“I want to think I’m different now,” Caitlin said, without looking at him. “You want to know why I’m beating myself up? Because I’m afraid I’m not different. I’m afraid maybe the nickname ‘Hurricane’ suits me too well and that the phrase ‘strong cold dead’ isn’t a joke so much as a warning I’ve been missing for too long.”
Cort Wesley said nothing, because there was nothing to say. He felt her nod off against him, and was being careful not to disturb her, when the scent of fresh talcum powder drew his gaze to the side, where the ghost of Leroy Epps was leaning against the porch railing.
“Wouldn’t happen to have another of those root beers in the fridge, would you, bubba?”
“Sh-h-h,” Cort Wesley cautioned, gesturing toward Caitlin.
“She can’t hear me none anyway, so I got no call to lower my voice,” Leroy told him. “Man, you got yourself in a real pickle this time, don’t you? One boy kidnapped, the other … well, let’s just say he’s seen better days.”
“What is it you’re not telling me, champ?”
“Don’t fret on that for the present, and stop your stewing.”
“Come again?”
“You heard me. You done got yourself in save-the-world mode, as like you’re the only one who can.”
“Sometimes, that seems accurate enough.”
“And sometimes it makes you do dumb-ass things, like driving a Caterpillar through a car showroom.”
“It was a John Deere, champ.”
“I ever tell you about my Vietnam experience, bubba?”
“I didn’t know you went.”
“I didn’t, ’cause the army wouldn’t have me. There they are, hard up as hell for soldiers, and they wouldn’t even consider my enlistment. Guess I had a touch of the sugar already messing with my eyes, and there was something they didn’t like about my feet, which didn’t stop me from squeezing them into my boxing shoes enough to fight for the middleweight title. Army must’ve gotten a kick out of that.”
Cort Wesley glanced down at Caitlin, still nuzzled against his shoulder. “There a point I’m missing somewhere?”
“Nope, ’cause I haven’t gotten to it yet,” Leroy told him, picking at his teeth with a branch stem. “Thing about the ring is, it’s you, the other guy, and nobody else—’cept the referee, who doesn’t count, even when he’s fixing the odds against you. You got nobody to rely on but yourself once that bell rings. But for you, bubba, the rounds never stopped. You just keep coming out to answer the bell all by your lonesome, no matter who’s in the opposite corner. And the problem is your thinking’s always the same. Doesn’t matter who you’re up against, how big, strong, or quick they might be, you’re going in the same way you did with that car showroom.”
“These people crossed a line.”
“That an explanation or an excuse?” Old Leroy shot him a disparaging glance from the railing, his mottled flesh creasing like the folds in an origami design. “I’d say I know you pretty damn well—better than anyone, save for that Ranger there—and I’ve seen you playing this game for too long without the mere consideration you might lose. That’s another thing about the ring. It should be clear cut, a winner and a loser, but I had the title swiped from me twice, and the only thing that kept my wits together was understanding there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.”
“That what you’re trying to tell me, champ?”
Leroy took a few steps from the rail, the porch light framing him like a shroud. “Listen up good here, bubba. All I’m saying is, your own being harmed is surely cause to do hurt, but it’s a lot harder to win a fixed fight. You don’t catch yourself, you’re playing by their rules, just like I was, those times the belt should have been mine and I ended up holding my own pants up. You getting the point here, bubba?”
“If you’d known the fights were fixed in advance, would it have made any difference?”
“Not that I can see.”
“That’s my point, champ. The fight I intend to have tomorrow is something different altogether.”
“You’re talking about the minerals guy, looks like somebody glued some extra flesh on him?”
“And the man he’s working for, who’s hiding so much shit, he probably forgot where he put it all. Whatever I do to them won’t be enough, champ.”
Leroy Epps turned his empty gaze down the street an instant before Cort Wesley spotted the truck coming, slowing as it drew up to his mailbox before pulling into the driveway.
Cort Wesley realized Leroy Epps was gone and Caitlin was starting to stir, her eyes peeling groggily open and fastening on the truck just as the driver’s side door snapped open.
“Looks like we got company, Ranger,” Cort Wesley said, rising, as Ela Nocona climbed out of the driver’s seat of the truck and then dragged Dylan out of the back.
70
SHAVANO PARK, TEXAS
Cort Wesley had carried Dylan upstairs to put him to bed, after a terse explanation from Ela.
“You want to be a bit more specific?” Caitlin said to her, listening to the sounds coming from upstairs.
“He got himself in a scrape with some of my cousins,” Ela explained.
“Involving drugs again? Peyote?”