James Smith - Hybrid

“Maybe in his twenties.”

Sam pushed his glasses to the top of his head. “What the hell is this all about?”

“Don’t mean to grill you, but there’s a girl from down on Duck Creek who’s in trouble. Big trouble.”

He raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

“She’s missing, Sam. Ran away. I think this guy picked her up and he’s probably up to no good.”

Sam reached for another box and ripped it open. “So you’re some kind of sex cop now?”

“I’m talking about the Loudermilk family, Sam. She’s one of their girls.”

“You mean the Mormons? They’ve always been regular customers. Good people.”

“They’re polygamists, Sam. The girl was being abused by the old man.”

He stopped and stared back at her. “That’s one helluva charge to bring against someone.”

“I know what’s going on with that family,” she said.

“Then let the law handle it.”

“Old man Loudermilk isn’t about to report her missing. I was thinking maybe you talked to this guy today. Tall? Glasses?”

“Look, I’m busy right now.”

“The girl was raped and beaten, Sam. By a customer of yours and a neighbor of mine. We can’t stand back and do nothing.”

“Don’t raise your voice at me. I don’t care who your husband is. I told you I’m busy.”

She didn’t have to put up with his stubborn asinine ignorance. When she turned to walk out, she stumbled over a box.

Dammit.

Molly bent over to rub her knee as blood trickled down her shin. Could’ve ruptured a vein. Would serve him right if she sued.

Limping back toward him, she asked, “Would you have anything I could wipe this blood off with?”

He looked down at her leg and walked over to a table and found a rag. He tossed it to her. “Did he look like the brainy type?” he asked.

“Probably,” she said, not looking up as she dabbed at the blood.

“Maybe I remember the guy,” he said. “He was going hiking. He read somewhere that he should carry a can of pepper spray for Grizzlies. I told him I wouldn’t have the guts to get close enough to use it.”

As he spoke, Molly examined the rag and then flipped it over on top of a box. “By chance did he say—”

“I told him that I always tie some bells on my knapsack. Like to give bears plenty of warning. That scares ‘em away. He laughed it off.”

“Did he mention what trail he was planning on taking?”

Sam pulled on his giant earlobe. “As best I recall, might’ve been Deer Pass. It was miles north of here anyway, by the way he was talking .”

Molly smiled and nodded. “Thanks, Sam. I’ll check it out.”

They looked at each other for a moment, then he said, “We’re just trying to make a living around here, Molly. It’s not like we’re getting rich doing this day in and day out.”

As she drove home she rehashed her earlier meeting with the Loudermilk women, still trying to gain a glimpse into what might be going on deep inside their brain-washed heads. For now, she had to get home to take care of the dogs and the Judge, in that order. She could do nothing more for Charlene Loudermilk at the moment, but she’d sure as hell be ready to take off at dawn.

“Canwe drive up to Bozeman after school tomorrow to buy my scout uniform?” Michael asked his dad. “The Camporee is Saturday.”

“I was planning on Bozeman later in the week,” Dieter replied. They sat at the kitchen table where Michael was gobbling a hot dog with spicy mustard dripping onto his T-shirt. Dieter watched Megan counting the cooked carrot slices on her plate. She’d exhausted stories by now of her first day at school and was quickly winding down.

Rusty scratched at the back door and barked. When Dieter opened it, Rusty flew inside. Dieter walked out onto the deck where a light breeze stirred treetops. As he scanned the yard and the thick forest backing on the property, a pair of ravens cawed from the upper limb of a cottonwood. Again he thought how lucky he was to call Colter home. When he returned inside, Megan had dropped a carrot slice on the floor for the dog.

“Please take Rusty out on the deck, Megan, and play with him a little while. Your brother and I need to talk.”

“I wanna stay here,” she whined.

“Mind your daddy please.” He patted her behind and gently shoved her toward the back door. “And stay on the deck like I told you.”

She reached up to the door for the slippery brass knob, careful to keep her other hand out of the jamb. He remembered the time she made the mistake of closing the sharp edge on her tiny fingers and her anguished crying.

When Dieter sat back down at the table, he turned to his son. “Bozeman’s an hour away. I’ll see if I have any calls later in the week. If not, we can drive up there.” Maybe he’d been too harsh. He wasn’t sure how to deal with his son at times like this. Since his mother’s death, Michael was drifting away. He could sense it in so many little gestures. The way he looked away from him at times, ignored his questions, or shrugged off his touch.

“Have you decided if I can go on the overnight hike?” Michael asked.

“We’ve talked about that a dozen times. I’m not changing my mind.”

Michael took another bite of his hotdog and chewed, appearing to think about his next move.

“You do know,” Dieter said, “that mountain hikes can be pretty rough going. Especially for guys your age. Sometimes even a little dangerous.”

“How come dangerous?”

“Lots of reasons.”

“There’s no snakes… like in Pennsylvania.”

“How do you know that?” Dieter asked.

“My friend told me.”

“You made a new friend?”

“Randy Cunningham. He’s eleven and he’s going on the Camporee.”

“Do you want more milk?” Dieter scooted his chair back to get up, but Michael didn’t answer him. He sat back down. “What’s the matter, son?”

Michael dropped the hot dog onto his plate and grabbed the bottom of his chair with both hands and squirmed. “Are you going to find somebody else to be our mother?”

Dieter reached out to place a hand on Michael’s shoulder. “Who knows what life might bring, son. But I’m certainly not looking for anyone, if that’s what you mean.”

“I’ve watched you stare at Amy.”

Low blow . “My main concerns are you and Megan. I want you both to be happy.”

Michael took a gulp of milk, then picked up his napkin and wiped at his mouth. “Mom was my den mother in the Cub Scouts.”

“I remember that.”

“I bet she would let me go on an overnight hike.”

“I don’t think so. You’re too young. Next year, maybe. Please don’t badger me about that anymore.”

Michael sipped more milk and looked up. “Dad, do you know what a ‘pisskaan’ is?”

“That’s a strange word.”

“It’s a buffalo jump. Kinduva cliff out in the middle of the plains.” Michael looked proud that he knew something his dad didn’t. With a burst of confidence, he spoke about how Indians used to round up herds of buffalo and chase them into a stampede toward the cliff. The flustered animals would run right over the edge without knowing where they were going. “They would crash down below and smash their skulls and die.”

Dieter knew exactly the source of that history lesson. “Did Amy explain why the Indians did that?”

Michael folded his hands into his lap. “How did you know she told me about it?”

“Just a wild guess.”

“They tried to kill them to get their hides and meat and stuff.”

“Did she also tell you that the Indians did that so often that the buffalo almost disappeared?”