George dried his hands and went over to stand next to Zeke. Maybe it would be a good idea to talk nice to this dope, this grown man like a kid that had brought home a frog. A giant frog. Maybe get him going about the book.
“What else does it say there?”
Zeke brightened. “It tells all the things Ed likes to eat. Another snack he likes, one of his favorites, he’ll eat carrion.” Looking up puzzled. “What’s carrion?”
“Dead meat.”
Zeke thought a moment. “That’s dumb. I mean, you don’t see a lot of live meat around, do you, down at the butcher’s behind the glass.”
“Zeke, try and understand. I’m talking dead. Real dead. Stuff that’s been lying in the sun a couple days? Like that hamburger you tried to force-feed me one time when we were kids, you found in the back window of Uncle’s car...”
“Still mad about that, huh?”
“There were things moving in that hamburger, Zeke.”
“See? It was fresher than you thought. But no. Getting back to Ed. We gotta feed him now. No telling if Doof fed him, or when. I’m not taking a chance he could croak on us just when they’re getting set to hand us over the dough.”
“What about Dufault? He could come looking for Ed, you know. That note you left.”
“I can take care of Dufault.” Zeke thought for a moment. Then he snapped his fingers. “Hey. We could drive out to Shaker’s. You know Shaker? Guard I met out at Stony, likes to hunt? Guy like Shaker must have something for Ed lying around. Something ripe...”
“Stony Mountain? We got no car...”
“We’ll take Louie’s.”
Like they weren’t in enough trouble with Louie already.
Going out the door, Zeke said, “I was thinking. To get rich? You could invent a pet food, nice lumps of carrion in it, be a major hit with the pet shops. What do you think?”
Ma stood at the side of the road as the cars zoomed by.
“Mean to tell me you brought us all the way out here into the wilderness, thousands of miles, and you didn’t even bring no tire pump?”
There at the front of the car, looking down at the flat with a frown on her face and the prairie wind snapping her cotton skirt around her thick legs.
Louie tried to calm her, tried to explain to her that a pump wouldn’t be any help — hey, the tire had exploded at sixty miles an hour, it was ripped wide open, look at it. What they needed was a spare.
“Well, thank God you finally figured that out. A real Mr. Fix-it, ain’t you? Put the damn thing on and let’s go!”
Louie gave her the rest of the bad news gently. The big problem being that they didn’t have a spare tire with them, either. Then, seeing the expression on her face turn even uglier, he hastened to add that one way to look at things, it was simply God’s will this had happened. God must want them to wait here awhile.
“What for? Is He having a problem keeping up, or just what?”
“Ma—”
“He better show up quick. Before the massive coronary I get from beating you to death with the tire iron.”
“It’ll work out, Ma. It’s just we don’t always understand God’s ways.”
Ma kicked the shredded tire hard. A thick ankle, a wool sock, a scuffed Sonics gym shoe.
“You got to blame God, don’t you? Everything that happens, you blame God. Six billion people trying to put something over on him, and He’s just got to take time out of His busy day to give us a flat. Listen, I understand God’s ways. It’s your ways I got a problem with, dragging me the hell and gone out here—”
“Ma, you wanted to come—”
“Listen! Will you listen? Telling me I wanted to come! You dragged me out here — I was happy to stay home, no way I wanted to leave the weasels alone in the house — but no, you pretty near threw a hammer-lock on and dragged me!”
“To help you with your problem, Ma. You know... drinking.”
“I don’t have no problem drinking.”
“Hiding bottles around the house.”
“That ain’t no problem. It’s easy. You bring this up ’cause you’re not getting nowhere blaming God so you want to blame me. You’re the one didn’t bring the spare tire—”
“It’s your car, Ma.”
“This is something the weasels would pull. All I can say, you better flag somebody down and get me home, and don’t stop!”
She got back in the car and slammed the door.
Louie waved his arms at twenty-three vehicles — he counted them — and just when his arms felt as though they were about to fall out of their sockets, a car roared by, slackened speed, and backed up. This car, also a Dodge, was similar to Ma’s. Its driver fetched a hand-pump out of his trunk before Louie could tell him not to bother and approached with a friendly grin. Told Louie he’d stopped when he spotted the Steel Workers for Christ sticker on the back window. Wanting to know what church Louie belonged to.
Louie started telling him about the Church of the Loving Lambs; then Ma interrupted, cranking her window down and yelling.
“Hey. You just stop by to talk? Get that tire pumped and hurry the hell up.”
The man watched Ma out of the corners of his eyes. When he spoke again, his voice had tightened a little. “Maybe... uh... this pump isn’t going to help. You got a spare?”
Louie said he didn’t.
“What’s the holdup?” Ma yelled. “I got to get home quick and kill a couple of weasels.”
She opened the passenger’s door — they heard her feet hit the gravel shoulder on the far side of the car, then stomp around to the back of the vehicles, drawn up nearly side by side on a farmer’s road allowance. Ma mumbling something about maybe having to kill a few other things while she was at it. Rummaging in the trunk.
The man shifted uneasily.
“Tell you what.” A little nervous as he tucked his pump under his arm. “Looks like I can’t do anything here. But I’ll stop at the next town and send back a service truck...”
He moved quickly, keeping a safe distance from Ma, tossing his pump back into his trunk and then jumping in behind the wheel and getting out of there quick, throwing a spume of loose gravel with his right rear tire. The sound of his engine faded while Louie gazed ruefully after him. Traffic had slacked off entirely now, and the prairie was a large and lonesome place with no other vehicles on the road.
Ma said, “Well, you just gonna stand there? Or are you gonna put the spare tire on the car?”
Jabbing her thumb at the trunk.
Louie stepped cautiously forward and peered in, and saw the spare lying on top of the suitcases. He studied it nearly a full minute, trying to understand where it could have come from.
Not liking the answer.
“Ma, you didn’t—”
Ma said, “God sent it.”
“But, Ma, that man was a good Samaritan, you can’t just—”
“God sent the tire. You don’t know his ways. Now put it on, will you? I got a feeling if I don’t get home quick those weasels’ll sell the place out from under me, sure as God made Li’l Abner.”
Dufault decided, Okay, let’s do it.
Checked his West Coast mirrors. Then took one more look at the house, saw no signs of life, and swung his long legs out of the cab.
Boyers. Always trying to stick it to you. Like that Zeke. Big dumb dork with his gut and his grin. And those boots! Get him down a lonely road one night and show him what God gave us boots for. Stomp on him until the stars came out, the guy thinking he was tough, not knowing what the word was about. Show him sometime.