All Is Silence - Deserted Lands #1

Chapter 22 - Part II

Mannie heard more crashes echo from the Mancos Liquors building. The front window shattered as a large bottle of wine exploded. A big, jacked-up 4X4 with giant tires and a gun rack was parked half on the curb outside.

“Jess?” Mannie stepped to the door and cocked the shotgun. “What’s going on in there?”

“Nobody named Jess in here. Go away.” Another crash. “‘This land is my land,’” Sang the drunken voice. “This land ain’t your land. Get off of my land, go back to your land.”

“Shit.” If Jess was in there he needed to know. Why mess with a drunk in a liquor store at the end of the world? Then there was a scream. That’s why. Mannie kicked the door open and stepped into the dim light of the store.

His eyes adjusted as a bottle burst at his feet, splattering his shoes with red wine. He could see two people at the back of the store. A large Native American—the singer—with a long dark braided ponytail stood over a dark-eyed woman on the ground glaring up at him. The taller shape had a bottle raised over his head prepared to throw. “Don’t throw that.” Mannie scanned the store for any sign of Jess.

“Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle.” The big guy, tossed the bottle to the side. “If it ain’t the Lone Ranger.”

Mannie sighed. Maybe wearing the uniform was a bad choice. “Step away from the woman.”

“She’s my wife, Lone Ranger.”

“Take it easy.” Mannie used his calm, warm voice. “I’m not here to cause trouble. Ma’am. Could you step away from him?”

The big man spit in his direction. “This ain’t your land, spic. Just ‘cause you got a gun.”

“Do I look like the people who stole your land?” Mannie’s jaw tightened. “Jesus, we’re both Native Americans; my tribe’s just further south than yours.”

“Fuck you. I ain’t your Tonto, Lone Ranger.”

Mannie’s long fuse was burning shorter. “I’m not your enemy; that bottle is. Now, get away from the woman.” He took a step forward, carefully staying on the doormat and off the wine-slick tile.

“Randy, I think you pissed him off.” The woman tried to stand, but slipped in the puddle of booze on the floor.

She didn’t look too stable, either. She grabbed a big plastic bottle of vodka and used it to regain her balance. She stumbled toward Mannie.

“Blackhawk’s not bad when he ain’t drunk.” She stepped behind Mannie.

He turned to let her pass, watching her carefully. He remembered in domestic violence training, they said the cops often got hurt.

The big man picked up an open bottle and took another drink. He sat heavily. “Fuck you, Lone Ranger.”

“Okay, Blackhawk? I’m going to leave and give your wife a ride someplace north a bit. Next town.”

The big guy looked away.

“When you’re sober enough to get there…”

Blackhawk grabbed another glass wine bottle, a big liter and a half. He held it up like he was going to throw it.

“Don’t.” Mannie heard the jeep start up outside. Shit. If that woman is stealing my rig... He grabbed the doorknob and ran out. He heard the wine bottle smash on the door behind. “Stupid drunk!”

Jess had the jeep rolling toward him and the door open. “Come on, Mannie, want a ride?” She grinned broadly.

Mannie glanced back at the building. No sign of pursuit . He turned to the giant 4X4 and shot a round into the front tire. It gasped and the truck sunk down. Mannie jogged to the jeep and swung himself up into the passenger seat. The woman from the liquor store was in the back seat giggling.

Mannie jerked the door shut as Rubi surged forward. Jess wasn’t too good with the clutch. As they rounded the corner, he saw the door of the liquor store open and the big man stumbled out. He had a wine bottle in each hand and he threw them after the retreating Jeep. There was a crash behind them. Jess swung Rubi hard to the right; the tires screeched a bit, but in seconds she had it up to speed and headed north.

“Thanks, Jess.” Mannie buckled his seatbelt. “Nice timing.”

“Seemed like you needed some help. Mannie, this is BeeGee,” Jess said, pointing to the woman in the back seat. “BeeGee. Mannie.”

“BeeGee?”

“B dot G. Baby Girl. Mom had 13 kids, I’s last. Lucky one I guess.” She held her hand out.

Mannie looked at her hand, wet and sanitized with liquor. “I got a bite on my hand. Can’t shake. Blackhawk’s really your husband?”

“’fraid so. Not so bad when he’s not drinkin’. Course all we been doin’ is drinkin’.”

Mannie felt under the seat for the towel he used to clean the dust off the windows. He handed it back to her. “You can wipe up with this some. I told Blackhawk I’d let you off at the next town. If you wanted. We’re heading to Salt Lake. You’re welcome to hitch a ride.”

“I’ll think about it.” She twisted the cap off the vodka bottle from the store and offered Mannie the first drink.

The stressed and adrenalized part of him wanted the drink, the burn, then the buzz. He held his hand up. “No, thanks. I’m dry.” He turned back to Jess. “You okay driving this thing?”

She nodded. “I’m okay for a while. I’d like to drive it in less stressful conditions.” Her hands gripped tight on the wheel.

“Thanks for the ride. Be good for me to steer clear of him for a while.” BeeGee’s voice steadied. “You can drop me in Dolores, up the road a way.”

“You don’t have to stay in the next town,” Mannie said. “We don’t even have to stop.”

“Yeah, we do,” Jess said. “If we’re driving much farther tonight, I want you behind the wheel.”

“Okay. We’ll stop,” Mannie turned back to BeeGee, “and get some food. You can stay or you can come with us.”

“Oh, yeah,” Jess gushed. “Guess what? I forgot in the rush. Today’s Thanksgiving.