Chosen To Die (Alvarez & Pescoli)

Dell Blight, sawdust in his hair, his suspenders stretched tight over his huge belly, swaggered in to a stool at the far end of the bar. Two other newcomers began racking balls at the pool table.

“What were you doing over at Long’s?” Santana asked.

“Just takin’ a walk.”

“Kinda cold for that.”

“I know, I know, but it’s . . .” He looked from side to side, as if he were about to say something, then pushed his nose into the glass.

396

Lisa Jackson

“It’s what?”

“I ain’t supposed to say. Billy, that’s my son, he gets himself all worked up when I bring up the aliens.” He raised his eyebrows over the tops of his thick lenses. “It embarrasses him. Got so I don’t tell him nothin’. Well, I had to fess up about the Yeti. The one with the yellow laser eyes.”

“Lasers?”

“Hell, yes!” He tossed back his drink and slid it toward the bartender, who in turn slid a glance toward Santana, who nodded. With a fresh drink, Ivor warmed up. “I thought I was a goner, fer sure, the way that beast looked at me. Zzzzzzttt! My ticker nearly gave out right then and there, that’s why I came into the house. For help and then . . . I saw you and . . . you know the rest.”

Santana nodded, took a drink.

“Don’t tell Billy I said anything or he’ll be mad at me. And . . . ya might not say anything about findin’

me here, neither. He don’t approve.”

“I won’t,” Santana assured him. He rarely saw Billy Hicks, so it didn’t matter. They’d known each other as kids, but that was a long, long time ago when all of them, Simms, Billy, and Santana himself, had been half in love with Padgett Long. He thought about that. Brady and Padgett, the rich kids who only showed up in the summers.

“Good, good, ’cuz I don’t want Billy to get mad. He has a temper, you know. Got it from his mother.”

He sighed. “Lila, rest her soul, was the most beautiful girl on God’s green earth, I swear, but she had a mean streak in her. Oooowee.” Staring across the bar, where colorful bottles were on display, glistening and shining in front of the mirror, Ivor said,

“What was it she used to say whenever Bill got him-

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self into trouble?” He rubbed his chin. “That she was a snake . . .” He shook his glass, the ice cubes rattling. “Or was it a rattler. Or cobra?” It was as if he were lost in time, not seeing the glass bottles or hearing Dell Blight snort in a fit of laughter.

“Oh, I got it . . . She would touch her belt, that was it, kind of a warning, ’cuz she would use it on the boy. And she would say, “Be careful or I’ll . . . no . . .”

Then Ivor’s face lost all animation and he grimaced, his lips drawing back over his teeth. “She said, ‘Beware the scorpion’s wrath,’ as she touched that thin little strap of leather, and she had a glint in her eye when she said it, daring the boy to defy her.”

The song in the musical loop changed to “We Wish You a Merry Christmas,” but Ivor didn’t notice.

“But she was a beauty, Lila was. And rich once . . . or was supposed to be. Always thought the old silver mine would be worth a pretty penny, but she was wrong. Then, maybe, we all were.”

“The silver mine, your

house is on it.”

“Old mining shack,” Ivor agreed. “But yeah, it’s home.” He slid a glance at Santana. “Hasn’t been the same since she died. Heart attack.” He snapped his fingers again. “Just like that.”

“Sorry.”

“Ahh. Been years.” He buried his nose in his glass again, looking for any bit of liquid solace he could find.