pickup pulls up beside him and there he is, the legendary George Armstrong Crowfoot, black ponytail and all, wearing mirrored sunglasses and a plaid western shirt, giving Elray a smile, saying, Long time no see, Deputy Dawg.
    Elray slow- walks over to the passenger- side cab window and gives the door a soft bong with his fist. Well, if it isn't the badass himself. Last I heard you were giving free haircuts to wayward Saints and galloping off into the sunset with a filly on your saddle.
    I deny the charges, Officer, says Crowfoot. But I do owe you an apology. I remember way back when this all started you claimed that said young filly had invited you to dinner and that you felt cheated. So I guess I owe you one.
    You mean for stealing her?
    Well, it doesn't sound so noble, put that way. I didn't steal a soul. But we have become somewhat inseparable.
    I'll take that as a thank- you, then.
    You didn't tell me she was a looker.
    Sounds like you found out for yourself.
    I did. Crowfoot grins. She thinks I'm her savior, and seeing as I've never saved anyone before, I'm not about to argue.
    Don't blame you.
    So I heard through the grapevine you been looking for me.
    I have, I have. Elray takes off his hat and climbs inside Crow
foot's pickup, moving a crate of bottled water on the floorboard to make room for his boots. I understand you and your lady friend are cozy as bedbugs now, but I still want to give her ex- boyfriend a little payback. Who is this clown?
    Jack Brown. A nobody related to that pawnshop owner Page. He's a fool. Becca told me the whole story, and it sounds like he got into something over his head. She gave him back that ring and we don't want any hand in any payback now. Let sleeping dogs lie, Wyatt Earp.
    George? You going soft on me? I figured you'd be putting the hurt on him big time.
    Maybe I mellowed with a woman whispering in my ear. I don't know. But I'm the one who told her to give the ring back. Since then, what's done is done. Haven't heard a peep out of the Saints and hope I never will again.
    You hear about that tanker hijacked and a trucker killed?
    Nope.
    Elray frowns. You don't watch the news much, I take it.
    Hardly ever. Up on the mesa, we watch the sunset.
    That's nice and gooey and all, but us law- enforcement types, we stay up on things. This hijacking gone wrong wasn't that long ago, and seemed to me like a plot the Saints would hatch. An entire tanker full of gas. A lot of money to be made if you can sell it. Who else but Saints is what I'm thinking. And just the other day the tanker shows up empty at a rest stop in Nevada. I'm thinking these outlaws sold the gas somewhere in the polyg back alleys of southern Utah, then crossed state lines and dropped the truck off to wash their hands of it.
    Those freaks got too much time on their hands, says Crowfoot. Never mess with a people crazier than yourself.
    Yeah, well, I'm writing parking tickets now. I got some time on my hands too.
    But you're not crazy.
    That's debatable. I'm a horse cop in the shadow of a freeway. Can't be that sharp or I'd be making the big money.
    Do what you want. Me and Becca, we're over it. I know they say revenge is a dish best served cold, but ugliness begets ugliness. The best way to end a feud is to walk away, forget about it.
    I wish it was that easy. But maybe. I'll sit on this for now. If Jack Brown runs afoul of the law, I'll be there to greet him. Elray nods and gives George an
adios,
returns to Apache, tied to a chain- link fence. He climbs on the horse and watches Crowfoot drive away, sees the pickup disappear in traffic, thinking that as much as he hates to admit it, the man is right. Let it go. Sometimes that's what you have to do. Sometimes that's all a man can do. Let it go.
adios,
returns to Apache, tied to a chain- link fence. He climbs on the horse and watches Crowfoot drive away, sees the pickup disappear in traffic, thinking that as much as he hates to admit it, the man is right. Let it go. Sometimes that's what you have to do. Sometimes that's all a man can do. Let it go.
    Except when you can't.
A t o p  W i l d  H o r s e  M e s a , Crowfoot packs a row of eighteen- by- twelve- inch wooden frames with mud, clay, and straw, leaves them in the sun to bake dry. The wooden frames are made from scrap two- by- fours. He's building a round adobe house, Santa Fe style. Becca Cisneros brings him sausage- and- egg soft tacos wrapped in aluminum foil and a thermos of coffee. How's it going? she asks.
    Good, good. He wipes mud and clay from his hands and takes the foil packet she's offering. At this rate I'll have enough bricks done to start laying and mortaring the walls before the worst of the cold sets in. I'm thinking of putting a big window in here. He points. What do you think of that?
    It's a great view. She rests one hand on her belly, her face sublime, untroubled in the sunlight. She's carrying a baby girl and is happy in this knowledge, at this moment, on top of this mesa, the blue sky above dotted with clouds white as clean pillowcases. She smiles and gives Crowfoot's belt loop a tug. Is that the bedroom?
    He nods. The sun will wake us up every morning.
    We can lie in bed and watch it.
    Or do something else, he says.
    Or that.
    And I can watch you. With the morning light on your skin.
    Now, you better quit thinking that way.
    What?
    I see that look on your face. You keep giving me that look and you'll never get this finished.
    He laughs. I saw Elray James yesterday.
    You did?
    I did.
    What was he doing?
    Putting parking tickets on cars of the unfortunate, downtown.
    You say anything about us?
    Well, I said thanks for being the one to introduce us, after a fashion, I guess.
You did.
I said I felt guilty for stealing you away.
You didn't steal me from him! I only met the man once.
I know that.
    It's like another lifetime ago. I don't even want to think about it.
    Then don't.
    I want to think about what kind of tile we're going to put on the floor. We're going to use stone tiles, aren't we?
    We are.
    It will be beautiful.
    Crowfoot nods. And a lot of work. But by the end, beautiful.
    That's what matters, isn't it?
    Yes, it is. Everything worth doing takes work.
    Crowfoot stares southwest, the landscape stretching beyond like a painting of the legendary Anasazi cliff houses. A high, treeless plateau of tan and russet fields rising to forested mountains jagged against the horizon. Burned patches of scorched trees still standing on one of the closest hillsides. The sharp drop- off of the cliff edge a hundred yards beyond where the south- facing house plot lies. He pictures the adobe home, a fire in the corner fireplace hearth, snow on the mesa lovely out the windows. He pictures how the golden sun rays will fall onto the flagstone tiles of the room. How Becca will look as she wakes in bed, the light so clear and true he'll be able to see the fine hairs that cover her lower back. A plan for a life worth living. Something whole and different.
. . .
Later that day Crowfoot bounces his pickup down the steep road on a supply trip to town. When he stops just outside the cattle guard to open the gate at the foot of Wild Horse Mesa, he finds a cardboard box. He regards it for a moment, the odd vision of a box in the desert, sitting next to a clump of cactus. He gives it a tentative shove with the toe of his boot. There's a note scrawled on the top flaps in black marker:
Adios, amigo. Here's a
present for you and yours. Keep it to scare the Saints.
Crowfoot hefts the box in the air and gives it a shake. Knows what it is without looking.
Adios, amigo. Here's a
present for you and yours. Keep it to scare the Saints.
Crowfoot hefts the box in the air and gives it a shake. Knows what it is without looking.
W a r d  w a l k s  u p the street from the buffalo head to the parking lot of a Sonic Drive- In. It resembles an open- air
mer
cado
in Tijuana. The kitchen still sells hamburgers and fries, but the customers order at the walk- up window. The rest of the space functions as an after- the- fall flea market.
mer
cado
in Tijuana. The kitchen still sells hamburgers and fries, but the customers order at the walk- up window. The rest of the space functions as an after- the- fall flea market.
    Vendors sit on folding chairs behind card tables covered with ragtag wares for sale: dusty bootleg DVDs, plastic dinosaurs, scuffed tennis balls, sunglasses, old shoes, footballs, recycled car batteries, five- gallon jerry cans of deep- fryer grease, beeswax candles, and cans of calcium carbide for mining lamps. Piles of used clothes, jars of honey, and
nopalitas.
A stretch of five stalls selling locally grown fruit and vegetables: spotty oranges, avocados, corn, and tomatoes. Another vendor specializes in Mexican candies: Chiclets, sugar candies shaped like Day of the Dead skeletons, and sweet devils.
nopalitas.
A stretch of five stalls selling locally grown fruit and vegetables: spotty oranges, avocados, corn, and tomatoes. Another vendor specializes in Mexican candies: Chiclets, sugar candies shaped like Day of the Dead skeletons, and sweet devils.
    Wearing wire- rimmed glasses, baseball cap, plaid shirt, and jeans, Ward mingles among the crowded stalls, jostling with everyone else for space below brightly colored sun umbrellas or the old awnings for the drive- in carports. The air smells of pork tamales, caramel popcorn, beer, and diesel fumes.
    The day is hot and dry, the sky bright blue and relentless as a heat lamp. A radio blasts Tejano music full of accordions and trumpets while children run through the crowd squealing and laughing and begging for sweets, for coins, for papier- mâché piñatasâ
burros, caballos, y tigres
â hanging from the metal awnings of the old carports.
burros, caballos, y tigres
â hanging from the metal awnings of the old carports.
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