E j deen, p.10
E. J. Deen, page 10
Tadpole’s enthusiasm made Zach smile.
“Sure.”
Tadpole loved to ride in the Hummer. Since few people even owned vehicles anymore, it wasn’t often that he got such a privilege. As far as Tadpole was concerned, the fact that Zach owned such an unusual vehicle and was cunning enough to have kept it all these years without getting killed only added to his mystique.
Over the top of the boy’s head, Zach caught sight of Grady. The black man had set his shot glass down and was staring at him with a peculiar look in his eyes.
“What?” Zach prompted. “What’s wrong?”
Grady shook his head, seemingly mystified by something about Zach’s face. “You’re smilin’. Or
somethin’. At least, it looks sorta like a smile. I ain’t never seen you do it before, so I wouldn’t know for sure.”
Disturbed by the notion, Zach immediately replaced the smile with a scowl. But the sensation in his face lingered, annoying him, maybe even scaring him a little.
“Hold down the bar for me while I take care of some business,” he told Tad.
“Aw, shucks,” Tadpole moaned. “I can’t go with you to do business?”
Zach shook his head.
“But it might be a valuable lesson for me,” Tad argued. “I got to learn somehow. You said so yourself, Zach.”
Zach hesitated for a moment, then sighed heavily and gave a terse nod of acquiescence. The boy was right. If he wanted to continue to survive, he did need to learn how to handle good business dealings.
Tadpole jumped off the barstool, grabbed Zach around the waist, which was as high as he could reach, and gave him a quick squeeze of thanks.
“You won’t regret it. I promise you won’t. I’ll keep my mouth shut the whole time. I won’t say a word.
I’ll just stand by and let you do your business. I swear, you won’t regret it,” he babbled.
“I already do,” Zach teased.
To the bartender he said, “Hey, Franklin, give me about ten bottles of that hundred and ninety proof rot you keep behind the counter, will you?”
Franklin raised a knowing brow but said nothing as he passed the bottles over the bar.
Grady gave Zach an appraising look. “You goin’ to war, Zach?” he queried, a gleam in his eyes. “
‘Cause I know you ain’t gonna drink that stuff.”
“Could be. Could be,” he muttered, stacking several pieces of sugar cane on the counter as payment for the whiskey.
“Can I go with you, Zach?” Tadpole said from somewhere behind him. He’d been dancing around
impatiently waiting to get on the road, but he’d perked up when he heard mention of war.
“No, you can’t go with me, Tadpole.”
“Aw, shit!”
“Hey. Remember what I told you about the ladies. They don’t like that kind of talk. And if you get in the habit of it, you can’t stop,” Zach reminded. To soften his words, he tousled the boy’s hair in a rare expression of affection.
“There ain’t no ladies ‘round here, Zach, so what’s the difference?” Tadpole grumbled.
“Well, just in case you ever do run into one, it’s nice to have some manners on you,” Zach said.
“She’d have to be tough like me. And if she was tough like me, she’d probably cuss worse than me,”
Tadpole insisted, grinning from ear to ear.
Zach was amused by Tadpole’s insight. What the boy said was true. There weren’t many nine-year-old girls who could survive the way Tadpole had. In fact, women in general were few and far between these days. Most of them didn’t stand a chance against the rapists and the murderers, or the rigors of the new lives they were forced to lead. The likelihood of Tadpole ever having a mate near his own age was slim. But Zach wanted him to be a gentleman, anyway. It was good discipline for him.
“If you’re coming, you better get a move on, or else you’ll miss the bus. And grab a few of these bottles for me, huh?”
“Sure thing, Zach,” Tadpole readily agreed, taking as many bottles as he could carry.
“And don’t break any. They cost me a pretty penny.”
“You ain’t got no pennies, Zach,” Tadpole called as he made his way out the door of the shack, his arms laden with bottles. “But I won’t break any. I’m real careful. You know that.”
Zach watched the boy struggle out the door. The minute Tadpole was out of sight and out of earshot, he turned back to Grady and Franklin. “Either of you seen Joe lately?”
Grady’s gray brows lifted. “You really are goin’ to war, aren’t you?”
Zach didn’t reply. The less they knew, the better off they would be.
“Joe ain’t been around lately,” Franklin said. “He probably hasn’t left the hole. You want me to let him know you’re looking for him when I do see him?”
“No, thanks. I think I’ll just take a quick drive by the hole myself and see what he’s up to.” Ignoring their curious stares, he began to collect the remaining bottles of whiskey, stuffing them in his shoulder satchel.
When he was finished, he half turned away to leave, but then caught himself up short and paused for a quick word. “I’m not available to anyone…for any price.”
Grady nodded his understanding. Zach glanced expectantly at Franklin.
“Understood,” the bartender agreed.
Zach gave the bar a slap of finality and started for the door. Grady called after him, “There’s somethin’
different about you, Zach. Somethin’s changin’ in that head of yours.”
Zach paused and looked back at his friend.
“You smiled,” Grady teased, grinning in toothy jest.
“I’m still a mean son-of-a-bitch, Grady,” he promised the man, and then stepped through the door.
As Zach disappeared through the doorway, Franklin exchanged a knowing glance with Grady. “He’s definitely got some important business planned.”
“And we bes’ not be snoopin’ around in it, neither,” Grady commented. “I’m too old to die. Done made it through the revolt, the plague, and everything else. Don’t need to die now.”
Franklin nodded and began to absently wipe down the bar.
Outside, Tadpole was impatiently waiting in the Hummer. As Zach crossed the dirt lot, a stray hound slunk across his path, whining a little as Zach’s heavy snake boots kicked up a few stones and sent them skittering near the canine’s rear legs. Seemed like everything was afraid of him, whether he intended them to be or not.
Unconcerned with the hound’s hang-ups, Zach carefully stowed the bottles in the back of the Hummer.
There was barely enough room, but he managed to squeeze the bag in next to all the other
paraphernalia there.
“You sure got a load of stuff back there, Zach,” Tadpole commented. “A reg’lar arsenal.”
Zach ignored the remark and climbed into the driver’s seat.
“Will you let me drive this time, Zach?”
“Not this time, kid. I have too much on my mind to be wasting precious time.”
“Shit! I mean, shucks,” he quickly amended. He hadn’t missed the warning glance Zach gave him.
“Where we goin’?”
“Just sit tight and enjoy the ride, little man,” Zach said, cranking the engine and pulling out of Franklin’s parking lot. “You’ll know soon enough.”
As they sped along the deserted highway, Tadpole seemed to derive a simple enjoyment from the feel of the wind whipping across his dirty face. Zach felt a stab of melancholy when he realized that he’d forgotten how to take such simple pleasures from life. He could barely recollect a moment in his own childhood. Somehow, all those memories had slipped away from him. It was awful to think the only memories Tadpole would ever have to reflect on were ones of hardship, pain, loneliness, and
deprivation.
“Have you given any more thought to that last conversation we had?” Zach asked.
Tadpole stiffened, and the smile fell from his face. He didn’t even glance Zach’s way, just kept his eyes fastened on the passing landscape, although he had clearly lost any pleasure in doing so.
“Tad?”
The boy turned slightly, as if to acknowledge his name, and then glanced away. But Zach had already caught the fleeting look of sadness that crossed the boy’s face.
“Why are you so opposed to this?” Zach questioned, his eyes on the road ahead. “Pete and Sara would be so happy to have you come live with them, and yet you act like you can’t stand the idea. They probably think you hate them.”
“I don’t hate them,” the boy answered, his voice so low that Zach almost didn’t catch the words.
“Then what’s the big deal?”
When there was no immediate reply, he glanced over and found Tadpole staring down at his feet, looking so much like a boy that it tugged at Zach’s heart. So, there was some youth in that strange shell of a person after all.
“You know why,” Tadpole finally managed.
“I’m not so sure I do know why,” Zach prompted, trying to draw the boy out, trying to force him to say it, if only to make him admit it to himself.
“B-because, everyone I live with dies!” Tadpole screeched, looking furious now.
Zach didn’t allow himself to get angry. He understood. He knew the boy wasn’t mad at him. He was simply venting his frustration by yelling.
“That doesn’t necessarily mean it will keep happening.” It was a poor attempt at reassurance. He knew it, and the boy knew it, too. But Tadpole wasn’t buying it.
Tadpole only had one response to that. He simply hung his head and ignored Zach for the rest of the drive. Zach didn’t bother to try and draw him out again. Tadpole could be as stubborn as Zach, and Zach was not one to waste energy on futile efforts.
Zach’s destination lay just over the Kentucky border, at a place everyone called the hole. The hole was one of several hidden mines in the area, all of them worked by a crazy coot named Joe. Joe and his mines were closely guarded by the hill folk in the area. It was the perfect symbiotic arrangement. Hill folk had always been fiercely loyal to one another, which was precisely why Zach had chosen to stay in the mountains. No one could pry a secret from hill folk. He could trust these people, and they could trust him, so he had no fear about entering Joe’s territory.
Joe not only worked the hole, but he lived in it, too. To most folks, that would have been a dangerous proposition, but not to Joe. Joe was different. He didn’t care much about danger. He had no fear. He couldn’t. In his business, fear would kill him.
The minute Zach cut the engine, the old-timer came out of the surrounding woods to greet him. Tadpole hopped out of the Hummer and started looking around. His sullen attitude was slowly wearing off, but he still avoided Zach’s gaze.
Joe was small in stature, hard as lighter-knot, and brown as a berry. He had sharp blue eyes, grizzled features, and wild, snow-white hair that tended to stand up in fuzzy clumps, which only added to his crazy demeanor. Truth was, Joe was smart as a whip, and he liked people thinking he was crazy. It kept them at a distance.
“What brings you to my neck of the woods?” Joe asked as he shook Zach’s hand. “I haven’t seen you in a coon’s age.”
“I have a little trading proposition,” Zach replied.
Joe’s eyes began to gleam. He loved a good haggle. “I figured as much. What sort of tradin’ you got in mind?”
“I recently made a trip out to Texas. Got some sulfur. Thought you might like some, in exchange for a little saltpeter and some coal.”
Joe laughed. “Now that is an interesting trade. Very interesting. How did you come by sulfur?”
Zach’s lips stretched over his teeth in an ugly sort of grin. “Well, I’m no expert like you, but I managed.”
Tadpole stood nearby, intently watching the exchange and obviously trying to pick up some pointers.
He was busy trying to act mannish. In his unabashed way, he practiced Zach’s facial expressions and gestures with all the solemnity of a man on a mission. It was something he’d been doing ever since he’d met Zach. He wanted to look tough, and Zach was his role model.
Joe eyed the boy with curiosity. “Who’s the sidekick?”
“My protege.”
“He’s gonna have a devil of a time keeping up with you,” Joe said, whistling between his teeth.
Zach shrugged. “Maybe. I might have a hard time keeping up with him.”
Joe laughed and rubbed his head, which swirled the hair around and made it even more bushy and unkempt.
“Let’s go inside where we can talk turkey,” Joe suggested, leading the way back to the opening of the mine. “Maybe, just maybe, we can do some business today.”
By the time Zach left the hole, he was half drunk on the most gut-burning white lightning he’d ever tasted. He’d bargained long and hard with Joe, and had finally come to an agreement with the old horse-trader. He had what he wanted. Now all he had to do was put it all together.
He reluctantly dropped Tadpole at the Tennessee border. He’d had every intention of taking the boy on to Pete’s farm, but Tadpole insisted on being dropped out in the middle of nowhere. The boy had decided it wouldn’t be such a good idea to go on to Pete and Sara’s after all. Zach was wise enough not to press the issue. Tadpole was still sore at him. The boy needed time to sort things out on his own.
Zach handed him a small tube of sugar cane to suck on, waved goodbye, and left him standing next to the road. Damn, he always felt so guilty when he left the boy. But that’s the way Tadpole wanted it. If he couldn’t go with Zach, he would accept no substitutes, and there was nothing Zach could do to change it. Best to forget about it, and get on about his own business.
Several miles into Kentucky, Zach pulled off the paved highway and bumped along through the woods for nearly five miles before guiding the Hummer through a stand of trees and then breaking out into an open yard in the middle of a clearing. A small house sat hidden among the trees on the other side, with a barn a short distance away. Zach drove the Hummer straight to the barn, cut the engine, and got out to open the doors to the big wooden structure. A gray-haired man appeared from out of nowhere and stood in his path, a shotgun in his hands, pointed straight at Zach’s chest. Zach paused and stared at him for a moment, his eyes searching the man’s face, looking for any telltale signs of evil intent.
Suddenly, the man broke into a big grin and lowered his gun. “Just practicing,” he said, stepping forward to greet him.
“Pete, you old son-of-a-gun!” Zach said, slapping him on the back. “For a minute there, I thought you’d turned on me.”
“Never!” Pete swore. “Not even if they were pulling my fingernails off one by one.”
Zach gave him another slap on the back and handed him the keys to the Hummer. “I have a few things in the back for Sara. Wanna give me a hand with it?”
“Sure,” the older man agreed, and followed him to the rear of the Hummer. “Damn. You sure got a load this trip, ay? What the hell is this? Saltpeter?”
“Yeah.” Zach took several pieces of sugar cane out of the Hummer and leaned them against the rear bumper, keeping only a few long, slender pieces for himself.
Pete let out an appreciative whistle and began helping him unload the cargo. A few minutes later, Pete’s wife came out of the house and started toward the barn. When she spied Zach’s Hummer, she broke into a smile of welcome and quickened her pace.
Sara was a pale, fragile redhead, the delicate lady to Pete’s large-boned, farm boy looks. As she drew near, Zach opened his arms and she flung herself into them, greeting him warmly with a kiss on each cheek. Pete and Sara were two of the few people in the world Zach trusted, and they both adored him.
He had saved them from certain extinction during one of the death-sweeps perpetrated by the Hunters, and they’d been like family ever since.
“It’s so good to see you,” Sara said, giving him one last kiss.
“I brought you some sugar cane,” he told her. “And some wax-myrtle berries for candles.”
“Oh, Zach. It’s been ages since we’ve had sugar cane. You know what I can do with these?” She picked up a stalk and gazed at it with reverence, her eyes gleaming in appreciation of the gift. “You always were so thoughtful.”
“I also picked up some corn starch, but we’ll have to share it,” he admitted.
“Oh! It’s like Christmas or something,” she whispered, eyeing the goods with delight.
Pete reached over and patted her hand affectionately, then winked at Zach. “I can just see all the cakes piled up in the kitchen, cakes and pies and cookies. And pudding. She’ll bake ‘em until the sugar is all gone, and I’ll be fatter than a spring heifer.”
They shared a round of laughter, but then Sara was soon turning serious eyes on Zach. “Did you see Tadpole?”
Zach turned away and solemnly took a few more cases out of the back of the Hummer. “Yeah, I saw him.”
“How’s he doing?” Sara pressed.
“He’s his usual stubborn self.”
“He hasn’t been up to see us for awhile,” Pete commented.
Hadn’t been to see them? The little cuss had sworn he’d been up there eating Sara’s good food. Zach made a mental note to have a little chat with the boy about lying.
“We’ve been wondering if he’s okay,” Sara said.
Zach paused, a muscle jumping in his jaw. He knew what they were getting at, and the conversation made him uncomfortable. He’d been trying to convince Tadpole to come live with Pete and Sara, but the boy had stubbornly resisted. Tadpole didn’t want to be with anyone but Zach. He didn’t feel that anyone else was strong enough to keep him.
“He’s fine,” Zach said, then forced himself to turn and face Sara, his gaze sympathetic. “Try to understand. He needs time. I think he’s scared.”
“Scared?” Sara queried, looking puzzled.
“The boy’s been through a lot. He may never come around to the idea.” Feeling inept, he shrugged. “I tried,” he said rather lamely.
“I know you did,” Sara said, touching the back of his hand with her fingertips. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have burdened you with it. It’s just that…well….” She broke off when Pete gave her a warning look, then forced a bright smile onto her face as she asked Zach, “Will you stay for dinner this time?”
