Deserves to Be Dead (Alvarez & Pescoli)

Drake hitched his chin in the direction of the mobile home.

“Yeah, not a lot of help. He thinks Phillip might be off looking for a job.”

There was a fuss out at the RV. A smal

l, round woman in jeans and a sweater had come to the back door. Her short, dishwater hair was spiked and she wore half glasses. Her eyes, over the lenses, were focused like icy lasers on Johnson. “You get away from there. You hear me? Move. Who the hell are you?”

A flustered Johnson backed away, said, “Sorry, there, just interested in the RV.”

“Yeah. For the love of God, don’t go peeking into our windows.”

And she slammed the door.

Virgil said to Drake, “Sorry about that; Johnson really does like the RV.”

“Cheryl gets a little spooky,” Drake explained, casting a what’re-ya-gonna-do smile at Virgil. “She’ll cool off. No worries.”

Virgil nodded, not thinking the woman was going to calm down any time soon. Spooky? More like going ape shit. She was mad. “Thanks for your time, we’ll be on our way.” He motioned to Johnson and they headed to the Escalade.

As Johnson drove Virgil twisted so he could see Katy in the backseat. “Listen, even if the local deputy isn’t any good, you’ve got to report the theft. If they can show this Phillip kid took the money, and he’s not eighteen yet, his old man might be held responsible by a court, and you’d get the money back. Some of it, anyway. Or if your father has homeowners’ insurance.”

“That could take forever,” she said, lower lip extending, looking miserable. Lost in her thoughts she drew on the condensation on the Escalade’s window, and Virgil decided to give her some space as the Escalade bounced down the rutted road to the dude ranch.

• • •

They dropped off Katy, then headed into Grizzly Falls, the local town, where Virgil bought a copy of every newspaper the convenience store had, and Johnson bought some tourist crap that he planned to give to his girlfriend. The town was tiered, a newer section built on the crest of a hill, homes and businesses running along the ridge, the older part of town in the lower section spread out on the shores of the river where falls fell across shelves of flat rocks.

They stopped at a restaurant called Wild Wills where a stuffed grizzly bear stood on display in the lobby. Not only did the thing seem to be on guard near the front desk, it was dressed in a witch’s costume, black hat tilted jauntily on its head, the brim dipping below a glass eye, black cape tossed over its huge shoulders, a broom tucked under one forearm. A black pot with steam rising from inside sat beside the thing’s huge feet.

“What the hell is that?” Johnson asked, recoiling as he stared at the bear’s shining claws and teeth gleaming, frozen in a perpetual scowl.

“The official greeter,” Virgil guessed.

“Man, this is one weird fuckin’ town. All those statues of Big Foot lining the street and now this.” It was true, they must’ve passed half a dozen statues of Sasquatches on their way into town, including a ten-foot-tall wooden image in the parking lot of the convenience store where Johnson had bought the touristy crap.

They ordered cheeseburgers and fries and ate them in silence.

On the way back to the dude ranch, Virgil said, “You’ve gone kinda quiet. What’s with that?”

“I dunno,” Johnson said. “Thinking things over, I guess.”

“That doesn’t sound like Johnson Johnson. Thinking things over.”

On the way back, the Rosestone RV passed them, going in the opposite direction.

They didn’t wave.

At the ranch, Johnson said he was going to take a walk.

“In the rain?”

“I can’t tell it’s raining; this is a seven-hundred-dollar rain suit,” Johnson said.

“Still thinking things over?”

“Yep.”

Johnson rubbed the back of his neck and looked across the golf course where two men in Gore-Tex were chipping near a soggy green.