Richard Laymon: The Stake

Larry went after her. “Careful,” he said. The boards, bleached pale, were warped and threaded with splits. The one before the top was broken in the middle, half gone and half hanging down by rusty nails.

Jean held the railing, stepped over the demolished stair and made it safely across the porch. While she dragged the screen door open, Larry climbed the stairs. They creaked under his weight but held him.

“You better not try it,” Pete warned Barbara, looking back at her as he trotted up the old planks. “You’ll snap ‘em like matchsticks.”

“Give it a rest,” she said.

Larry admired her restraint. It seemed so damn stupid of Pete to poke fun at his wife’s size. She was big, probably a shade over six feet tall. Though not a beanpole, like many tall women, she certainly wasn’t overweight. Larry had seen her in all kinds of attire, including swimsuits and nightgowns, and considered her body terrific. He knew that Pete was proud of her appearance. Pete was compact and powerful, but lifting all the weights in the world wouldn’t give him the six inches of height he would need to meet Barbara eye to eye.

Instead of calling him “short stuff” or “pip-squeak,” she’d simply told him to give it a break. Admirable.

She climbed the stairs without bursting any of them.

Inside, Holman’s smelled of dry, ancient wood. Larry expected the place to be stifling, but the shade and the breeze from the broken windows kept it bearable. A thin layer of sand coated the hardwood floor. It had blown into small drifts against the walls, the foot of the L — shaped lunch counter, and the metal bases of the swivel stools along the counter.

The eating area occupied about a third of the room. There had probably once been tables between the counter and the wall, but they were long gone.

“Bet they served great cheeseburgers,” Jean said. She was very fond of diners with character. To Jean, dumpy old places that many people would disparage as “greasy spoons” promised delights unattainable in clean and modern fast-food chains.

“Shakes,” Barbara said. “I could go for one about now.”

“I could go for a beer,” Pete said.

“I think I saw a saloon up the road,” Jean told him.

“But they only serve Ghost-Light,” Larry said.

“Let’s break a few out of the van before we move on.”

“You’ve got a beer?” Larry could taste it.

“Surely you jest. The desert’s one dry mother. You think I’d brave her without my survival stash?”

“All right !”

Pete headed for the door.

“Aren’t you going to look around?” Barbara asked.

“What’s to see?” He hurried outside.

“I guess he’s right,” Jean said, scanning the room.

“The rest of it must’ve been a general store,” Larry said. “I bet they carried everything.”

Nothing remained, not even shelves. Except for the lunch counter and stools, the room was bare. Behind the counter was a serving window. Farther down, Larry saw a closed door that probably connected with the kitchen. Past the end of the counter was an alcove. “That’s probably where the rest rooms were.”

“I think I’ll check out the ladies‘,” Barbara said.

“Lotsa luck,” Jean told her.

“Can’t hurt to have a look.”

She walked into the alcove, opened a door, and whirled away clutching her mouth.

“Apparently,” Larry said, “it did hurt to take a look.”

Barbara scrunched up her face.

“You’re a little green around the gills,” Jean told her.

She lowered her hand and took a deep breath. “Guess I’ll find a place around back.”

They left Holman’s. She followed the porch, jumped off, and disappeared around a corner of the building.

Larry and Jean went to the van. When Pete came out he had four bottles of beer clutched to his chest. “Where’s Barb?”

“Went behind the building.”

“Answering a call of nature,” Jean said.

He scowled. “She shouldn’t have gone off by herself.”

“She may not want an audience,” Jean explained.

“Damn it. Barb!” he yelled.

No answer. He called again, and Larry saw a trace of worry in his eyes.

“She probably can’t hear you,” Larry said. “The wind and everything.”

“Take these, okay? I’ve gotta make sure she’s okay.”

Jean and Larry each took two bottles from his arms. “She’s only been gone a couple of minutes.”

“Yeah, well...” He hurried away, jogging toward the far end of Holman’s.

“Hope he doesn’t tear her head off,” Jean said.

“At least he’s worried about her. That’s something, anyway.”

“I sure wish they’d quit bickering.”

“They must enjoy it.”

Jean wandered toward the road, and Larry stayed at her side. The bottles of beer felt cold and wet in his hands. He took a drink from the one in his right.

“You’ll be having to go yourself, if you don’t watch it.”

“Don’t let Pete come to my rescue,” he said, and turned his attention to the town.

The central road had broad, gravel shoulders for parking. The sidewalks were concrete, not the elevated planking common to such old west towns as Silver Junction, where they’d spent the morning. The citizens had made some modern improvements before leaving Sagebrush Flat to the desert.

“I wonder why they left,” Larry said.

“Wouldn’t you?”

“I wouldn’t live anywhere that doesn’t have movie theaters.”

“Well, I don’t see any.”

Neither did Larry. From his position in the middle of the road, he could see the entire town. Not one of the buildings had a movie marquee jutting over the sidewalk. He saw a barber pole in front of one small shop; a place on the left with a faded sign that proclaimed it to be Sam’s Saloon; about a dozen other enterprises altogether. He guessed that they’d once been hardware stores, cafes, possibly a bakery, clothing stores, maybe a pharmacy and a five-and-ten, a dentist’s and doctor’s office — and how about an optimistic realtor? — and certainly a sporting goods store. Not even the smallest back-country town in California was without a place to buy guns and ammo. Way at the far end of town, on the left, stood an adobe building with a pair of bay doors and service islands in front. Babe’s Garage.

The centerpiece of town appeared to be the three-story, wood-frame structure of the Sagebrush Flat Hotel, right next door to Sam’s Saloon.

“That’s the place I’d like to explore,” Larry said.

“Sam’s?”

“That, too. But the hotel. It looks like it’s been around for a while.”

“We’d better go there next, then. No telling how long this little expedition’s going to last, those two start fighting.”

“We’ll have to come back by ourselves, sometime, and really check the place out.”

“I don’t know.” She drank some beer. “I’m not sure I’d want to come here without some company.”

“Hey, what am I, chopped liver?”

“You know what I mean.”

He knew. Though he and Jean shared a desire for adventure, they were limited by a certain timidity. The presence of another couple seemed to erase that weakness.

They needed backup.

Backup like Pete and Barbara. In spite of the bickering, each was endowed with self-confidence and force. Led by that pair, Larry and Jean were willing to venture where they wouldn’t go on their own.

Even if we’d known about this place, Larry thought, we wouldn’t have dared to explore it by ourselves. The chance of a return trip, at least in the near future, was slim.

Jean turned around and looked toward the corner of Holman’s. “I wonder what’s keeping them.”

“Should we go find out?”