Chapter 05 - the Boots
"Well? Here's the town."
"Its not very big, Panic."
"Nope. Doesn't look like a bad little place. About as big as Wrightsville, the more I look around some."
"Hmm. I don't see a shoe store. Definitely, no department store. We should just go to the mall, I think."
"Oh, you're funny today."
"Well?"
"I was kind of hoping for one of those Dollar Wagon stores, maybe. Back in Pennsylvania? You get one every couple miles."
"Yes. Plastic Chinese boots. My feet are having an orgasm, just thinking about it."
"Aw. Its just temporary."
We went back and forth, and there wasn't a lot here. Most of what was here, was closed.
"Now what."
"I'm thinking, Zar. I'm thinking."
"Harder, faster, deeper."
"Huh?"
"Its a joke. Think harder, think faster, think deeper?"
"Yeah, yeah."
Then, maybe I found something. Looked like some kind of secondhand store. I know me and Merry love the secondhand store back home, can't hurt to try it. Not to mention, it looked like one of the few places open. What the hell. Places to park, plows made the attempt here, and it looks as if some small plow went down the sidewalks.
The door had one of those little tinkling bells, to announce that the door had moved. If its not open, owner left the door unlocked and the lights on. Yeah, its some kind of secondhand place, all right. No prices on anything as I glance around, though. That could be good or that could be bad. Some junk stores are like flea market prices, while others must think everything is a collectible antique. To be honest, I don't mind getting gouged. I just need something on her feet. We waltzed around some.
"Hey, old timer."
"Howdy. Something in mind, window shopping."
I pointed at her socks with heels on condition.
"Boots, hikers, really anything."
"Got clothes, and shoes. All used. Look in the back. Stuff comes in and out all the time."
What fit her, was not in any fashion what we wanted. Anything that looked like the right tool for the job? Not her size. At all. I first eliminated what didn't work. Out of what was left, I next took out anything too small to even consider. Which left our pool of boot candidates to be quite small. And all of them, were way too big.
"Well?"
"Zar, we need something. Too big, is all there is. Think of it, like... you're a little kid, scuffing around in your dad's shoes."
She held one up and looked at it.
"Fashionable, and fun."
"Yeah. I'm working on that. Those look dry, but... no insulation."
"Still something. And you can stop carrying me around like a little kid."
"I'm going to try to get creative."
"Oh. This, just keeps getting better and better."
I picked up a thick stack of old T shirts with the boots, and went up to the old man at the counter.
"If you need more old rags? I got more I can get you."
"No, I just wanna try something. Sit down, honey."
I started wrapping old T shirts around her foot, then tucked it in to hold it on temporary. Had her slide her foot in gentle. Then, more T shirts, and back in. It sort of started to work, and she now had the idea. Before too long, we knew more or less how many T shirts it took to firm up her foot inside the things, so she wouldn't step out of them every three seconds.
Once we had that, I cut some T shirts up to wrap around the others. It was working, sort of.
"I got an idea. Hold on."
I came back with an ancient insulated work snow suit. The big zipper was off its track, and the ass was split out.
"Hell, son. None a my bees wax, but... her coveralls, is better than these."
He wanted 10 bucks for the rubber boots, and 5 for the T shirts. I held up the destroyed coveralls, and he shrugged.
"Whatever. Them should have been thrown out, all ripped like that."
I gave him a twenty, and told him to keep the five for a tip.
"Scissors? Big ones."
"Got a box of them. Over by---"
I came jogging back from where he had pointed, and cut both arms off the old coveralls. The outer material was heavy duty, and it was insulated to hell and back. I put them on her like giant hunting socks.
"Well?"
"Eh. I can walk around some."
"Feel warm, though?"
"Almost too warm, really."
"Even better. Now don't worry, Zar. Next year? All the girls are gonna want a pair of these beauties. You're just ahead of the curve, that's all."
"Uh huh. Later on down the line, this will be a funny story. Right now, though? Its like being homeless."
"Where you folks staying. Figure you ain't from around here."
I winked at him.
"Oh, no. We were born and raised."
"Yup. Somewhere else."
I tried to do a gentle quiz. Wrecks, abandoned cars, anything like that. He hadn't heard anything, that wasn't a local. I gave him a brief sketch, that I was looking for a coworker that was missing in this weather. Nothing.
"Hey, you asked where we were staying."
"None of my business, really."
"Any kind of, motel or anything like that?"
"Not really, no."
I explained about the entrance we got a nap in. That it was only for a couple of days, so really, anything would work. He had no ideas.
"Well. Let me try something different."
I took out a wad of money.
"None of my business, but... business been real good today?"
"Been shit, just like the weather."
"I figured. Now, just curious. What would a, good day be like here."
"Hell. I gross a hundred bucks, I feel like I earned my daily bread, son."
"Hmm. Bad time of the year, for you. A really bad time of the year, for us."
"Your point, being."
"We help each other out. Now, me? I believe, in motivation. I mean, when you get right down to it, anything's possible."
I put a hundred dollars on the counter.
"What's that."
"Well, it could be your tax free profit. For? Twenty-four hours."
"I see where you're going, son. But I ain't got a room, to rent out. Believe me, if I did? I'd be happy to take your money. But the fact is, I can't give you, what I don't have."
"I know. And its a pity, really. Because..."
Another hundred dollars, right next to it.
"What if we were here looking for our buddy? For two days."
The old man shrugged.
"Three days..."
Another little green stack. He started to say something, and quit. He's staring at the money now. He's trying. Good.
"And hey. I'm talking, a bathroom? A broom closet, six feet long. Pretty much anything. An abandoned van, still got the windows in it."
"I just can't take you to the house. The wife? Will shit kittens. She just ain't no kind of people person, you understand."
"The house? No. All wrong, for us. Just, anything would do. Its temporary. Couple days."
"Now, lets say I think I can stick you two somewhere. How am I supposed to trust, two complete strangers."
"Ah. So, you might have an idea. Then, its just a matter of getting you to trust us."
"You got any ID?"
"Sure. Driver's license. State carry permit. This? Is my federal carry permit. This one? I'm an FFL, class 3 dealer. Do you have any idea, the kind of background checks I had to have, to get all this?"
"Not really, no."
"And this, is my work ID..."
My FBI consultant's badge.
"You're a fed?"
"I'm not an FBI agent, no. Just a civilian consultant. But, riddle me this. Have you ever heard of a gun store owner, let alone one licensed to sell fully automatic firearms and silencers and everything else. Have you even heard of one, committing crimes? Let alone seen it with your own eyes."
"I guess not."
"There just has to be... something..."
"How many days did you say you might be here?"
"I'm guessing. Maybe a couple days. Don't really know. I gotta be able to say I tried to find my coworker, though. I'm hoping he was just in a wreck, or something like that."
"You don't care what it is."
"If the wind is off us. No snow on us. Temperature? Lets make it easy. Anything above freezing, works. I have a good sleeping bag."
He sighed. Scratched his chin. And, he kept looking at the money.
"You said, anything."
"I did."
"Come and see this, then."
We followed him down into his ancient basement. A couple stark light bulbs, hanging from wires. Boxes and sturdy wooden shelves, all over. The bathroom, looked like something from the fifties in a dilapidated gas station. One of those old dingy deep work sinks from yesteryear, the dual washtubs setup. The shower, really wasn't. It looked like someone just grabbed an old hot and cold water line, and put valves on them and fed them into a spigot. It was just in a bare corner, no stall.
"What do you think."
"We love it. We can get in and out, right?"
"Ain't nothing to steal down here, and by that I mean anyone else, not you two. I'd be locking that door at the top of the steps, but... you could go in and out that door, there. Opens up on the alley, out back."
"See? I just knew, it was only a matter of motivation."
"Well. Speaking of, motivation. How many days, again?"
"Not sure. Doubt its too many."
"Pity. Because I just happen to need something. Transmission, for my old tractor? Done shit the bed. Some guy I know? Has one. He wants seven hundred for it. If, you could manage to stay for a whole week? That, would be a lease... I think, I could live with."
"Well. What I could do, though. Would be maybe pay for all seven days? Up front. If I don't use all my days, you still got your transmission. If I go over? I'll pay you by the day."
"Hell. Stay all year, and I'll buy me a brand spanking new tractor."
He started walking back upstairs.
"Where you going?"
"Hell, son. I'm just gonna lock up, and go home. Let you two get all settled in. Not like I can expect a better day."
We followed him back up. The old man was a lot more quiet, now that he had his replacement transmission within his sights. I'm making a little pile of green paper, to set the old man's mind further at ease. I winked at him, and added three hundred extra. He looked up at me, that quizzical look on his face.
"I can see, you know how to run a fine store. But, a smart landlord, always gets a security deposit."
He shook his head, and pointed. He had a really big, old fashion safe. The likes of which, would not be out of place in a black and white crime drama and maybe even a wild west train station robbery.
"There. Tell you kids, what."
I cocked my head to receive his new information.
"I feel good, and bad."
"How's that, old timer."
"Starting to figure, you're good people."
"Aw, now don't go telling everyone how sweet I am, ruin my thing I got going."
Th old man grinned, I was trying to say it like he would. He knew I wasn't making fun of him.
"No, seriously. You're just out in this winter mess, trying to do something good. Find that guy and his car."
"About it."
"And, that's a good thing. I'm gonna go and guess, you really don't have to be doing it. No, I bet you two could just as easy, and probably way easier? Been at home, where I bet you two got plenty of boots to pick from."
He glanced down at the fabric spilling out of the top of her oversize winter chore boots.
"Boots that fit right."
"I guess so. Yeah."
"Well? Ain't that just it. Instead, here you are. Trying to help. I hear you, your job and all, but... I'm guessing you could have got out of it."
I shrugged.
"Got a close friend. He always said, he was taught to just... do the right thing."
"Yeah. Well, here I am. Angling, to get me another transmission for daddy's old tractor. Seeing what I can get. It ain't the Christian thing to do, mind you. And I'm just old enough, to pay some mind to where my final retirement lands me. So, I tell you what."
"Hmm."
"You and your wife there. You get a better deal, to stay somewhere nicer? Money's in the safe now, you can go and get your better deal."
"Oh. That's a nice thing, but... this ain't my wife."
"Could have fooled me. Didn't think she was FBI, too. Figured the federal boys, would put warm boots on her, if she was."
I chuckled.
"My good friend's wife, not mine. Her husband, is the important special agent. Not me. She got stuck out of state, on business. She couldn't see a fire hydrant in all the snow or something, and they towed her car. So. I get that call. Hey, could you maybe go get my wife. I'm stuck, I can't go."
"Not your boss, sent you."
"That's how this started. Then, the boss called. Wouldn't ask, but if you're already up that way, on the way back? Any chance, maybe you could see about this."
Old man nodded.
"Let me guess. Those folks figured, you wouldn't just drive through once..."
He mad a show of looking around the room with his hands over his eyes.
"Nope. Don't see nothing."
I cracked a smile, it was a cute way to put it. I nodded to agree.
"See? My point. People that know you? They trust you. Cause they seen you, they already know, you'll do that... right thing."
"Yeah."
He just nodded.
"If I can do anything to help you find your car you need to find, just ask. I opened the heater register, about an hour it'll be warmer down there. There's a draft, comes under the door to the alley. Normally, all I care is that the pipes don't freeze up. Shove any rags you find around, under the gap there. It'll get even better. I'll stop in and see how you're doing. You like pork chops?"
"Huh?"
"Tonight, is pork chops. I'll bring you some tomorrow. Be almost as good, microwaved."
"Well, food? We got, but... sure."
He nodded some more.
"Get you some sleep, son. You look tired. I'll stop back, around noon tomorrow."
He ambled off to the front door. Before the little bell could tinkle, I reminded him about his cellar door he said he was going to lock. He cackled like only an older guy with an ornery sense of humor can muster, pausing with his back still to us, about to leave.
"Son? If the FBI is sending guys out, to spin yarns, just to get into my store and steal junk out my junk store. All while paying like a nice hotel, to stay in my basement. I just can't picture that painting, hanging on my wall. There's a spare keys under the register. One's the front door here, other's that basement door. Lock up when you leave. Doubt I get robbed if you forget, keeps teenagers from drinking beer in the basement when I leave. Spare keys are back under the resister, I'll figure you moved on."
He just walked out with nothing else about it. Other than his words echoing, the only other sound was that little bell and its announcement.
No, every once in a while? People will surprise you. When they show you what they really have inside of them, and its good. Merry's the therapist and all but a psychologist, its her purview to guess people and their motives. But just like Zar here can spout the lingo and stories of a decent therapist after years of experiencing that, the same goes for me.
The waitress. She don't mind helping, but it has to wait until a couple orders get served first. And she was all excited to get her one hundred, two hundred dollar tip for information. This old man was, too. He even positioned himself to get seven hundred. Because he'd like a used transmission they probably don't make anymore. But after he gets it, he feels something. I have to guess, but I think I'm right.
He feels that little twinge in his guts. Guilt. Someone is in a bad way and needs help, and as soon as he got what he could out of the situation, that stab in the guts settles in on him. That's good character. You can come by it from different ways, but it doesn't just spring up out of you all on its own. It has to be shown to you, and even better instilled in you.
I wouldn't be amazed to find out he was raised Catholic or similar.
"What's next, Panic. You're my taxi driver, I'm just along for the ride."
"Well. I was in the service, when I was younger. You follow instructions."
"Which, right now, would be?"
"You heard the old man. You kids, get settled in. So, we get settled in."
"You do look tired. You need a nap."
"Not just yet. I can get by with a couple hours a night, for a while when I have to. I'll sleep like a lazy dog when its over. But right now, I'm going to get some stuff out of the truck."
"Hey. I finally got my boots. I can help now."
"Your feet still numb?"
She looked down at her boots she wiggled to punctuate her contemplation.
"I'm starting to warm up. They still feel a little funny, though. Like that."
"Yeah. I'll unload the truck. Look around, see where you want the sleeping bag to go."
"You sure?"
I nodded yes.
"Then what."
"Well. The window on my deal, is closing slow."
"How's that."
"Guy was here, it looks like. I gotta try. And, I hate to say it, but..."
"What."
"Pretend you were stuck in your vestibule. How long would you last, locked in there."
"Oh, I don't know."
"I do. Average human being, can last three days with no water."
"You told me, though. You can eat snow. He won't die of thirst."
"If he ran out of gas, yeah. What if his shoulder's trapped, he can't get his arm out the window. Three days, and that's at best."
"I see your point."
"As long as you have water, and it ain't distilled? You can go a week, ten days... some people more. With no food. That, really ain't an issue."
"Means something else, is that issue."
"Mother Nature, is trying to kill people. She's good at it. Depending on what clothes he has in his little car. Maybe, what clothes were on him, when he got stuck? If he's trapped. And the temperature's dropping, Zar."
"He'll freeze to death."
"Yeah. White death."
Now she said nothing.
"So. Clock's ticking, until I know different. I get four hours a night, max, until I know what's going on. And that even feels like I'm being a selfish asshole. But I'm not a machine. I have limits."
She just nodded. I about whispered the rest.
"Sorry if I freaked you out, little one. Didn't mean to, if I did."
I paused. Sighed.
"I'll get the stuff we want, out the truck. Decide where you want the... bedroom to be."
She just nodded. I didn't hear her next "and then what", but it was on her face despite any efforts she put towards squelching it. One more little sigh out of me.
"Then, we'll take a little break, and... I'll see if I can do anything useful. Before I waste another four hours sleeping, late tonight."
I got whatever I thought I might not need in the truck, out and into here. She just looked at me, waiting to see what was coming.
"All right. Time for you, now."
"What about me."
"I have to check your feet out. Just to be on the safe side. Besides. We'll get better at wrapping the T shirts and the snow suit arms. You'll end up reasonably warm and comfortable."
Her feet weren't cold to the touch, but they sure weren't warm. Full movement. No cramps. Just a touch of pale to the skin, and just a hint of a shade of blue under the nails starting. I rinsed out some ancient metal washtub, and got her blue nailed metacarpals down into the warm but almost hot water.
The wet hot washtub's contents felt stabbing cold, and she had to dip slowly, to get there. Finally, she slipped under the warm liquid and began to describe traditional warmth coming. Once there, I massaged her between bouts of topping up the warm water. All good.
"See the blue, under the nails? Going away."
"So. Do I need my feet cut off."
"Oh, no honey."
"Well, that's something."
"Turn black, fall off by themselves. Two, three days. The nerves die, you really won't feel it."
"Panic!"
"Come on, that was funny."
"Yeah, a little."
"Just a little?"
"Okay, it was a good one."
"That's my girl."
Once her feet lost the blue tinge under the nails, the pale skin effect followed soon after. Finally, that healthy red flush from the hot water came, and stayed. Success. She wanted a little baby oil, for dry itchy winter skin. Then, we fiddled. How many T shirts and where. How they were wrapped, what they were tied with and how.
It ended up fewer T shirts wrapped, and the arm of the snow suit went over. The elastic cuff folded up and back as she inserted herself into the re-purposed rubber chore boots. The fold up and back, ate up the space and kept her feet from swimming in the oversize things. The snowsuit arms looked like insulated leggings coming up and over her shins and knees.
She could walk around. Warm, insulated. Not walking out of the boots any longer. The heavy rubber lugs would give her some traction, as well. Yet, there's no rest for the wicked.
"All right. I wanna drive through the other little town."
Because there's two little tiny towns like this, close by to the diner. I'm coming to think of the diner, as some nexus of everything out this way. Neither town owns that diner, nor can claim it. The diner? Is the sun. These little towns orbit around that diner. The joke popped into my head without trying. Its not a solar system, there's no sun. Its a diner system.
Why that even struck me, as funny as it did? I don't know. I'm overtired, I'll have a slap happy component to me, until I get unlimited rest and relaxation. I tried to get her to stay here while I scouted a quick drive-through of the other satellite town. She wouldn't hear of it.
More predictability. More slow chugging for progress. More of nothing, though. I was hoping for different little shops, different ones open. But no, this other town was the lesser of the two satellites that orbited the holy diner. To be honest I don't care how much I spend on anything. This is about results, not the bar tab. Mike said the magic words, too. All expenses, its important. Still, probably more fun to get reimbursed with results instead of just my own limp dick in my hand at the end of the operation.
Perhaps I misspoke, when I said more of nothing. Nature abhors a vacuum. My nothing reference was in regard to results. Which were of course, nil. But nothing, far from it. The mild disgust. The growing frustration. My stab in the guts that's me knowing the time is running out if indeed, its not already too late.
Its not just me viewing the diner as the center of all things out here. I quickly learned to pop into the diner. Gab, talk, ascertain if anyone might know something, or have heard a tidbit of gossip. When I called nine one one to get a hold of one of the cops, to ask about my situation? I get the polite runaround, and the mild hassle. Finally though, she has to try to patch my call to any cop's cell, on or off duty is fine.
I waited and figured it wasn't happening. Finally, one of the many patrons went out back to check their phone for whatever purpose. He came back in asking for me by name. But no, he didn't know of any abandoned or wrecked vehicle close to resembling my objective. He even called a couple others, to make sure. Guy was trying, on my behalf. Goose egg.
You network, though. He plugs me into the couple of ambulance drivers that work for the company that services the surrounding area, and the tow truck drivers everyone uses. He made calls, he persuaded them to call a few other guys, to look and see. Calls were dutiful in being returned. Again? Nothing except frustration and disappointment, plenty of that to go around.
"Officer, I---"
"Pat. I didn't pull you over. We're not in court. My name's Patrick? Everyone, calls me Pat. Please."
"Pat. Now, I saw a place where a vehicle was sitting. Hell. I've gone around it twice, at least. But, its gone now. No tow trucks, no flatbeds, so who came and got that little SUV wagon out of that snow ditch."
"Oh, hell. Small town, everyone knows everyone. Someone could have gotten a tow guy? To sneak out, get them out quick, put the truck back before anyone's the wiser. All these properties, not like there ain't equipment around. Big forks on a decent high lift. Hell, Pounder. He'll be going around. If he gets called, or if he sees something and stops? There's another way."
"Who's Pounder."
Pat chuckled.
"As much of a what, as a who."
"Personal tow truck, jitney towing service."
"More or less. If you're just in a ditch, had a few beers. Why call the flashing lights. You get a hold of him, he'll get up and come out day or night. Big diesel dual wheel. Got the big exhaust stacks and the performance package for more torque. He's got a winch on the front, and another winch on the back. If it ain't ridiculous? He'll get you back up on all four wheels and send you on your way. A chain drags you out of a snowdrift. You ain't driving it, he can go get a little car hauler that just the front wheels get locked onto. Drag you off that way."
"That's his job?"
"He's a tow guy by trade, yeah. But, he works part time. Makes as much or more money, doing it on the side for himself."
"Guess he's hell on wheels, pun intended. Named Pounder."
Pat shook his head, smiling.
"Ah. Nicest guy you'd ever meet. Loud, swears like a drunken sailor and drinks like a fish. But a nice guy. He's good for a thirty pack of sixteen ounce pounders, every day."
"A drunk."
"Well, yeah. But he never wrecks. Hell, he rolls up to DUI wrecks, drunk himself, tossing beers around right in front of the locals and the state cops. No one says anything. He's good at getting big trucks up out of ravines."
I nodded along to the plot line now.
"Friendly drunk, really good at his job. Willing to go out, day or night, and always gets the job done. Guy like that, could only exist around a place like this."
"About it. All I'm saying though, is that with no tow trucks, no flatbeds allowed out? I guarantee you. He's out riding around, drunk. Making hundred dollar bills getting vehicles out of the white stuff."
"How do I get a hold of him. How do I talk to him."
"Well. If you see empty beer cans every mile or so? You're near him. Or, you could call him. Everyone knows his number. I mean, why buy a fifty thousand dollar truck, just to haul one big fishing boat. Hell. Couple hundred bucks to him, he'll put you in at the start of the season? Take you out, in fall. Him and his uncle? Store RV's and boats and trailers. Work on them, too. Haul them around for people. You want a 40 foot office trailer brought home you bought online? That's your guy."
"He's easy to talk to."
"Hell yeah. Hoot and holler a little, swear a bunch. Beer can only help your case. You look like you're used to being around good old boys, right?"
"Hell. He sounds like a drunk version of half the guys at my hunting camp."
"There you go. Here's his number..."
"Thanks, Pat. I appreciate it."
"Hey. I hope you find your guy."