There was a twenty dollar bill in the ashtray. It seemed like a lot of money to a kid. I knew how to drive the truck, but I struggled to see over the steering wheel. I grabbed the pillow from the bench that folded down into my narrow bed each night. Sitting on it gave me just enough height to see the road beyond the wheel. Once I was out of the quiet canyon we had been camped in, I narrowly missed colliding with several cars. My driving experience didn't extend to driving among other vehicles. I didn't know where I was going, but I figured if I stopped at any gas station and told them my dog was sick and my dad was missing, someone would help me.
I managed to keep the truck going in a straight line, but it wasn't long after I'd started seeing homes crop up in ever increasing patches that flashing blue and red lights pulled up behind me. I didn't know what to do. So I just kept driving. I tried pushing the gas pedal down harder, thinking maybe I could speed up and get away. That didn't work very well. Plus, the truck started to shake the way it always did when Jimmy tried to push it to go faster. I slowed down and thought maybe if I went really slow the police car would just pass me by. I slowed way down, and the police car came up beside me. The man behind the wheel looked angry and waved at me with his whole arm, as if telling me to scoot over. I scooted and came to a rumbling stop. Another car with flashing lights came speeding toward me from the other direction.
I screamed, now convinced that I had made a terrible mistake. Icas didn't even stir. I comforted him anyway. “It's okay, boy, it's okay. I'm just a kid. I don't think I will go to prison.” I wasn't entirely sure of that, but I said it all the same. No reason to make Icas worry.
My door was wrenched open, and the cop who had been waving wildly for me to pull over was standing there, his legs and arms spread, making him seem very big and very scary.
“Hi there.” I smiled nervously. Sweetness usually worked on Jimmy.
“I need you to get out of the truck, Miss.” The officer had muscles popping out from his sleeves and a handsome face framed in sandy hair, neatly parted and brushed off his face.
“I'd rather not leave my dog, Mister,” I replied and didn't move a muscle. “He bites strangers. And you are a stranger. I wouldn't want you to get chewed up.” Icas looked like a bean bag with a dog head, lolling on the seat. Nobody was going to get chewed, unfortunately. I poked at him in frustration. “Icas?”
The policeman looked at Icas and then back at me. “I think I'll be okay. Please step out of the truck, Miss.”
“What are you going to do to me?” I asked, staring him down. “You haven't even asked me for my driver's license.” I knew that's what cops were supposed to do. Jimmy had been pulled over about a year ago because his truck had a broken headlight, and that police officer had asked him for his license first thing.
“How old are you, kid?” the officer sighed.
“Old enough to drive . . . most likely,” I said, trying to sound believable.
Another policeman joined the first just beyond the opened driver side door. He was tall and very thin, and his head was bald on top. The sun shone off it like glass, and I looked away wincing. I told myself that was why my eyes were wet and smarting.
“Plates and Vin say the vehicle belongs to a James Echohawk.”
At the mention of Jimmy's name, my heart lurched and the smarting in my eyes intensified. The moisture escaped and started sliding down my cheeks. I swiped at the water and tried to pretend it was the heat.
“Shoot! It sure is a hot day! Look at me, sweating all over the place.”
“What's your name, kid?” The skinny officer had a deep voice totally at odds with his appearance. He almost sounded like a frog.
“Blue,” I replied, my bluster fading fast.
“Blue?”
“Yes. Blue . . . Echohawk,” I mumbled. My lips trembled.
“All right, uh, Blue. Does your dad know you've got his truck?”
“I can't find him.”
The officers looked at each other and then back at me.
“What do you mean?”
“I can't find him,” I repeated angrily. “We were camping, and he said he would be back. Icas came home, but he didn't. He's been gone for a lot of days and Icas is acting all sick and the water is almost gone in the tank, and I'm scared he isn't coming back.”
“Icas is the dog, right?” The sandy-haired, muscley policeman pointed at Icas, who had yet to even open an eye.
“Yes,” I whispered, trying desperately not to cry. Saying the words out loud made them real and terrible. Jimmy was missing. He was gone. What in the world would happen to me? I was a kid. I couldn't help it if worry for myself was equally as terrifying as worry for Jimmy.
They coaxed me out of the truck, although at the last minute I remembered the duffel bag I had filled with tools. I ran back to the truck and dragged it out from behind the front seat. It was extremely heavy, and I ended up dragging it behind me. The muscle-bound police officer had lifted Icas from the passenger side, and was looking at him with a furrowed brow. He looked at me as if he wanted to speak, thought better of it, and laid the dog gently in the back of his cruiser.
“What in the world . . .” The skinny officer, whose name I learned was Izzard – like lizard without the L – tried to lift the duffel and didn't put enough heft into his effort. “What've you got in here?”
“Tools,” I clipped. “And I'm not leavin' 'em.”
“Okaaaaay,” he hedged, looking at the other officer.