Roger and Frank were conferring with their big-time lawyer today about ways to stall the DNA test as long as possible, while they worked out what steps they would take to eliminate the threat of Little Feather Redcorn for good. (Not eliminate her, that would be too dangerous; just the threat of her.) Something drastic, they would have to do—they knew that much—and Benny would be part of it.
He was so excited, he could barely sit still in his little orange Subaru, but he knew he had to be as silent and patient and unmoving as a cat. That was part of the tracking genius. He was working on it.
She was at the drugstore again today. Gee, she did a lot of shopping! Benny supposed women did that, though his mother and his older sisters, the only women he actually knew very well, weren’t into shopping much. They were mostly into TV, and snacks.
Anyway, he’d followed her yet again in yet another taxi, and here he was parked in the drugstore’s lot, near the entrance, watching the door of the place but mostly watching for the next taxi to arrive. That was the way it always worked; she went into the store, whatever store it was, and then sometime later a taxi would arrive and she’d come out again with her bags of purchases and get into it.
The first few times, he’d followed her into the store to trail around after her, making darn sure she never saw him, but when it became obvious she didn’t intend to meet anybody in these stores, he’d decided it would be better to wait outside in the car, so she wouldn’t see him too often and maybe start to recognize him and get suspicious. So here he was, not yet really expecting the taxi, because she’d only been in there a few minutes, when out she came, completely unexpected.
Benny stared at her, startled by this change of pattern, and his heart began to pound, his mouth to get dry. What was going on here?
Nothing at first. She had a sort of helpless, lost look to her as she stood in front of the drugstore, gazing around. Benny forgot to look the other way, because he was so flummoxed by her abrupt appearance like that, and then, all of a sudden, she was staring directly at him.
Oh no! He quickly looked away, at the sale banners taped to the drugstore windows, but it was too late. Here she came, walking toward him, her brown leather coat open over her red fitted western shirt and short white buckskin skirt and high red boots. She didn’t look exactly like a real person at all, but more like one of the pinup posters he had on the walls in his bedroom, the ones that his mother and sisters always ragged him about.
Benny had thought, sometimes, that it might be terrific if someday he could see Little Feather Redcorn in a bikini, his imagination not daring to wish beyond that, but he’d never expected to see her in complete real-life close-up. But that’s what was about to happen. She walked directly toward Benny across the asphalt parking lot, and it was hopeless to pretend he didn’t see her coming, and didn’t see her gesture for him to open his window. There was no way out of it; he rolled the window down.
“Excuse me,” she said. She had a surprisingly light and musical voice, and her smile was really very gentle.
Benny blinked at her. Does she suspect? Then why would she smile? He said, “He—hello.”
“I feel like such a fool,” she confessed. “I came out without my wallet.”
Benny nodded spastically. “You did?”
“I got everything I needed, and I was just about to pay for it, and then I realized, No wallet. I can’t even take a taxi home.”
“Oh,” he said. Was she going to ask him for money?
No. She said, “I thought I’d have to walk all the way back to Whispering Pines. Do you know where that is? The campground?”
“Oh, sure,” he said. I shouldn’t have a long conversation with her, he warned himself, because then she’ll be able to recognize me later on.
But now she said, “I wonder. I know it’s asking a lot, and you a perfect stranger, but could you possibly drive me there? Or are you waiting for your girlfriend?”
“Oh no,” he said, and could feel himself blush. He’d be stammering soon. “I’m not waiting for my girlfriend,” he stammered.
“Well, it would only take you ten minutes,” she assured him, “and I’d pay you when we got there, just as much as I’d pay the taxi. Could you do that for me?” She made a light little embarrassed laugh, then said, “You see I’m a damsel in distress.”
“Uh-huh,” he said. “You mean you want me to drive you to the campground?”
“Could you be a dear? Could you be a darling?”
There’s no way to say no, he realized. “The car isn’t—” he began. “It isn’t very clean in here.”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” she told him. “And you’re a lifesaver. Thank you so much.”
“Uh-huh,” he said, and rolled up his window as she walked around to get into the passenger seat beside him, first tossing the comic books and empty soda cans into the back. “Why, it’s nice and cozy in here,” she said, and smiled at him again as she slammed her door.
Do it quick and get it over with, he told himself. Ten minutes, and then leave. Don’t talk a lot, don’t do things to make her remember you.
“My name’s Little Feather Redcorn,” she said. Her smile beamed into his right cheek like an auger. “What’s yours?”
Lie? Tell the truth? Then he realized he had to tell the truth because he couldn’t think of any other names, not at this particular moment. “Benny Whitefish,” he told her.
She said, “Are you from out on the reservation?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’m going to be living there soon,” she said.
Red light. He stopped behind the pickup truck already there and risked a glance in her direction. She just kept looking directly at him with those very bright black eyes, very close to him in this little car. She sat half-turned toward him, her coat open, and her shirt was really very tight. Even without her being in a bikini, he could tell her bosom was exactly like the bosoms on the posters in his bedroom.
Feeling his face flame up, he wrenched his head forward to stare desperately at the rear of that unlovely pickup out there. “You’re going to live on the reservation?” he asked when he felt his voice might be reasonably steady.
“Pretty soon,” she said. “I’m Pottaknobbee.”
“Uh-huh.” The pickup moved, so he did, too.
She said, “You know who the Pottaknobbee are, don’t you?”
“Oh, sure,” he said. “They’re the extinct tribe.”
She chuckled, a throaty sound, and said, “Do I look extinct?”
He didn’t dare look at her again, but anyway, he already knew the answer. “No, you don’t.”
“I think I look pretty alive, don’t you?”
“Uh-huh.”
“You see, the thing is, Benny—is it all right if I call you Benny?”
“Oh, sure.”
“And you can call me Little Feather.”
“Okay,” he said, doubting he ever would.
“Well, the thing is, Benny,” she said, “my grandmama moved out west years and years ago, when my mama was just a little girl, so nobody back here knew I was even born. But now I’m coming home at last. Isn’t that nice?”
“Uh-huh,” he said, and stopped behind the same pickup at a different traffic light. He hoped he was acting cool and relaxed on the outside, but on the inside, he knew, he was swirling like some huge storm. Hurricane Benny. And the only coherent thought to come out of the eye of that storm was the idea that maybe this accidental meeting could be turned to advantage somehow. Maybe it was a good thing after all that he was in conversation with Little Feather Redcorn, maybe he could just casually chat with her, and cleverly slip some questions in, and find out if maybe she did have some accomplices somewhere, like Uncle Roger and his almost-uncle Frank insisted she must. (And he never stopped to wonder, if she forgot her wallet, how did she pay for the first taxi?) So, when this new light turned green and the traffic started forward, Benny said, “You’re going to move out to the reservation pretty soon, huh? Do you know when?”