No offence Intended - Barbara Seranella Page 19

  "Roxanne," Blackstone said. "The Mancini woman mentioned her."

  He watched the trio of women interact. Munch didn't seem to belong with the other two. To begin with, she didn't stagger. Her complexion showed signs of life, whereas the other two women were pallid. Not a huge surprise, knowing as he did that she had come from sunny California, whereas the other two subjects were more or less local girls.

  No, it was more than that. He watched her pull her coat tighter and duck her head against a chill wind that had come up. The other two women just laughed, their coats swinging open. They were drunk on their ass, he realized.

  Roxanne and Deborah jostled each other as they hit the street, leaning their bodies forward and letting their feet catch up to them. Their voices carried as they laughed and swore. Deborah spit and viewed the street suspiciously as if daring unknown adversaries to come forth. Roxanne followed Deborah's lead, though her bravado was less convincing. Munch drew her mouth into a tight line.

  They all came to a stop when they reached a rusted white pickup truck. Munch held out her hand to Deborah, who shook her head adamantly sending her long hair flying. Munch stood her ground. Blackstone realized that she was demanding the keys to the truck.

  "Good for you," he said. As if hearing him, she turned and looked directly at him. Her face remained impassive, but he was sure she had seen him. At least she knew she wasn't alone.

  "She sees us," he reported, his hand on the door handle.

  Moody held him back. "She's all right. Besides, we've got company"

  "Where?"

  "Blue van coming up the road."

  Blackstone snuck a look in the rearview mirror. "Feds?"

  "Ah, yep," Moody said. "Things should heat up now.

  24

  BOOGIE WAS WAITING on the front porch, staring at his new watch, when the three women got back to Deb's house.

  "Look," he said excitedly "it glows in the dark."

  "Aren't you cold?" Munch asked, opening the door and ushering him inside.

  "No," he said.

  Deb and Roxanne stumbled in five minutes later. Deb howled. Roxanne imitated her. Munch rummaged through the pantry and the refrigerator. "I'll make dinner," she said, finding eggs, onions, and potatoes.

  "Sounds good to me," Deb said. "You sure you know how?"

  "I'll managed

  Boogie and Roxanne took seats at the kitchen table. Deb wandered off to her bedroom.

  "So what did you do today?" Munch asked Boogie as she washed the potatoes.

  "Practiced."

  "What?"

  "Pitching. I'm on the Little League team."

  "Your mom says Tux is coming back tomorrow night." She chopped onions. "Is that a good thing?"

  "I guess," Boogie said.

  "Does he play ball with you? That kind of stuff?"

  "He takes me on trips," Boogie volunteered, "and when we see other people we pretend he's my daddy. He calls me son."

  "Oh," Munch said, "that's nice. Why don't you go wash up for dinner?"

  After Boogie left the room, Munch turned to Roxanne. "What's the deal with this guy and Boogie?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "You don't think it's weird for a Gypsy Joker to be hanging around with a little half-breed kid?"

  "I guess he has his reasons."

  "That's what I'm thinking," Munch said, trying to conceal her unhappiness.

  Deb came out of the bedroom carrying a rifle, some rags, and a can of cleaning fluid. She set everything on the kitchen table. While Munch watched, Deb deftly broke the weapon down to three parts: the wooden stock, the steel barrel, and the trigger mechanism.

  "Oooh," Roxanne said sarcastically "Tuxy's coming home, better clean his rifle. She does everything but wipe his butt."

  Munch knew her friend prided herself on being a "good" ol' lady. Deb would tell you that it meant respecting your man and standing by him. Maybe she believed that. Munch always thought the biker version of being a good woman translated more to like, "Shut up and eat shit." It wasn't quite as romantic when you looked at it that way

  "This is my gun," Deb said defensively "I thought I'd take Munch out shooting tomorrow."

  Munch broke eggs into a frying pan and scrambled them as they cooked. "That sounds fun."

  Deb picked up the trigger assembly "Only something's wrong with it. The trigger won't pull back."

  "You want me to look at it?" Munch asked. "Roxanne, watch the eggs, will you?"

  Roxanne stood unsteadily lurched to the stove, and took up a one-eye-at-a-time vigil over the frying pan.

  Munch picked up the trigger mechanism and studied it for a moment. "Here's your problem," she finally said. "The spring has slipped off the stop here."

  "Can you fix it?"

  "Sure. I just need to pop the spring back in place."

  "I knew there was a reason I liked having you around," Deb said as she unscrewed the cap on another bottle of wine.

  Munch handed her the working trigger and Deb slid it back into place.

  "Up here," Deb said, as she wiped down the rifle's barrel-mounted scope, "we believe in being self-sufficient. We can live off the land if we have to. And between the meat we hunt and the food we grow, we're totally organic." She paused to take another sip of wine. Boogie came back in the room and leaned against his mother.

  Munch looked out the window and asked, "Which one is the Thunderbird tree?"

  Boogie thought that was the silliest thing he ever heard. "Thunderbird tree," he echoed. "Ha-ha."

  Munch cast him an adoring look. You had to love a kid who got your jokes.

  * * *

  The next morning Munch and Boogie were up first. The bus for school, he explained, stopped right outside the door. She made him pancakes and brewed a pot of coffee. Deb awoke around nine and stumbled into the kitchen smoking a Kool.

  "Smells good," she said, clearing her throat.

  "About time you got up," Munch said. " thought we were getting back to nature today"

  "Nature will wait," Deb said. She hugged her son. "Good morning, baby"

  Outside, the bus driver sounded his horn. Boogie grabbed his book bag and ran out the door. Deb waved from the doorway flashing some leg out of her open bathrobe. She laughed as she shut the door. "Gave him a thrill. He don't give door-to-door service to every kid, I'll tell you that."

  Roxanne groaned from under a pile of blankets on the couch.

  "Come on," Deb said, kicking the cushions. "We're all taking a hike. Munch wants to see some country"

  'You go on without me," Roxanne mumbled. "I'll just hang out here."

  When breakfast was over, Deb called Munch outside to help her load two heavy twelve-inch-square wooden crates into the back of the truck.

  "Be careful," Deb said. "This stuff is fragile."

  "What is it?"

  "I'll show you in a bit," Deb promised, sliding her rifle into the gun rack behind the bench seat.

  They drove south. Signs on the road indicated that they were heading for Grants Pass.

  "Where are we going?" Munch asked.

  "Just a mite farther."

  They drove for twenty minutes, then turned off the paved highway

  "Now I'll show you some country" Deb said, grabbing her rifle as she got out of the truck. Munch slid out on her side.

  They set off through the forest. Deb carried the rifle slung casually across her back; the webbed sling crossed her chest. Munch trailed behind, negotiating around thick brambles of blackberry bushes. With each step, the soft, wet blanket of pine needles underfoot released a fresh scent. The cold invigorated her. She decided that if she lived up here, she would quit smoking. It would be too much of a sacrilege to fill her lungs with anything but this clean fresh air. "I see why you like it here," she said.

  They hiked down a narrow path through the dense forest. Deb pointed out black deer droppings. Ferns curled out from the hillside. The path led to a waterfall that fed a pond large enough to swim in. She scrambled after
Deb down the large boulders that surrounded and trapped the water. Numerous paw and hoofprints were embedded in the surrounding mud.

  "Taste some of that," Deb said when they'd reached the water's edge.

  Munch crouched and cupped some of the cold water in her hand. It was surprisingly sweet. "We've got the world to ourselves here, don't we?" she said, looking around at the uninterrupted vista of forest and sky "This is God's country"

  "Plenty of room for you," Deb said. "What's keeping you in Los Angeles?"

  She had to think a minute before she answered. What was keeping her there? "Well, for one, I'm still on probation. I've also got a pretty good job."

  "You could get a job up here," Deb said. "They're always hiring at the logging camps if you're willing to work. Especially you, once you tell them you're a mechanic. Can't you get your probation transferred?"

  "I don't know if they'll do that to another state and all. I've also got these meetings that I go to."

  "Do you have to go to them?"

  "Yes and no. Listen, Deb, there's another reason I came up here," Munch said.

  "Shhh," Deb cautioned. "Did you hear that?" She slipped the rifle off her back.

  Munch listened, but all she heard was the water tumbling over the rocks. "What?"

  A deer broke free from the bushes and looked their way He was a buck. Twin-forked spikes of antlers sprang from his head. His eyes were large, brown, and unblinking.

  Deb took aim.

  Munch yelled "Shoo!" The deer bolted, bounding gracefully on his thin legs.

  Deb fired twice. The first shot threw the deer's head back, the second tore his throat out. He crumpled to the ground.

  "Why'd you have to do that?" Munch asked.

  "You always want to avoid a body hit," Deb said, misreading Munch's question. "It can ruin the meat. I've seen where the bullet nicked the intestines and dumped shit all through the stomach." She took off towards her kill. Munch followed reluctantly

  "Now what?" she asked when they reached the animal. His eyes were still open. Blood from his throat wound soaked the ground.

  "This is good," Deb said.

  "Why is that?"

  "When you dress the carcass, one of the first things you do is cut the jugular and let the animal bleed out."

  "What's the other first thing?" Munch asked.

  "You slice open the belly and roll out the guts. To preserve the meat, you got to get it cooled down as quickly as possible."

  She looked at the fallen animal. It had to weigh at least eighty to a hundred pounds. "How are we going to get it to the truck?" she asked, not relishing the idea of dealing with the dead animal.

  "We'll bind its legs together and pole—carry it. C'mon, where's your imagination?"

  While Deb tied together the deers hooves with some twine she had in the truck, Munch found a branch long enough and strong enough to support the animals weight. Together they half-dragged and half carried the dead animal up to the road and slung it into the back of the pickup truck.

  Deb started the motor.

  "Now where?" Munch asked.

  "Same place we're going tonight—for the party "

  "What party?"

  "It's Friday night"

  "Of course." Like one day is different than another; Munch thought. It wasn't like Deb worked a straight job or anything.

  "And Tux is coming home," Deb added.

  "So where is this party?"

  "At the clubhouse."

  "I don't want to go to a Gypsy Joker clubhouse," Munch said. An unescorted female visiting a bikers stronghold was ill-advised. She should know.

  "You don't have to worry" Deb assured her "They know who my ol' man is and they respect him. You'll be safe."

  "But right now we're just dropping off Bambi, right?"

  "Well, there is one other thing I promised Tux I'd do before he got back," Deb said. "Besides, I thought you were so hot to get your hands on Asia."

  "I am," Munch said.

  "So quit your bitching."

  The clubhouse was closer to Grants Pass than Canyonville, Munch soon learned, and would require an additional twenty-minute drive. Deb shoved a Leon Russell cartridge into the eight-track and cranked the volume up full bore. Fifteen minutes later, they turned off the paved highway and headed up a narrow, deeply rutted dirt road.

  "Is it much farther?" Munch yelled over the music. "I've got to pee."

  Deb pulled over. "Go ahead. I need to stop here anyway"

  "Check out this boulder," Munch said as they both got out. "Doesn't it look like a big old turtle?"

  "I guess so." Deb reached for one of the boxes in the back of the truck. "Give me a hand."

  Munch grabbed one of the wooden crates and together they shimmied down the embankment. Munch found a bush to squat behind while Deb unpacked the contents of the boxes. Each crate held two olive drab steel ammo boxes. Deb slipped open the latches and removed Styrofoam packing. The Styrofoam fell away to reveal cylinders of black cardboard, each the size of a small aerosol can. One at a time, she carefully slit the tape wound about the cardboard wrapping.

  "What are those?" Munch asked.

  "Grenades," Deb said.

  "Lovely" she said, 'just fucking lovely "

  "Don't worry" Deb said, "they're not the kind that go boom."

  "What other kind is there?"

  Deb held up the gray can with the yellow stripe for Munch to read what was written there: NO. 35, WHITE SMOKE, HC GRENADE. Beneath the words there was a military insignia.

  "That makes me feel much better."

  "Give me a hand with this stuff, will you?"

  "You sure I'm not going to blow off some fingers? I might need them later"

  " know what I'm doing," Deb said. She dumped out the contents of a backpack on the ground. Several pieces of pipe started to roll away She collected them and stacked them beside her. Next to these she placed the other contents of the backpack: a box of dental floss, a hammer, and a pair of scissors. The pieces of pipe were large enough in diameter to accommodate the spoon end of the grenades.

  "Check this out," Deb said, unwinding a thin strand of dental floss from its plastic case. She hammered the sleeves of pipe into the ground at the base of several trees. Then she slipped a grenade into each pipe and ran dental floss from the top of one grenade to the other, tightening the floss until it stretched taut. "When I'm ready to set it, I'll pull out the pin. If someone or something trips the string, the grenade pops out this sleeve and goes off. Instant alert."

  "What if I just cut the string?" Munch asked.

  Deb unwound additional strands of dental floss. "We'll run a second line in the opposite direction, making it spring-loaded," she explained. "You cut the one side and it releases the tension."

  "Ah," Munch said, understanding. "Then it pulls out the grenade from the other side."

  "Exactly," Deb said. "Not too shabby huh?"

  "Oh, yeah," Munch said. "Just great. I guess a simple NO TRESPASSING sign is out of the question, huh?" She didn't ask just who they were so anxious to be warned of, but it wasn't hard to figure. The weed from the other night had been green and still damp—obviously grown locally and recently harvested. "What's to stop a deer from tripping the line?"

  "It's a risk we have to take," Deb said. "n 'Nam, pigs set off perimeter alarms all the time."

  She said it like she was talking from personal experience, Munch noticed. Had she always been so full of shit?

  "Give me a hand," Deb said. " promised my ol' man I'd do this yesterday We got word that the Forest Service was going to clear-cut this section last week. Had to do some hurry-up harvesting. Now our south flank is exposed. Can't have that."

  They worked a moment in silence and then Munch said, "So what's the deal with your ol' man?"

  "Like what?"

  "You said Tux takes Boogie on road trips."

  Deb didn't look up, but Munch saw that she had stopped working. "Pretty nice of him, don't you think?"

  "Alm
ost too nice, don't you think?"

  "What are you saying?"

  "I'm saying that he isn't doing it out of the goodness of his heart."

  "How do you know? You haven't even met him."

  "I've met all your ol' men."

  "He wouldn't hurt Boogie."

  "Using him for things he doesn't understand is hurting him. Having a man who doesn't really care about him call him son will hurt him. Can't you see that?"

  Deb flinched. "Why'd you come up here? To preach to me?" She set up two more trip wires. As a finishing touch, she used a stick of camouflage grease to make the white dental floss disappear into the surrounding foliage.

  "I came," Munch said, "because I care about you two. I don't want any more friends of mine getting hurt. You need to get out of here. Come back to L.A. with me."

  "Why would I want to come back to the city when I have all this?"

  The two women climbed back up the hill.

  "How about for the sake of your kid? You used to put him first."

  "I still do, but I got a life, too." Deb climbed up to the hood of the truck, whistled, and waved her arms. A minute later, two bikers materialized from behind a bend in the road.

  "We felled a buck back there by the swimming hole," Deb told them. Then she made introductions. One of the men went by the name Spider, the other called himself Count. They sized Munch up as if she were the carcass in question.

  "You coming back tonight?" Spider asked as he and Count lifted the deer from the back of the truck.

  'Yeah," Deb said, "and I'm bringing friends."

  They grunted, which Munch took to mean, "That sounds great. Look forward to seeing you."

  The two women headed back down the hill.

  Munch watched the two men grow smaller through the sideview mirror. "How'd you know those guys would be there?"

  "They always have sentries posted," Deb explained. "You see? It's perfectly safe here, so cool it. You sure it was worth getting off dope if it meant you'd have to turn into such a poop butt?"

  "Yeah, I'm sure. How about you? You were going to be different, remember? You were going to be the best mom ever. Remember that?"

  "Shut up," Deb said. "Just shut up, okay? God, woman, it's like I don't even know you." They drove for a few miles in silence and then Deb said, "This is about Sleaze, isn't it? I'll miss him, too, you know."