Arizona
Indian Doll
By
Matt R.. Jones, Esq.
* * *
Prologue
Tama Bombosa watched the 1st National Bank of Lotte, Texas explode, a smile on her face, and she cackled with glee as chunks of concrete and burning wood rained down on the street, shattering the little town’s post-midnight silence. Safely under cover in an alley across the street, she didn’t have to worry about being struck by any of debris, leaving her free to enjoy watching a chapter of her life closing in a spectacular fashion. She couldn’t have thought of a better way to commemorate it, though she suspected that Chino and the others inside wouldn’t have agreed with her . . . that is, if they were still capable of anything at all. She doubted it, not after all the planning she’d put into tonight, and how she’d carefully considered every option in her scheme, just like Chino and the boys had taught her. They’d taught her everything she knew, as a matter of fact, from the days when she’d been a bratty orphan to the night when she’d gotten bitten by the vampire and beyond. That had been their undoing, because they’d taught her far too well.
They’d drilled it into her to never let anyone take advantage of her and to make sure that anybody that tried was properly taken care of, ruthlessly. Ever since she’d become a vampire, albeit an odd creature of the night that daylight didn’t bother, Chino and the others had been taking her for granted, using her new and improved strength, speed, and endurance to attempt jobs and raids that they never would’ve dreamed of before. Instead of being the little sister of the gang, she became a tool to them, an easy means to an end, and because she’d been their little sister/mascot figure ever since she was a child, they assumed she didn’t care. She hadn’t minded at first, and had reveled in her new abilities, using them to topple obstacles even Vin’s muscles couldn’t handle. But when they’d started sending her into situations with no planning or forethought, letting her get shot, burnt, and stabbed in their stead, and then blowing it off as though it was nothing, she’d started to look at them differently.
Though they said that they didn’t care if she drank blood, so long as it was from cops, rich people, and other jerks, she had suspicions their feelings differed from their words. She even wondered if part of the reason that they kept sending her into dangerous situations was that they hoped she’d just get killed and they wouldn’t have to worry about her any more, since they’d already profited quite well from her abilities. Chino had told her time and time again that there was honor among thieves, or at least this bunch, and that everybody looked out for everybody else, no matter what happened. But after awhile, it became clear they weren’t looking out for her any more, so she reciprocated and started looking out for herself. It had culminated tonight in the Lotte bankjob, and while Chino and the boys had been reduced to chunky salsa within the bank’s crumbling walls, Tama was safely outside in the alley; the mascot had outlived the gang that had raised her. She supposed she should’ve felt regret for what she’d done, but she didn’t. They’d taught her to never let anyone use her, and use her they had, and she’d done what they’d told her to do: pay back that use with vicious revenge. Instead of grief, she felt a flush of pride surging through her. As far as she was concerned, she’d done well.
As the sounds of sirens swelled in the distance, she realized that she’d stepped out of the alley and had been moving closer to the burning ruin of the bank, literally like a moth drawn to a flame. When she’d been with the gang, they’d had a couple of very close calls with the law, and the name and face of Tama Bombosa was known to the Texas police; it wouldn’t do for her to be anywhere nearby when the cops arrived. But unlike the boys had been doing lately, she’d planned ahead. During the day she’d left her Harley parked behind a dumpster in that very alley, and she’d rode with them in the car as usual. Even though the car was now a flaming wreck on the side of the bank, her bike was safe, sound, and ready to roll. And time to roll it was.
As much high-grade explosive as she’d left with the boys, they were likely nothing but fragments of burnt and blasted bone now, and for all anybody knew, she was with them. As far as she was concerned, Tama Bombosa was as dead as the gang she’d once ran with, and she’d taken steps to ensure that the Texas police agreed with her.
After dashing back into the alley, she hefted the full duffel bag she’d brought out of the bank, and hopped on her bike. It fired up on the first try, and she jetted off down the alley far faster than a mortal would have dared, leaving Tama Bombosa and Los Bastardos far behind.
The heat shimmered on the pavement as she sped down the highway, her two jet-black braids flapping in the breeze behind her as she tore through Arizona, heading nowhere in particular at a very high speed. She’d lost track of how long she’d been riding, weeks, months, whatever, and didn’t much care, either. For the moment riding suited her just fine. However, it wasn’t going to be suiting her Harley just fine for much longer, as a glance at the tank told her that she was starting to run rather low on gas. An easy enough problem to take care of . . . she’d dealt with far worse.
She started to pay attention to the road signs again, and after the morning sun had risen a little higher in the sky, she spotted a hand-painted wooden sign that looked as though it was made from a piece of an old wall, and it read ‘Indian Mementos, Gas, & Food – 2 Miles.’ Sounded good to her, and she twisted down on the throttle, leaning over her bike as the roar of its engine increased, the wind of her speed dispelling the growing heat of the day. Not that it really bothered her; she’d grown up in heat like this and had gotten quite used to it, and ever since she’d become a vampire, she’d grown even more resistant to it. For her, it was a perfectly comfortable day, even though the mercury was already well above 80.
Then again, ever since she’d hit the road, all of her days had been comfortable.
* * *
“Five twenty five,” said the weathered old Indian behind the counter, and she reached into her multi-pocketed camouflage pants and removed the money, handing him the bill and flipping the quarter into his large hand.
As he rang it up, she glanced around the interior of the little building, which was filled with snacks, drinks, and Indian mementos of all sorts. The place was overflowing with the varied artifacts, and the teenaged Indian boy was taking care not to knock anything over as he swept the worn wooden floor. The overhead fan, which was working in tandem with the clattering air conditioner to keep the inside temperature tolerable, creaked with every rotation, as though keeping time with David Allan Coe on the crackling radio; it felt old in here, and she found that she liked it. While it seemed like everywhere she went, people were trying to be as new as possible, this place seemed content with its antiquity, and it was a nice change of pace.
“Thanks,” said the old Indian with a nod of his head. “Need a receipt?”
She shook her head.
“That’s good, because the fucking paper jammed again.” With a laugh, he smacked the side of the dusty old register, which made a grinding sound and did little else. He shrugged and then looked at her. “So what’s a young thing like you doing out in the middle of nowhere? Can’t tell me that you came all the way out here just to visit me, can you?”
She grinned and gave him a shrug of her own.
“You from around here or anything?” he asked. “Maybe from one of the reservations?” With her dark skin, black hair, and roughly-elegant features, her Indian heritage was clear enough, though she’d been raised by Mexicans since she’d been five, and she didn’t know squat about Indians.
She shook her head, then tapped one of the roadmaps in the wire rack in front of the register. “Texas,” said the old Indian, and she nodded. He looked at her quizzically, and then asked, “Don’t talk much, do you?” She shook her head again.
“You mute?” Nope. “Have an accident or something?” Nope. “Just don’t like to?” She nodded; she’d never been much of a talker, even as a child, and as she’d gotten older she’d become more or less silent. There was no deep-seated reason behind it or anything of that sort, at least nothing that came to mind; she just didn’t feel much like talking.
“That’s fine,” the Indian said. “Seems like all some people do is flap their jaws and never say a damned thing. If you wanna be quiet, then you’re more than welcome to do it around these parts. That way, I can do a lot more talking,” he said with a chuckle. Smiling, the vampire gave him a thumbs-up. She definitely liked it here.
The Indian excused himself and started to argue with the register, and she started to poke around the packed store, her heavy knee-high boots softly clumping on the floor as she moved around, taking care to stay out of the boy’s way. Though from the glances he kept shooting her, she assumed that he probably wouldn’t have minded in the least if she got in his way. Though there was a wide array of different artifacts in the store, she noted that a great deal of it was hand-carved wooden Indian dolls of countless shapes and sizes, and she eyed them all with fascination.
Chino had taught her a great deal about carving while she’d been growing up, and she’d spent many an afternoon sitting on back porches with him carving little figurines and name-plates. He’d jokingly called that their “legitimate business,” as they’d sold most of the things they made, and all of the money had gone to her, which she’d freely spent on candy and playthings. She hadn’t carved anything in years, and seeing all of these dolls evoked many fond memories in her, and she silently shook her head: it was a shame that Chino and the others had forgotten how well they’d taught her, because she’d rather liked them.
Pushing such thoughts out of her head, she picked up a particularly well-done Indian papoose doll, running her fingers over the wood, her highly-sensitive skin tracing its fine lines, enabling her to appreciate the craftsmanship even more than she would have as a mortal. Many of the dolls were like that: handmade and elegantly-done, though in an earthy sort of way. The craftsman was damned good, that was for sure, and she found herself wanting to sit and do some carving again. “Grandpa made all of those.”
She turned to see the teenaged floor-sweeper standing nearby, having taken a pause in his duties, and he pointed at the figure she was holding. “Pretty good, isn’t it?” She nodded. “He’s teaching me how to do it right now, but I think I’ve still got a lot of practice to do before I’m anywhere near as good as him. But practice makes perfect, right?” The vampire smiled.
Apparently not quite sure what to make of the silent woman, the boy said, “I’m Charlie. What’s your name?” He stuck out his hand and she gave it a shake and a nod. She didn’t give him an answer, however, because she honestly didn’t know. She wasn’t Tama Bombosa any more, that was for sure, but she didn’t really know what to call herself now. The most she could give him was a shrug. He frowned at that. “You don’t know?” She nodded. His frown deepened, as though he thought she were playing some kind of game with him. “How can you not know your name?”
She shrugged again, and was about to try to explain it to him in her heavily-accented English, but the old Indian intervened. “Charlie! Don’t pester her if she don’t feel like talking, all right?” he called out from behind the counter, looking stern. “If she ain’t talking and ain’t giving her name, she’s probably got a pretty good reason, so don’t push her, you hear me?”
“Yes, Grandpa,” said Charlie, his already-dark Indian skin darkening even further with youthful embarrassment. Nothing like getting yelled at by your grandfather in front of an attractive young woman (in a tight black tanktop and red bandanna, no less) to take the wind out of your sails. Not wanting him to feel bad, she reached out and patted him on the shoulder, then gave him a thumbs-up to let him know she wasn’t annoyed with him.
The hue of his skin deepened even more, but his grin said that everything was cool, and after a glance to make sure his grandfather wasn’t still watching, he asked, “So do you ever carve anything, mystery-lady?”
At that she nodded and smiled, her eyes going back to the doll she was still holding. “Really?” asked Charlie, interest in his voice. “Do you ever make carvings to sell?” Another nod, and after a moment’s thought, Charlie leaned closer to her, almost conspiratorially. “You sell ‘em around here?” She shook her head, and Charlie looked slightly relieved. Speaking in a low voice, he said, “Grandpa’s got the best shop around here, and he doesn’t like other people trying to sell on his turf. He’s actually burnt a few stands down! Can you believe it?”
With a nod, she glanced up at the flannel shirt-clad Indian who was arguing with the cash register, feeling a new respect for him. “He’s been getting meaner lately, because he can’t carve as much as he used to . . . he’s getting arthritis,” Charlie said. “You should have seen how fast he could go before his hands started bothering him! He’s getting me started on it so I can help out around here and maybe start being able to sell my stuff sometime before long.” He then looked at her and started to run a hand through his shaggy black hair as though in thought, and then said, “Hey, I’ve got an idea . . .”
* * *
“What the hell’s this?” asked the old Indian as he stepped out onto the dusty wooden porch on the front of the store, where Charlie and his new vampire friend were sitting in chairs and whittling away on blocks of wood. He scowled at his grandson, his height and muscular bulk cutting an imposing figure, and he snapped, “You ain’t trying to get her to do your work for you, are you, boy?”
Charlie looked up from the rickety wooden chair he was sitting on, block in one hand and knife in the other, and he quickly said, “No way! She likes carving, too, and she sells some of the stuff she does, so I thought. I’d see if she’d like to hang out with me while I was working on my brave.” He held up his block of wood, which was roughly the size of a brick and was starting to show the features of an Indian brave.
“Sells some of it?” asked the grandpa, turning his dark eyes towards the vampire and narrowing them. “Is that so?”
She turned her own green eyes up towards his, seeing an obvious challenge in them and silently letting him know that she wasn’t any sort of pushover. But before there was any confrontation could take place, Charlie quickly spoke up. “No, not around here, Grandpa! She’s not looking to cut into your business or anything.”
The big Indian kept his eyes on hers for several moments, and then asked, “In Texas?”
She nodded.
“Ain’t looking to cause any trouble, are you? I don’t take very nicely to that.”
She shook her head. “She’s cool, Grandpa,” added Charlie.
After regarding her for a long time, in which she kept her eyes on his without flinching, he finally offered one of his big hands. “My friends call me Bear, and since you ain’t pissed me off yet, you can do the same, if you’re inclined to.”
He put quite a bit of pressure into his handshake, which she easily matched, and Bear’s eyes widened very slightly when he felt her reciprocation. She grinned at him after the handshake was over, and he gave a slow nod. “Yeah, Charlie . . . I think she is cool.”
Bear’s grandson looked quite satisfied at the pronouncement, and he happily went back to work on his brave doll, the well-worn (but still sharp) blade of his knife moving with the hesitant confidence of one still learning a trade. The vampire returned to her own block of wood, which she’d selected from the pile in the dirt next to the porch, and made casual swipes with the long shiny blade she kept in her belt sheathe. She wasn’t sure what she was going to carve just yet, and was simply letting herself get the feel of the craft again. She figured that some sort of shape would make itself apparent to her after awhile, and she’d just go with that. The way Chino had taught her, it was a very instinctive art, and when she’d been younger, she’d done her best work when she’d just gone with the flow and let her hands do most of the work, with very little conscious thought going into it.
While the pair set about their carving, Bear, who was standing behind them, folded his powerful arms across his broad chest and stared off into the distance, looking beyond the highway that ran past the store and off into the gently rolling hills dotted with scrub and stones. It was a gorgeous day out, despite the still-growing heat, and the sky over the landscape was an infinity rendered in deep blue, without a single blemish of cloud. He gazed off into the distance for a long time, the day silent save for the soft sounds of metal cutting away at wood and chips falling to the porch. Both the vampire and the boy were too absorbed in their respective carvings to notice when he turned his eyes back down to them, a gentle smile forming on his face. He chuckled softly, and then walked back into the store.
* * *
Time passed.
The sun rose ever higher in the sky, and the heat intensified, giving the entire day a shimmer and uncomfortable brightness, even for the vampire’s durable eyes if left unshaded. But the porch’s overhang provided enough shade to satisfy the carving duo as they worked away on their blocks, and the icy glass bottles of soda that Bear brought out for them didn’t hurt their comfort any, either. The occasional car zipped by, but nobody stopped for gas at the old pump out in front of the store, which was fine with them, as neither felt like being disturbed by the outside world. The vampire was absorbed with her big block of wood, which was nearly twice the size of Charlie’s; her hands had quickly remembered the craft that she hadn’t practiced since she was twelve, and she found that her vampiric nature gave her a natural grace and smoothness that she hadn’t had before. It was like someone finding a favorite childhood toy, sitting down to fiddle with it, and discovering that it worked better and was even more fun than it was during their youth.
She paused for a moment to admire her work, and nodded to herself in approval. As her knife had worked its way over the wood, the shape of a smirking young Indian girl had made itself apparent, and that’s what she’d gone with, making smaller and more precise cuts and swipes with her knife to further define it. Considering that she hadn’t done any carving for years, she thought she was doing a pretty good job. Both Charlie and Bear agreed with her, as Charlie kept peering over at her doll in interest, and when Bear stepped out to bring them more sodas, he’d made approving noises while he’d looked it over. “You’re a natural,” he’d said, “Just like Charlie, except you’ve had longer to work on it.” The big Indian had then reached over and tousled his grandson’s hair, which had encouraged the youth so much that he’d been working even harder on getting his brave just right.
After finally leaning back in his seat to give his hands a rest, Charlie looked over at her nearly-finished doll and said, “As big as she is, I bet you could hollow her out for a tobacco case, and sell her for almost twice as much. Grandpa’s got all kinds of stoppers inside you could use. He says people like to buy stuff like that, because it gives them an excuse to take it out and use it in front of people, and then tell their friends about how they got it. He says one of the best things you can sell a person is an opportunity to talk about themselves.” She stopped and considered that for a moment, then nodded. Not only did the boy’s grandfather have a legitimate point, but the boy himself had a good idea . . . it would also give her a chance to work on the doll a while longer. Charlie showed her how large to make the opening on the flat bottom of doll, and before long she’d already made a great deal of headway in hollowing out the doll, thus making it useful and doubling its value, at least to a tourist.
Charlie ran inside to grab her a rubber stopper for the doll, and after he’d come back out and handed it to her, he sat back down in his chair with a heavy sigh. The vampire looked over at him and saw that his face was noticeably downcast. After tapping him on the shoulder and making an inquisitive gesture, he sighed again and said, “The fucking Weltons are coming over to give Grandpa more shit.” She raised her eyebrows in a question, and the youth explained. “They’re this couple of hippies from Atlanta that’ve got a lot of money, and they’ve opened up this souvenir shop a couple miles down the road. Grandpa says they keep importing stuff from China and Korea and sell it like it’s real Indian stuff, like what we make and sell. They built their shop on old George’s land, and that pissed Grandpa off because old George was his friend, and they’re located at a crossroads, so they’ve got a better location than Grandpa . . . they’re starting to really cut into his business. Grandpa told ‘em to get lost, but they wouldn’t go, no matter how many times he told ‘em, so finally he went over there and broke Mr. Welton’s arm to try to convince him to leave.”
The boy laughed at that, making her smile. “But they said they had every right to sell stuff on the land, and made a complaint to the sheriff, but he didn’t do anything. Probably because he’s my Uncle Claw, who’s not gonna do shit to Grandpa. So Grandpa went back over there and broke some of their stuff and then threw Mr. Welton around again, but they’re still not leaving. They’re threatening to call the state cops now, unless Grandpa pays ‘em back for the stuff he broke, including Mr. Welton’s arm. Grandpa’s already had some trouble with state in the past, so they’ve got him worried . . . he says Uncle Claw can only do so much to keep him out of trouble, especially where state’s concerned. Grandpa doesn’t wanna back down, but the Weltons are rich, so if they yell, state’s gonna pay a lot more attention to them than they did the other people Grandpa ran off. It’s bullshit, but Grandpa doesn’t really know what to do,” he said, sadness in his voice.
“Though Uncle Claw makes sure Grandpa doesn’t get in trouble locally, he got in trouble with state about ten years ago, and actually had to do a couple years in jail for suspected murder, though nobody could actually find any really good evidence to put him away for very long. But Uncle Claw says that it still did something to Grandpa, so he’s not as mean as he used to be . . . I think Grandpa’s afraid of having to spend the rest of his life in jail, like what’s happened to some of his friends, who used to help him out a lot in the old days. Now he doesn’t have anybody to really help him out with stuff . . . there’s only so much Uncle Claw can get away with, since he’s a cop. Uncle Claw says that when Grandpa was younger, he and his friends would just make people disappear down mineshafts and in explosions. He says Grandpa makes a lot of noise now, but doesn’t actually spill any blood. I wish Grandpa would just get mean again.”
She nodded, patted him on the shoulder, and them leaned back in her chair, rubbing her chin in thought while Charlie morosely went back to his carving. After a few minutes, she went back to working on her doll, a faint smirk on her face mirroring the wooden creation’s.
* * *
The Weltons showed up after a little while, when the sun had begun its descent in the sky, casting slowly-lengthening shadows across the land. They pulled up next to the gas pump in a shiny little orange Volkswagen that would’ve fit the hippie image well if it didn’t look so new and neat, and the couple themselves were both fair of skin and hair, dressed in khaki-colored clothes that made them look like they were about to go on safari. She was half-surprised when Mr. Welton, whose hair was tied back in a wispy little ponytail that was a sharp contrast to the thick braid Bear wore, wasn’t wearing a pith helmet when he got out of the passenger door. He was, however, wearing a plaster cast and sling on his right arm, not to mention sporting a black eye, which made her chuckle softly.
The door behind them opened, and Bear stomped out onto the porch and stood glaring at the Weltons as they got out of their car. He muttered to himself in a language she didn’t recognize, but from the tone of his voice, she knew it definitely wasn’t love poetry. Charlie put down his nearly-finished brave, which was looking pretty good, and glared at them as well, while she continued on with her doll, putting the finishing touches on it and making sure the rubber stopper fit snugly. With its facial expression, her Indian doll looked ready to hop out of her hands and cause mischief at any moment, and looked damned good considering how long it had been since the last time she’d carved. The Indian girl was standing on a little squared-off pedestal that read ‘Arizona,’ looking like a perfect little collectible souvenir, exactly what she’d intended. Not too shabby at all.
The Weltons waved at Bear as they approached the store, but he didn’t return the gesture, and instead started grumbling even more vehemently. “Hey Bear, how’s it going?” asked Mr. Welton, his southern-accented voice friendly.
“That’s Mr. Bear to you,” growled the big Indian, his lined face a picture of disgust.
Both of the Weltons visibly stiffened at the tone of his voice. “You don’t have to be like that,” said Mrs. Welton, who was practically a twin of Mr. Welton.
“The fuck I don’t.”
“If anyone around here should be complaining, it should be me,” said Mr. Welton, waggling his broken arm.
Bear threw back his head and laughed harshly. “Poor fucking baby. You really been through a lot, haven’t you?” He spat off the porch and shook his head. “Fuck you.”
Both Weltons reddened at his words, and when they reached the porch, Mr. Welton cleared his throat and said, almost meekly, “I’d like to get my tank filled up while I’m here, too. If you don’t mind.”
Charlie started to snap something, but his grandfather’s big hand on his shoulder stopped him, and when he looked up at Bear questioningly, the Indian nodded. “Go on, fill ‘em up.”
“But—“
“Just do it, Charlie.”
“All right,” the boy replied sullenly, and he got up from his chair, stepped over the porch, and sulkily shambled across the dirt until he reached the gas pumps.
Bear opened the door and held it open for the Weltons. “Let’s get this over with before I’m tempted to give you a matching set of arms,” he said with a scowl, though a grim smile appeared when Mr. Welton looked distinctly nervous.
With a bit of hesitation, the Weltons made their way into the little store, and just as Bear turned to follow them, the vampire reached out and grabbed hold of the Indian’s wrist, giving it a tug. He looked down in her direction, and they met eyes for another long stare. She looked deep into his dark eyes, gazing through their depths to his soul, searching for the man that he used to be, and could be once again if he wanted it. Did he? The time in jail, as well as seeing his friends getting locked up and even dying behind bars, had changed him, just as Charlie’s Uncle Claw had said. Had he been changed irrevocably, or was the utterly ruthless scoundrel still in there somewhere, just waiting for the right time? Maybe he just needed another scoundrel as a partner-in-crime . . .
She raised an eyebrow, nodded, then let go of his wrist, and he headed back into the store, giving her a curious backwards glance as he went. The vampire grinned at him and gave a thumbs-up.
She hopped out of her chair, Indian doll in hand, and walked over to where her bike was parked alongside the store. Grabbing her heavy canvas duffel bag from the rack behind her seat, she set it down in the dirt, unzipped it, and then set to work, softly giggling to herself, almost giddy.
* * *
“What the fuck do you mean ‘that’s not enough?’” bellowed Bear, and his voice held such a hint of menace to it that Charlie looked back at the store.
Shifting around uncomfortably in his chair, the boy looked over at the vampire, who was idly defining a few lines and curves on her doll with the point of her knife. “Man, he’s really pissed. I wish he’d stop just yelling at them and really do something, before they end up pulling some legal shit on him and completely rip him off. Rich people are like that, no matter what they say.” She nodded in full agreement with him, then he glanced down at his brave and said, “I hope nothing happens to the store. It’s his life, and it’s been in the family for years.”
“And what are you gonna do if I don’t give you any more, huh?” demanded Bear, his voice muffled by the wall between him and the porch, but still very clear to the vampire’s sharp ears. “Gonna give me a pox-infested blanket? Maybe a crate of whiskey and hope I drink myself to death? How about dragging me behind a horse for a few miles? That’d be a good one! Gotta make the bad ‘ol Injun pay, don’t you?”
“Now come on, Mr. Bear! We’re legally entitled to that money, and we don’t want to have to get the lawyers or the state involved, so we thought an out-of-court settlement would be agreeable to you,” protested Mr. Welton, his voice sounding weak and thin compared to Bear’s powerful growl. “We don’t want to cause you or your people any trouble, we just want to a run a business, one that we’ve been wanting to have since before we got married. We’re not here to cause you any harm, Mr. Bear, we’re not like that.”
“Not like that, huh? Oh yeah. History proves that, doesn’t it? Your ancestors were too busy whipping their pet niggers to ever bother with us, that’s right! Sorry about that, my mistake. You know how us dumb Injuns are, we don’t pay much attention to detail, in between our war dances, sharpening our hatchets, and getting stoned on our peace pipes,” Bear sneered, so much acid in his voice that even Charlie and the silent vampire winced. “Be happy with what you’re getting, and be happy that you’ve already got more money than you know what to do with, because if you weren’t rich, you’d probably be dead and buried by now.”
“C’mon, Grandpa! Do more than make noise: just let ‘em have it!” whispered Charlie, clenching his fists. “Don’t be afraid of ‘em!”
There was a long silence, and Mrs. Welton, her voice trembling with either fear or anger, demanded, “Is that a—“
“That’s a fucking promise! It wouldn’t be the first time it happened, and I sure as hell hope that it wouldn’t be the last!” roared the big man. “Now get the fuck out!”
“Mr.—“
“OUT!” thundered the Indian, and the porch outside shook as he stomped his foot.
Charlie shook his head sadly and sighed. “He didn’t mean it. He’s just saying that to scare ‘em. From what Uncle Claw told me, if Grandpa really meant business, they would’ve already been dead.” She leaned over and patted him on the shoulder consolingly.
The glass door swung wide open as first Mrs. Welton and then Mr. Welton came hurrying out, both of them looking pale and fearful. The vampire reached out and grabbed hold of Mr. Welton’s back pocket with a steely grip, holding him in place. He quickly turned around, looking as though he was about to be attacked, and the vampire thrust her Indian doll up towards his face, letting go of his pocket and holding out her other hand in the universal ‘give me money’ gesture. “What the—?”
Mrs. Welton, who was standing on the single stair leading down from the porch into the dirt, said, “She wants to sell you that doll, Moon.” Her voice was still shaky, and her watery eyes kept darting back towards the door, as though she were expecting Bear to come galloping out with an axe at any second.
The vampire nodded enthusiastically, and then waggled the doll insistently.
“But I—“
“Just buy it from her, Moon, and let’s go,” hissed Mrs. Welton through clenched teeth. “Before anything happens.”
“All right, all right,” said the harried man, digging into his pocket with his good hand. “How much?”
Holding her empty hand up with all digits extended, the vampire opened and closed it four times.
“Twenty? Isn’t that a bit steep?” asked Mr. Welton, pulling out his bright green canvas wallet and looking dubious.
She shook her head vehemently and waggled the doll again.
“Just. Buy. It. Moon,” snapped Mrs. Welton, her words tight with nervousness.
“Okay, Star, okay. Here,” he said, reaching into his wallet, past the check that Bear had wrote them, and pulling out a still-crisp twenty. He put it into the vampire’s hand, and she eagerly handed the doll over to him, grinning at the money and bowing her head in thanks over and over again. “You’re welcome,” said Mr. Welton, fumbling around as he tried to balance the doll on his broken arm while he replaced his wallet in his back pocket. When he turned to go, he made it one step forward before there was another tug on his back pocket. He spun back around. “What?! We’re in a hurry!”
The vampire happily waved the twenty and gave him a thumbs-up. “You’re welcome!” he repeated, and then scurried off the porch behind his wife, the both of them heading to the car as fast as they could without running. Just as they reached the car, the door of the store flew open and Bear stomped out onto the porch.
“I told you to get lost!” he screamed, his eyes blazing, and that’s all it took. Quick as a flash, the couple hopped in their little Volkswagen and sped off. “Fucking assholes,” Bear snarled, his fists clenched at his sides.
However, Charlie’s focus wasn’t on the sight of his grandfather about to go nuclear, instead it was on the vampire, who was smugly grinning. “Why did you sell your doll to Mr. Welton?!” he demanded, as though unable to believe what he’d just seen. “It was such a good doll, and you sold it to that piece of shit!” The boy actually looked close to tears, like he’d been betrayed by a good friend, and at his words, Bear’s head suddenly snapped downwards and speared the vampire with a sharp look.
“You sold your doll to that cocksucker?” he asked, his voice suddenly deadly calm and his eyes dark as coal.
She nodded and held up the twenty, then reached up and put it into the front pocket of Bear’s flannel. Then she reached into one of the many pockets of her pants and held up Mr. Welton’s wallet, making sure that both Bear and Charlie got a good look at it. She then placed it in Bear’s front pocket with the twenty. The boy’s eyes were huge as he suddenly realized the little trick she’d pulled.
The big Indian pulled the wallet out of his pocket, opened it, then removed his check from it, looking it over. Then he started to laugh, his body shaking with mighty guffaws, and he clapped the vampire on her shoulder and shook it affectionately. “You’re my kinda gal!” he exclaimed, tears of mirth forming in his eyes. “Just like I was when I was a kid, sneaky little fucker!” She glanced over at Charlie, who was looking at her with eyes full of respect, and when she winked at him, he started to laugh as well.
The vampire leaned back in her seat, basking in their laughter, and after a few moments, Charlie said, “It’s a shame that you had to sell your doll, though. It was such a good one, and they won’t appreciate it, not at all.”
“Yeah,” Bear agreed, “That was an awfully nice one, too good for them, and—“
Without warning, the silent woman suddenly sat bolt-upright in her chair, a look of extreme glee on her face, and she threw back her head and let fly with such a loud and wicked cackle that both grandfather and grandson jumped several inches. Just then, the sound of a large explosion cut through the still air and echoed across the desert, immediately followed by another one, and a fireball flared up on the highway about a mile away. “Holy shit!” exclaimed Bear and Charlie in unison, while the vampire kicked up her heels and clapped her hands in delight. Nearly tipping over backwards in her chair.
Rubbing his hand against his forehead, Bear stared off in the direction of the explosion, and he started to laugh again. “Oh boy, oh wow . . .” he murmured, the years on his face seeming to melt away, until he was scarcely older than Charlie, and that made her laugh even harder. Then he clapped his hands together once, loud and sharp, and then gave his grandson a thump on the back. “Okay, up ‘n at ‘em, kid! Call up your Uncle Claw, and tell him to get his ass over here right now, because we’ve got ourselves a clean-up to take care of! Tell him no excuses, either!”
Still gazing off into the distance, Charlie got up to his feet like he was in a dream, and he asked, “Did she--? Was that--?”
No answers were forthcoming from the formerly-quiet woman, who was giggling and cackling like the Wicked Witch of the West, and Bear steered him towards the door, eager to get things moving along. “We’ll get to that soon enough, don’t worry! Just get your uncle and your cousin on their way here, and we’ll get all that shit sorted out in good time!”
“But what—“
“C’mon, time’s wasting! You get him called while I go get the truck fired up, let’s go!”
His eyes rapidly moving from the sight of the explosion to the vampire to his grandfather, Charlie disappeared into the store, and she could hear him galloping across the wooden floorboards towards the phone in back, eager to get the call finished so he could come out and rejoin them.
After the boy was gone, Bear looked to the vampire, who’d stood up and was looking off in the distance with the air of an artist admiring a finished painting, and said, “That was you, wasn’t it?”
She nodded.
“Why?”
She leaned over and tapped an empty soda bottle, pushed at the pile of woodchips that had collected in front of her chair with her foot, and put a hand to her heart, then put it to Bear’s. He clasped her small hand in his, and nodded solemnly, understanding. “Thank you,” he said softly. She patted him on the shoulder to reciprocate his words.
He stepped off the porch and jogged around to the back of the store, with the vampire right behind him. While he was getting the huge doors of the barn-like garage open, he looked at her and asked, “What tribe are you?”
She shrugged.
“Don’t know, huh?” He opened the heavy wooden doors with ease, and the two stepped into the dark, cavernous garage, which was hot as hell inside. The shadowy shapes of countless bits of machinery, tools, and other accumulated junk lined the interior of the garage, and in the middle of it stood an enormous old International Harvester pickup that had been remarkably well-preserved in the dry Arizona air. “Maybe you’re Cherokee,” he suggested with a chuckle. “Everybody’s at least ¼ Cherokee, don’t you know? I’ve figured that out from talking to all the tourists that come through. ‘You’re Navajo, eh? Well, I’m a quarter Cherokee, from my mother’s side, believe it or not.’” She rolled her eyes: she knew that line extremely well.
“Since you don’t know what you are, consider yourself adopted, if you’ll have us. I get the feeling you’d fit right in around here. I ain’t seen someone do something like that in years, and fuck, does it make me feel young again! No talking, no bullshit, just flat-out fucking burning away a problem. That’s how you do it, by damn!” The Indian was tremendously animated, and his eyes shined like stars as all of the old feelings came rushing back to him, and she grinned at the sight of a scoundrel reborn.
After he’d gotten the massive IH’s engine roaring, he pulled it out of the garage with the vampire trotting along beside it, and then parked it out in front of the store while they waited for Charlie to get done with the call to his uncle. “So . . . how’d you do it?” he asked as he leaned out the window of the big blue pickup. “I’ve blown up enough cars in my day to know that second explosion was the gas tank, but that first one was pretty fucking fierce. What’d you do, rig their car while they were inside?”
She held up a finger to have him wait a second, then ran over to her bike, grabbed her duffel bag, then returned to the truck She opened up the bag and displaying its contents to Bear, whose eyes bugged out when he saw what she was carrying. Jammed into the big bag were hand grenades, bundles of dynamite, blasting caps, gunpowder, fuse, coils of wire, clips, tiny LCD timer detonators, and a big brick of homemade C4 with a fist-sized chunk missing. The big Indian pointed to the plastic explosive and, almost in awe, said, “You stuffed that fucking doll. You probably vaporized those two assholes! We’re probably barely gonna have anything to pick up and hide! If I was about forty years younger, I’d fucking marry you! You don’t fuck around, mystery-lady!”
She nodded, a fierce smirk on her face. When she rigged explosions, she made sure they were extremely destructive and left little to no traces of their origins, which was part of the reason she made her own special-recipe C4.
She’d shown an aptitude for demolitions early on in life, when she’d blown up a tool shed with a stick of dynamite at the tender age of seven. Vin had taught her everything he knew about explosives, which she’d rapidly assimilated and advanced beyond; she was teaching him new tricks at the age of eleven. They’d affectionately called her “Bomber,” a play on the name Bombosa, and she’d always gleefully lived up to the name, crafting explosions with the same care and relish that a master chef cooked a meal, most of it on instinct. The boys probably wouldn’t have been so eager to show her how to blow things up if they’d known how she’d use that knowledge to reduce them to crispy critters. But at least they didn’t suffer . . . as much as she used on them, they were wiped out in an instant; she figured she’d owed them that, at least.
“You’re definitely one of us,” said Bear bemusedly after eyeing the explosives, laughing and shaking his head. “And no matter how this whole thing turns out, you’ve got my thanks just for giving a fuck and making me remember how shit’s supposed to be done when people fuck with you. Just wish I knew what to call you . . . ‘mystery-lady’ just doesn’t sound right, you know?”
The memory of the tool shed incident flowed through her head, and she remembered the first thing she’d said to Chino when he’d picked her up after the explosion had blown her across the yard. “Bang-Bang!” she exclaimed, then cackled, loving how it sounded. It was perfect, and it wasn’t a name given to her by parents she didn’t remember or guys that were now ash. It was entirely her own, and that made it a new beginning even better.
Bear grinned and shrugged, reaching out to give her hand a shake. “Good a name for you as any. Welcome to the family, Bang-Bang, glad to have you.”
And for many years to come, business at Bear’s was booming. Literally.
