In Dark Corners (8 page)

"This is Rowdy, Billy-boy. He's a friend," Ellie said gently to her brother, tugging him forward.

Rowdy reached out and took Billy-boy's limp hand. "Howdy, hoss."

"Billy-boy doesn't speak, Rowdy," Ellie explained, looking a little more sheepish.

He raised his hand in the stop gesture. "It's okay, Ellie, I understand." Then he bent over and snatched up both suitcases, aware of the stiffness grabbing at his lower back. "Ready?" he asked, glancing around the empty room. It had been left neat. Couldn't tell it'd been lived in.

"Yeah, I guess," she said, and her tone was weighted with the sense of resignation he'd first noticed in her eyes.

"Okay, gal-with-the-violet-fire-in-her-eyes, let's get," Rowdy said, trying to ease the tension in the air, and leading the pair out to his old pickup. He tossed the suitcases in the bed with his stuff and pulled a tarp over everything. After stretching out the kinks in his back, he climbed into the cab next to the boy, leaned over, and smiled at the woman. "Should be at Wild Horse about eleven or so." As an afterthought he added, "But it's a rough ride, especially the last part of the way. You never been up there into that part of Idaho?"

Ellie grinned back, shook her head, then said, "Let's go, cowboy."

They left Sparks going east on I-80, making good time until they reached Elko in late afternoon, where they stopped for gas. During the ride, Billy-boy didn't do much of anything as Rowdy and Ellie got acquainted, small-talking. But about ten miles from Elko he became restless, starting to rock. Then Ellie took his hand in hers and crooned huskily an old childhood song: "Can she bake a cherry pie, Billie-boy, Billy-boy…" The boy had almost dozed off by the time Rowdy pulled into the Union station.

The hundred or so miles north was along rough secondary roads winding through the Ruby Mountains. Then north and east of Mountain City they hit a long stretch of oiled gravel and bounced along slowly as darkness closed in around them, blotting out the lonesomeness of high desert. Finally, they pulled into Wild Horse about ten-thirty, dusty and tired.

Rowdy made an expansive gesture to Ellie with his hands. "Welcome to Wild Horse, gal."

She took it all in with one sweeping glance: the gas station and little general store, the cafe, and the motel of bungalows where they were parked. Back down the road a couple hundred yards they'd passed a cluster of lights, thirty or so trailers where the gysum miners lived. And that was the sum total of civilization. But she nodded thoughtfully, stared at Rowdy, then added in a serious tone, "Cowboy, you'll have to show me around when we have more time."

He laughed and led them into the motel office, where Mr. Papadopolos, the tiny wrinkled Greek who owned Wild Horse, welcomed them.

Rowdy's bungalow was the only one available. So after a brief discussion they agreed that Ellie and Billie-boy would stay with him until they could make other arrangements. They took their bags to number four and looked it over. There were two beds in the tiny bedroom, so they had the rollaway put up in the front room/kitchen. Rowdy glanced around and sighed, "Just like those first years back on the circuit."

Ellie shrugged. "Well, at least Wild Horse's a long way from…
everyone
," she said cryptically.

***

Later that evening, after he'd called Jack Ricciardi in Mountain Home and received directions to ranch headquarters, about twenty miles east of Wild Horse, Rowdy turned in early. Ellie put Billy-boy to bed in the rollaway in the other room, singing another old song until the boy fell asleep.

Dozing off himself on his right side, Rowdy was surprised when the covers were suddenly lifted, letting in a cool draft. Then Ellie slipped into bed behind him, pressing her bare chest up against his back, her warm crotch against his hip. And despite her early protestations, her body parts seemed in pretty fair shape to him.

Rowdy was wide awake now and rolled over to face Ellie's enthusiastic lovemaking.

***

Rowdy was up at five the next morning, slipping out of bed, dressing, and tiptoeing by the sleeping Billy-boy. But before he opened the door to the tiny bungalow, Ellie whispered hoarsely from the bedroom, "Hey, aren't you even going to say goodbye, cowboy?" He turned and laughed. She was leaning far out of bed in order to see him, brazenly exposing her upper body, a sexy expression twinkling in her violet eyes. For a moment he considered rejoining her in bed, but remembered his meeting at six with the Lazy R foreman.

"Bye, Ellie, I gotta go," he said reluctantly, then left for work.

***

That evening, Ellie was grinning widely when Rowdy returned, dusty and tired from working the north fence line on the ranch. She couldn't stifle her excitement and blurted, "Got a job today."

"You did?" he said, surprised.

"That's right," she replied and nodded. "At the cafe for Mr. Papadopolos. Breakfast and lunch. Actually worked lunch today."

"Hey, that's great, Ellie," he said, realizing that this might be developing into a little more than a ride and a one night stand.

"Yeah, and Papa—that's what everyone calls him—says a bigger cabin will be available this weekend. Number one."

He smiled, thinking, Yeah, I guess it's
already
developed. Then he remembered Billy-boy. "What about the boy?"

She looked puzzled for a moment, then smiled again. "Oh, he'll be okay here in the cabin in front of the TV. I'll check in after breakfast, and I'll be done by two. Hey, everything is going to work out fine, cowboy. Don't look so worried."

They laughed together.

***

For the next two days they all got up at five, dressed, Ellie and Rowdy off to work, Billy-boy set up in front of the TV, watching the channel from Mountain Home…

Then, that night after their lovemaking, Rowdy suggested that he take Billy-boy along on his job. He worked alone and Billy-boy would be good company. Besides it would be better for the boy out in the fresh air all day.

"That sounds real good, cowboy," she whispered, hugging him gratefully.

Then, sitting up, Rowdy asked the question that had been on his mind ever since they met at Coney Island: "Okay, gal, what's going on with you and the boy—why are you running and hiding?"

At first the violet glitter flared as if she were angry that he'd reminded her. Then the fire banked, a frown crept on her face, and for a few moments Rowdy didn't think she was going to answer at all.

Finally, Ellie sighed deeply and said, "It's a long story and kind of weird. You sure you want to hear it?"

He kissed her wrinkled forehead, "Sure do, gal. Maybe I can help."

She nodded, but continued frowning slightly. "Well, after I gave up singing, I returned home to my folks in San Francisco to discover they had put Billy-boy in an institution, Sonoma State Hospital, about forty miles north of the city. He was in some kind of a special unit that was doing research on idiot savants. Have you heard of them?"

Rowdy shook his head.

"They're mentally retarded," Ellie explained slowly in her husky voice, "usually profoundly, unable to even care for themselves, but with a special ability, most often in an area the psychologists refer to as
talent
. Like in math, art, or music. Some can repeat a piece on the piano they've heard only once, despite the fact they've had no musical training. Some can capture slight nuances of anatomy and movement in painting. Others can figure instantly and tell you the exact day of the week your birthday may be on in seventeen years, and so forth. Some are amazing mimics, repeating sounds and speeches they don't even understand. In one highly specific area an idiot savant has uncanny ability, its origin unexplained."

"I have heard of them," Rowdy said thoughtfully. "I just didn't know the technical name. Idiot savant."

"Well, somehow they determined Billy-boy might have some special talent and pressured my folks to allow them to take him to Sonoma. The folks even signed over a power of conservatorship…" She sighed deeply, before continuing, her eyes taking on that distant look as she concentrated.

Rowdy wondered who
they
were, and
what
was Billy-boy's ability, but he didn't interrupt.

***

"Anyway," Ellie continued, sitting up in bed and drawing her knees to her chest, "my folks were killed shortly after that in a strange hit and run accident. After the funeral I went up to see Billy-boy, staying in a local motel in Glen Ellen for several days. He seemed happy, and everything fine in the small unit—there were only six other subjects—
except
for the number of men in suits and short haircuts. They didn't look like researchers to me, instead they reminded me of Secret Service agents around a president—you know, that over-serious look, absolutely no sense of humor. But I dismissed it all and was about to go home, when I received an anonymous phone call. I think it was actually a psych tech I got friendly with on the ward. He told me this was really a DOD project, and none of the I.S.s in
this
study were mimics or musicians or mathematicians. They were using controversial experimental methods to develop latent abilities and special programming to trigger these talents. He described some of the fantastic abilities, including Billy-boy's. At first I was dumbfounded. Then I got mad, deciding they had no right to be experimenting on my brother or using him. The next visiting period, I smuggled him out of the hospital in a white tech uniform, despite the surveillance. We've been running for the last seven months. And that's about the story." She shrugged.

"I see," Rowdy said, scratching his head, deciding to ask the questions, now. "Who are
they
?"

"I'm not sure," she whispered slowly. "Someone from our government." She shook her head, a slightly puzzled look on her face. "The voice on the phone said a DOD experiment." Then she frowned again. "I spotted one of them shortly after Billy-boy and I returned to San Francisco. I didn't go back to the folks' place, but to a friend's. One day on the way home to her apartment, I felt that creepy feeling, you know, like someone watching you. Well, it was one of those guys in a suit following me." She kind of laughed humorlessly. "I dressed Billy-boy in my friend's boyfriend's clothes, and I dressed in her stuff. As it began to get dark, we just walked away…finally ending up in Sparks at another girlfriend's. Then the motel and working at Coney Island. But I saw another suit the other day at lunch…and enter a cowboy riding his white pickup."

Jesus, it sounded completely paranoid, Rowdy thought. Was she crazy? Then he grinned to himself, because, in some ways, her story reminded him of that King movie of the young girl and her father running from the CIA and George C. Scott. He stared at Ellie a moment, realizing she wasn't reliving a movie or making any of this up. She believed what she said. "Okay," Rowdy finally said, accepting her story at face value. "But why are they interested in Billy-boy. What's his special talent?"

She thought a while, then kissed him wetly on the mouth, dragging him back down on the bed. "Cowboy, I don't think you really need to know
that
or what any of the abilities were that they were trying to develop at Sonoma. Not for your own good."

Then she was busy, and the question quickly slipped to the back of his mind.

***

Rowdy was running the fence line, the red and white steel posts with metal snaps bent to hold three strands of barb wire. It had been a while since the northern-most fences of the Lazy R had been checked and repaired. Posts were down, strands of wire unsnapped and sagging, and occasionally whole sections were gone, torn out. It was slow, tedious work under a late summer sun; the sky an unclouded faded denim, the high desert grazing land a tan monotony broken only by isolated clumps of grayish-green sagebrush.

So, Rowdy appreciated the company of Billy-boy, even though the young man said nothing. At first he just sat in the pickup, watching. Then, at a section where he needed to replace several steel posts, Rowdy led the boy to the fence line. He put the weighted driver over a post and hammered it down once. Then he put Billy-boy's hands on the handles and he stood behind the boy, guiding the next slams.
Bam, bam, bam.
The post was driven in far enough. Rowdy let Billy-boy hold the weighted driver, while he strung and snapped in place the three strands of barbed wire. At the next spot he set up another steel post and said, "Okay, hoss, do your stuff."

At first the boy just stood there, grinning vacantly at Rowdy.

"Go on, Billy-boy, hammer it," Rowdy pressed encouragingly, finally placing the driver on top of the post he'd pushed into the ground. He lifted the weighted driver once and let it drop while the boy retained his grip on the handles. "Drive the post in, hoss."

Tentatively, Billy-boy lifted the driver several inches and let it drop.

"Atta boy," Rowdy said, grinning broadly. "You got it. Now, a little harder." He stood behind the boy, helped lift the driver, and slammed it down on the post. Then he stepped around in front and motioned for Billy-boy to repeat the action. The boy lifted the driver and hammered in the post, looking up to Rowdy for approval.

"Hey, hey, hammer-swinger, you got it now!"

From then on, Billy-boy carried the driver, in his lap when they were driving in the pick-up, in his hands even when there were no posts to drive. He was the official hammer-swinger, and he was always ready.

***

That afternoon back at Wild Horse, they excitedly showed Billy-boy's blistered hands to Ellie—the hands of a hammer-swinger! They found him a set of gloves at the little general supply store at the service station. Then they had a steak celebration at the cafe. As they were ordering the food, Rowdy put his arm around Billy-boy's shoulder and said to Ellie's waitress friend, "Bring this hoss here a big root beer right away. Hammer-swinging is thirsty work."