The 18-wheeler was
coming down the highway in the dark with one light out. It did not see the
woman carrying the baby. She began shrieking in terror. The truck made impact.
Jerry awoke with a
start from his dream state. Somebody was hollering.
“ . . . Sheet! Damn!
Ouuh sheet! Did chu do thees to me Jerry? ’Cause eef you did . . .”
“Hey! People are
trying to sleep! The sun’s not even up yet. What the Hell’re you squawkin’
about?”
Irene was shaking. “You
did it! I’m through with you! The trip is over! Let’s go back! I will take all
of my chingararas out of your place and find a new place to stay!”
“Hey! ¡Mi corazón! I
love you!”
“Then why deed you
put that scorpion in my pantaloons?”
“Scorpion? Oh shit!”
Jerry jumped off his cot--being very careful where he stepped. “Where is he?”
“He’s right over
there! What you wanna to do, take heem home for the kitty-cat to play weeth?”
Jerry cringed as he
gingerly stepped over the sharp stones and captured the scorpion in the matchbox
from the table.
“I just want to
examine him.”
“Am I going to die?”
“I dunno! Give me a
minute!”
Jerry fumbled
through the SUV for his bug book. He found it and turned pages endlessly.
“Guess what?”
“I dun’t know!”
“He’s a Mojave
Green. You’re lucky! Your gonna live, but you will be in lots of pain for
several hours.”
“Lucky! What you
mean lucky! Eat hurts like hell! I can’t even walk!”
“Where did he bite
you that it hurts so much?”
“On my puussee,
idiot! Where did you theenk he beet me?”
“How in the Hell did
he sting you on your pussy?”
“I dun’t know?”
“Did you make sure
your clothes were all off of the ground and shake them before putting them on,
like I told you?”
“No, Señor! I
deedn’t!”
“Lucy, what am I
going to do with you?”
“I’m sorry, Ricky!
Let’s go home play cards with Fred ‘n’ Ethel?”
“Nope! You won’t
ruin our vacation by being contrary. You were warned and you messed up, but
you’ll live. Anyway, you’d be feeling better before we could even get back to
Bakersfield. Now where’s breakfast?”
“What? ¡Vete a hacer
puñetas!”
“Just kidding! Red
Mountain is just about a half hour from here. But it’s your turn to drive.”
“¡Puto!”
“Alright! I’ll
drive, but you owe me. I suppose I have to pick up all of the camp stuff by
myself?”
“You damn right, Gringo!”
Jerry cleaned
everything up and changed out of his geek clothes into his desert duds. When he
was done, he hardly looked the same.
☼
The only place that
was open in Red Mountain was The Red Mountain Café and Cantina.
They parked around
back to shade the Raider from the early desert sun and went inside. Irene
limped like a two-dollar whore.
Mostly locals were
inside, except for a biker sitting by himself. They sat up front and watched
the street to see who else in town was awake. Jerry ordered the Red Mountain
equivalent of a Grand Slam breakfast and Irene ordered some chorizo with a Margarita.
Jerry snickered. “That
chorizo won’t help!”
Irene frowned. “What
do you mean?”
“You can’t poop out
the pain--it goes away on its own.”
“Shut up! I love
you, but shut up!”
“Tell you what! I’ll
throw in an extra treat. We’ll stop by the Stove Pipe Wells cantina tonight and
have some drinks and check in late at Furnace Creek Ranch!”
“Oh! I love you! And
I thought I would have to sleep with Señor Scorpion again tonight.”
The biker paid his
bill and walked out.
“Jeez! Geraldo! It’s
him again!” she whispered.
Jerry looked out the
window. Sure enough, it was the same dude. “We should pick up a paper before we
leave town and take it with us. It may have a picture of that Frank guy. That
may be him.”
The truck delivered
the newspapers to the café and one of the waitresses placed them in a sales
rack. Jerry and Irene finished their meal and bought one of the newspapers. As
they turned to go out, that same biker was heading out of town on the same bike
with a thunderous roar.
A few moments later,
they headed out in the same direction as the biker.
☼
Frank--riding free--soon
out-distanced them. He turned off onto Ballarat Road towards Sentinel Peak. He
buzzed the ghost town of Ballarat and headed up the mountain towards the
Panamint City ghost town.
He waited patiently
for the last tourists to leave for the day, all the while pretending to enjoy
the scenery. He was careful to lay his jacket inside up on his bike, at the
ghost town, to hide its emblem, and he kept his face averted from the tourists.
Finally, the last tourists left and Frank was alone.
There was a trail,
Johnson Canyon Trail, which led up close to Sentinel Peak. He followed it a
short distance until it became too steep. There he hid his bike behind a thick
Utah Juniper. He climbed to the pass, from where he could view the great
expanse of Death Valley.
It was cooler up
here--8,200 feet above the sea--the sea that he had watched so many times from
his San Quentin cell. Frank was grateful that he had thought to buy matches and
a cook stove. He would spend the night on the summit. He set up a makeshift camp
and rolled a joint. Tonight he would enjoy the smell of pine needles, by a
campfire, and not worry about rat droppings or the police. It felt so good he
hardly noticed the cold.
☼
Down below at
1,050-foot elevation, Jerry and Irene had stopped to prowl around the ghost
town of Ballarat. Jerry had told Irene that the road into Death Valley over
Towne’s pass was a 13 per cent grade. He thought they should wait until the
relative coolness of afternoon to cross over.
When they left,
driving towards Panamint Springs, Irene reminded Jerry that the radio news the
day before had said that Frank had been arrested near Panamint Springs. Jerry
thought it was probably a coincidence.
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