Twisted Roots (DeBeers 3)

"I don't have any need for it now." Heyden declared, beaming,

Uncle Linden nodded, "He's right." he said. "It's like we're throwing all our excess weight overboard to keep the boat floating."

The taxicab arrived and we got in. Heyden gave him the bank's address, and in moments we were on our way. I had, in what was surely my mother's way of thinking, truly kidnapped my uncle.

Heyden asked the taxi driver to wait for us outside the bank and we entered. The suspicious way the tall, lean, bald-headed bank teller looked at us with his beady eyes made my heart skip beats. but Uncle Linden had identification in his wallet, and after the teller conferred with a female manager who was at a desk behind him, he returned to the window, smiled, and asked how Uncle Linden wanted the money. Uncle Linden turned to Heyden, who told him in what denominations to have it cashed. Less than twenty minutes later the three of us emerged, got back into the taxicab, and headed for the address for the motor home. The location was just outside of Jupiter Beach, which made it a very expensive taxi ride, but money didn't seem to matter very much anymore.

When we arrived, my heart sank. The motor home looked nothing like it had in the picture Heyden had showed me. I could see he was disappointed as well, but didn't want to reveal it. The compact mini motor home was built on a one-tan van cab. The door on the cab was banged in so badly. I wondered if it actually opened and closed. There were dents all over the coach's body. The window of the cabover had been hit with what looked like a BB pellet or a rock and although still intact, had a spidery web of cracks from one end to another. The front bumper was bashed on the right side and one of the tires was missing a wheel cover. Parts of the outside looked rusted, some places so badly they were peppered with holes.

"Heyden," I whispered. "Does it work?"

"Sure. The owner guarantees it's in good operating condition," he told me as we got out.

Uncle Linden was still smiling. It was as though he was looking through rose-colored glasses now and saw a brand-spanking-new vehicle instead of the wreck I saw before us.

"It doesn't matter what it looks like on the outside. Hannah," Heyden said as we started toward the A-frame old house with a small porch and anemic front lawn. It was scarred with patches of dirt and inundated with weeds. "It's what it will do for us that matters."

He turned to Uncle Linden. "Let me conclude our business arrangements. Uncle Linden."

"Sure, sure. Let's do it," he said, handing Heyden the envelope full of money.

Heyden went to the front door and knocked. No one came, so he knocked again, harder and louder.

"Didn't you

tell the owner we were coming today?" I asked.

"Absolutely. I called him from the drugstore right after I called for the cab."

We waited, but still no one opened the door. Suddenly the door of the coach opened and a stout bald-headed man with just a patch of grayish brown hair behind each ear emerged. He was in a torn T-shirt and a pair of faded brown shorts that hung like an afterthought under his protruding belly. He was barefoot, one of his toenails so black, it looked dipped in ink.

"Yo there!" he called to us.

He had a can of beer in his left hand and took a gulp as he beckoned. Then he wiped his thick lips with the back of his right hand, crushed the emptied beer can in his left hand, and tossed it toward an opened garbage pail. The can hit the edge of the pail and bounced off to the right.

"Would you believe I was on the starting five of my high school basketball team?" he asked. laughing. He had a lower front tooth missing, and there were blotches of pale red over his cheeks and under his chin.

"Hi, I'm Heyden Reynolds. This is my uncle Linden Montgomery and his daughter Hannah."

"Pleased to meetcha." he said. offering Uncle Linden his thick-fingered hand, the fingertips of which were stained with nicotine.

Uncle Linden smiled and shook it.

"I know she don't look like much on the outside." the owner said, turning to the motor home. "but she runs like a thoroughbred, dependable. I take good care of it. and I'd expect you to do the same." he added, raising his untrimmed gray-brown eyebrows and lowering his head simultaneously. His jowls ballooned,

"Absolutely," Heyden said.

"She's all gassed up and ready to roll," the owner said. He looked at our pillowcases. "That all you taking?"

"Na. we're picking other things up after we leave," Heyden said quickly.

"Good. good. You brought the money in cash?" he asked, directing himself to Uncle Linden now.

"Yes, yes, we did."

"And you have a credit card for me to use for some sort of guarantee?"

"Yes," I said when Heyden nodded to me. I produced the card and the owner took it, looked at it, looked at me, and then at Uncle Linden,