They rode the rest of the way to Camp Rapture in silence, and when Sunset pulled up in Marilyn’s yard, Karen got out of the car, slammed the door, ran up on the porch and inside.
Sunset sat for a moment, considered trying to talk to her, but thought: No. There’s no end to trying to explain what can’t be explained.
She turned the car around, was about to leave, when she saw Marilyn in her wing mirror. Sunset opened her car door, Marilyn came up and leaned in.
“Karen seems a little huffy,” Marilyn said.
“Young girl blues,” Sunset said.
“Well, she’ll get over it. I’m going to fix her a good breakfast, see if she wants to go over to Holiday, go to a movie or something.”
“They’re having a thing they call the Oil Festival. Supposed to have music and such. I’m going to be over there today myself. On business.”
Marilyn smiled.
“Here’s something might make business better.” Marilyn handed her three envelopes. “It’s a payday for you and your boys.”
“Early, isn’t it?”
“It is. But you can only go so long without money.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Do your business, but take a little time for yourself. Reckon you’ve earned it.”
By the time Sunset reached her tent, Hillbilly and Clyde had arrived. Hillbilly was camping down by the creek about two miles away, walking distance, but Sunset had talked Clyde into picking him up on his way in the night before.
Clyde hadn’t liked the idea, but she had convinced him. She only had to look him in the eyes, smile and flirt a little. She felt about as tall as an amputated flea after doing it, but she’d done it anyway and thought she might do it again it worked so well.
Sunset got out of the car, said, “Howdy, boys.”
They greeted her, and Ben came over for a pat on the head. She looked up and noted Clyde was a mess of hair seeping out from under his hat, sleeves half rolled, pants sagging, a growth of beard that made his face look dirty.
Hillbilly, even if he was living by the creek, looked as if his clothes had been pressed. His hair was combed and he was clean-shaved and alert-looking. No drinking this morning.
Clyde, on the other hand, looked as if he were coming off a bender, though she had a feeling he wasn’t. That it was just the way he felt. Maybe he was regretting burning down his house.
As they strolled over, she started to tell them about Bull, but decided not to. She wasn’t sure why. Seeing Bull was a lot like when she was a girl of eleven in the woods picking berries and she’d come upon a small black bear rooting against a hickory nut tree. When she walked up, it stopped rooting and turned to look at her, rising up on its hind legs. They stared at each other for a minute. Then the bear settled down on all fours and walked directly toward her.
She froze.
The bear came within inches, extended its nose, and smelled her, and she smelled the bear, and it was an earthy smell like dirt, dung and urine. Maybe to the bear, she smelled as bad as it did to her.
When its nostrils were full of her, the bear sauntered past her and disappeared into the woods.
It was an amazing moment, and she never told anyone.
Not that she had many people to tell. Her mother was still around then, but she spent most of her time drunk and shacked up, so she wouldn’t have told her anyway because it wouldn’t have meant anything to her. She’d have thought: So you seen a bear, no big thing.
Fact was, she wouldn’t have told anyone had there been anyone to tell.
It was her special moment and she clung to it.
Meeting Bull was the same way. Least for now. And she was going to keep it to herself. Way he had appeared and disappeared more expertly than the bear. And she could still taste that awful whisky on the back of her throat, a peppered fire of broken glass and greasy sins.
“What we’re gonna do today is split up,” she said. “Hillbilly, you’re gonna go with me. Clyde, I want you to go out to Zendo’s. See if you can find out anything about that land that connects to his, where the body was found.”
“Why?” Clyde said.
“Maybe there’s some kind of connection. Me and Hillbilly are going to check at the courthouse. See if those papers we found mean anything. Find out why they aren’t in the courthouse and if they’re supposed to be there.”
“I’ll be through by noon,” Clyde said. “Before. Why don’t we all ride over to Zendo’s, then Holiday?”
“I think we can cover more time and ground this way,” Sunset said.
“Oh, I think some time can be made all right,” Clyde said.
“That’s enough, Clyde,” Sunset said. “You work for me, and this is a job of work, and if you don’t want to do it, then you don’t have to. I’m asking you to do something needs to be done.”
“That’s not all you’re asking.”
“She’s the boss,” Hillbilly said. “That’s what you told me.”
“Quit being foolish,” Sunset said. “Both of you. That’s enough. Now listen up. I got some good news. We got paid early.”
She passed out the envelopes. Hillbilly peeked in the envelope. “Well, it’s money.”
“No one promised you’d be rich,” Sunset said.
Clyde took his envelope, folded it and put it in his back pocket, and without a word, got in his truck and drove off.
“Think he’s going to do what you asked?” Hillbilly said.
“I do. I’ll get the maps, and we can set out.”
“While we’re over there, might as well hang around a bit, see a picture show, maybe go to the Oil Festival.”
“This is work, Hillbilly.”
“I know. But we could, you know?”
“I suppose.”
He grinned at her. “You haven’t forgotten our kiss, have you?”
“How could I?”
“Where’s Karen?”
“At her grandma’s.”
“Thought she was going to come with us. I told her about the festival.”
“You had plans all along to go, didn’t you?” Sunset said.
“Didn’t you?”
Sunset hoped she wasn’t the blushing sort.
“Now I know why she isn’t here,” Hillbilly said.
“Awful sure of yourself, aren’t you?”
“Sure of what I want, if I’m not sure of anything else.”
“Karen’s got a little crush on you. She’s acting a little too old for her age.”
“Is she?”
“Yes, she is. And that’s why she isn’t here.”
“That the only reason?”
“I’ll get the maps.”
The town was flying colorful streamers from derricks and rooftops and there was a big white banner stretched across Main Street that read in big blue letters OIL FESTIVAL, HOLIDAY, TEXAS. The streets were thick with people, cars, wagons, mules and horses. It reminded Sunset of ants crawling over a carcass.
Main Street had dried out after all the rain, but the drying had left deep ruts and rifts. On one side of the street, water had washed dirt up on the wooden sidewalks that had turned to mud and hardened. In some of the street’s deeper holes gravel had been tossed and had sunk in already, doing little to nothing toward repair.
Sunset bumped the car along, and they bounced past the picture show. There was a line at the box office going around the corner and partially into the street. Sunset looked to see what was showing, saw it was still the Marx Brothers movie. Memory of that brought back thoughts of sitting in a chair behind Smoky, waiting on him to finish so she could bring him out and carry him over to Tyler, only to have him lynched.
Maybe she didn’t want to see a moving picture today after all.
She drove over to the sheriff’s office, parked in front next to a sign that said NO PARKING. There was one large oak that grew by the sheriff’s office and there were ten colored men sitting on the ground, their backs against it. Sunset noted there was a chain around the tree, and all the men had on cuffs and these were attached to the chain. A tall man with black hair sticking out from under his hat, wearing a badge, toting a shotgun, was parading up and down in front of the tree in a nervous kind of way.