Vern met me at the bottom of the stairs. He had a gun. His pants were unzipped. He still held my picture in his other hand. I took it. I nearly threw up.
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“What were doing in my room?” Vern asked.
“You’ve got my bear you freak,” I said.
“Not your bear, my bear. I bought it legally, it’s mine,” he said. “The police are on their way. You might not want to be here when they get here.”
The gun was shaking. I was more worried he might pull the trigger accidentally than on purpose. But it ended badly for me, either way. I was no hero. I needed out of here.
The bear would have to wait.
“Look, I am not interested in whatever the hell it is you got going on down here, but I’m coming back for that bear, so be ready,” I said.
“That bear is my soul mate,” Vern said.
He was crying.
“You’ll just pin him up in some display somewhere. You don’t love him like I do,” Vern said.
“Your damn straight about that,” I said.
I was starting to feel sorry for the guy.
“Look, Vern. I’m not a bad guy. I shouldn’t have invaded your space, but you could see how much it meant to me to find that bear. So, here’s the thing,” I said. “I don’t need the bear. But, it has something inside its head that I do need, very badly, and I’m willing to do almost anything to get it.”
Vern licked his lips. I threw up a little in my mouth.
“In that case, we can work something out,” he said. “I’ll be in touch.”
“If I don’t hear from you in three days, I’m coming back and like it or not, Mr. Ted is going with me,” I said.
“That would devastate him,” Vern said. “Next month is our anniversary. We’ve been together for fifteen magical years. I’m not excited about him having brain surgery, but if that’s what it takes, that’s a price I’d pay for love.”
“Do you have any idea how weird any of this is?” I asked.
“Why, why is love weird?” Vern asked.
“If I have to explain it, you wouldn’t understand it,” I said.
I left.
I took off driving away from River Grove. I didn’t want to meet Skinner or Crawford. At this point, I’d done enough to piss them off, they might just kill me and lie their way out of it. After what I’d just seen, that didn’t sound like the worst option.
I met Leeanne back in the apartment over Bedman’s. She was painting her nails on the sofa.
“So, you found Mr. Ted, that’s good news! Whatever he wants, you’ll find a way,” she said.
“You don’t understand,” I said. “I’m nearly one hundred percent positive this man is having sex with Mr. Ted.”
Leeanne screwed her face up. “Eeewww, that’s even worse than what I already thought about him,” she said.
“Uh, yeah, me too. I never would have believed that was a thing, until I saw it with my own eyes,” I said.
“Well, get ready, the weird shit is far from over,” she said.
“Why, where are you taking me?” I asked.
“I’m taking you out to dinner, then on a romantic drive in the country,” she said.
I appreciated the half-truth. I couldn’t take much more of this.
We ate in a roadhouse that looked where dive bars go to die. The town was so small, all that was there was a Baptist church, and this place. It sat in a low metal shed. They couldn’t afford neon. Their windows were filled with cutouts from beer cartons lit by Christmas lights instead.
Inside wasn’t much better. Looked like a very local crowd. I wouldn’t say they were inbred. But, my guess was, they didn’t call each other cousin to be hip.
There was a combination bar and deli counter at one end. A tall, strong looking woman in a butcher’s apron stood behind it. She smelled like smoked meat. Good smoked meat. The kind that takes years to learn.
It was good.
We took paper plates heaped with ribs, green beans, okra and corn on the cob to a card table and chose two folding chairs. The beer was cold, the barbecue was some of the best I’d ever eaten. At the other end, a balding old man dealt poker around a round oak dining room table.
Every player but one wore overalls of some sort. Most had them tucked into their boots. The dealer smiled over at me.
“You want in?” she said.
It was shocking.
What I’d thought was a balding man just a moment before was somebody’s grandma. She picked up a Mason jar from the table and spat into the murky brown liquid half filling it. It was a good thing the food was so good, or I wouldn’t have been able to finish after that.
Willie Nelson sang Crazy on the jukebox. There was a battery-operated flickering candle on the table. Leeanne looked beautiful. I was in heaven.
“So, why did you bring me out here?” I asked.
We’d passed so much open countryside, I was beginning to wonder if we were in Colorado yet. Every time I asked, she said, “Keep driving.”
“Seriously? Did you taste the ribs?” she said.
She had sauce dripping down her chin.
“Yeah, they’re good. But this place is sketchy as hell,” I said.
“Just enjoy the food. I need to show you a place,” she said.
She’d been very quiet on the way out. The whole time it seemed like she was withdrawing more and more, until we got here. The name on the hand lettered, cardboard sign at the door said, ‘The Whippoorwill, Come on in.’
I couldn’t remember thinking about the color of my skin in the six months I could remember. But, after counting seven confederate battle flags on the vehicles out front, I was glad for it. It might be the only thing me and the Klan at the next table had in common.
“I used to work here for a while. It was a couple of years back when I was on my way back from something really hard. It’s not as bad as it seems,” she said.
The bartender brought more beer.
“Didn’t think I’d ever see you around here again,” she said.
“Hello Martha, this is my friend, Dalton,” Leeanne said.
She smiled.
Martha did not.
“Whatever,” she said. “You be careful out there.”
She looked at Leeanne with raised eyebrows. She went back behind her counter.
“They helped me,” Leeanne said. “They help a lot of people.”
I looked around the room. They looked like they needed help. What did they have to offer? Who were they helping? They seemed to be almost the entire population of the area.
I finished my second beer and waved Martha off when she came back with more.
“Can we get the check please?” I said.
“On the house, Dalton. Look at me,” Martha said.
I did. She didn’t blink.
“I don’t ever forget a face, Dalton, or a name, Dalton. And I’ve got plenty of room in my freezer. If you let them hurt her again, I will put you in it, and serve you up, like Kathy Bates in Fried Green Tomatoes," She said.
I choked on the last bite.
Martha laughed.
“Son, you should see your face right now,” she said.
She slapped me on the back.
“But, seriously, you better take care of her. She’s been through hell. You’ll see,” Martha said.
We walked out to the truck. The sun was getting low. I climbed in and Leeanne slid in beside me, looking back fondly at the little metal shed.
“Was she serious?” I asked. “She seemed serious.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Leeanne said. “Just don’t piss her off.”
Leeanne laughed.
I didn’t think it was funny. I could imagine those people gnawing on one of my ribs, my mouth stuffed with an apple as Martha turned me on a spit roast. I was glad to be out of there. I’d wish I was back soon enough.
The area we drove into was hilly. The trees weren’t tall, like they are in the north, but the sky became a ribbon of clear, dark blue above them. The tops of the trees were just turning amber in the early evening light. It was beautiful. I rolled down my window. A heady stream of rich scents rolled in.
I smiled. I patted Leeanne on the knee. She stiffened. She was back to withdrawing.
“You sure you want to do this?” I asked.
“I need you to know,” she said.
I followed her directions for another twenty minutes, to the base of a gravel road that headed up the side of a small mountain. Maybe it was a hill. I’d heard somewhere that Oklahoma has the world’s tallest hill, but it was out east somewhere.
I dropped the old truck into low and bumped up the path. It was just wide enough for one vehicle. Hopefully we didn’t need anymore than that. The ridges running side to side across the road told a story. The grader had come through recently, to redistribute what little gravel there was, and even out the ruts.
The truck rattled and twisted, but it held together over the washboard ridges. The road went up one tight curve after another, we passed a narrow wooden bridge, and one section where the road was so washed out, we had only inches between us and a serious drop into a canyon. After one final right turn, the trees began to part. We pulled into an open area at the top of the hill, and the view was amazing.
“Wow, this is what you wanted to show me?” I said.
From here we could see the Ouachita mountains spreading out to the south, the landscape a patchwork of red and green, rock, soil and low evergreen scrubs. The roads cut through, quilting the landscape.
“Not exactly,” She said.
Leeanne took my hand and we walked to the East end of the clearing. She started down a narrow path in the trees. I followed. We went down about fifty yards, then stopped. A large rock outcropping stuck out over the trees below. She walked out onto it and pointed.
I walked out onto the rock, slowly, my arms spread for balance. I’d never experienced heights like this that I remembered. I wasn’t terrified, but I didn’t like it. I looked where she pointed.
The area spread along a rocky stream, the bank was clear for about fifty yards on either side of the water. ‘A’ frame cabins stood in neat lines, and a larger, flat roofed building stood at one end. I couldn’t remember how I knew, but it looked like a church camp I must have been at once.
“What is it, a summer camp?” I asked.
She laughed bitterly. “I wish. That, is ‘the farm’,” she said.
She emphasized ‘The Farm’ so that it sounded like a name. I looked again. I hadn’t noticed the fence. Surrounding the area, up against the tree line was a huge chain link fence. The corners held small huts, with what looked like search lights from this distance.
“Is it a prison?” I asked.
“Bingo,” she said. “A private prison.”
“So, you were in jail?” I asked.
“Well, I was a prisoner here, but this isn’t like other prisons. No one belongs here,” she said.
I’d heard before that all prisoners have a story about their innocence.
“Isn’t that what they all say?” I asked.
She scoffed. “Right. But this is different. I ran a stop sign in the middle of nowhere and ended up in here for six months awaiting trial,” she said.
“What?” I said.
I looked at her. She was serious.
“Everyone I met in there had that same story, but it gets worse,” she said.