Blackjack and Pearl ... Chapter 4

Chapter 4...Early Thursday Evening

“Hanna, you have got to see this ranch. It’s cooler than you could ever imagine. Two forty acre parcels of mostly usable land. We could sell the land across the road a couple years from now, be set to retire...and still have forty acres!” Beth  exclaimed.

Hanna Katz stared at Beth, not saying a thing, which drove Beth nuts.

“Well...are you going to say something?” she asked impatiently while leaning forward a bit.

“Beth, we’re comfortable here. We have a small mortgage. We practically are retired. If we buy that place, we’ll have a huge payment...and I guess you’ve forgotten... my mom’s ashes are here?” Hanna said. Downing the rest of her beer, she stood to get another.

“Wanna glass of wine?” she asked.

“Of course...need you ask?” Beth said with a roll of the eyes, and a tilt of the head.

“Or... maybe you should drive us to see the ranch?” Hanna peeked through the door.

“Great idea. Will you drive?,” Rising from the patio chair, stepping carefully over The Bean and Slinky the barn cats, Beth grabbed her purse and keys.

“No, I’ve been drinking more than you.”

But you’re the cop...and this was a perk I thought was mine, being with you,” Beth whined.

“You get all kinds of perks from me, baby,” Hanna answered with a wink.

Blackjack raced towards the house as Pearl trotted along behind, Their eyes gleaming with a smug satisfaction of getting away with something.

“Wanna go for a ride?” Beth only had to ask once. Blackjack flew into the back of the truck staring straight ahead. Pearl twirled around Beth, stepping on toes, grabbing Beth’s hand in her mouth, rump wiggling, ears down, and stretching out a grin of sheer exultation.

“You are sooo cute, when you look like Yoda,” Beth baby-talked to her dog.

Lowering the tailgate, Beth patted it with her hand which was the signal for Pearl to place her front paws on the tailgate. She knew the routine. She stood on hind legs as Beth heaved her into the bed of the truck. Pearl couldn’t imagine jumping that high, but Beth knew she could. After chaining both dogs to the safety chain, she started up the truck and waited for Hanna.

It was a twelve minute drive to Highway 49. They turned left towards Nippinnawahsee. Hanna was quiet as usual, sipping her beer. Wearing her cream colored Stetson hat, meant this was a special occasion. She looked like a rodeo star. Long, loose curls, enormous dark blue eyes under thick eyebrows and long lashes. Hanna was a dazzler when she wore make-up. Today was not a make-up day, although Beth thought she still dazzled.

“I can’t wait for you to see this place. It needs so much work, you will never run out of projects, and the dogs will have forty acres to roam around on. Rhonda J said the neighbors on one side are from the LA area. He’s a retired attorney-turned rancher, and owns about four hundred acres. Carson knows ‘em. Probably sold it to him,” Beth rattled on.

Hanna was gazing at the gravel road and ajoining land. The road was narrow and dusty, with large old oaks and a scattering of pines jettisoning towards the sky. Bright yellow flowers of tarweed danced and sizzled over the gently sloping landscape, filling the air with its distinct smell.

“Is it fully fenced?” Hanna asked.

“Ok...see that cattle guard ahead? We are now officially on the land. Ummm...I think it is..fenced. The road goes through the eighty acres. Look...there’s a hot tub. It’s on our land,” she complained.

“We haven’t bought the place yet,” Hanna said, and then reverting to her mountain drawl exclaimed, “Looks like it comes with a couple mattresses too. God dang!”

Laughing Beth said, “The nerve of people dumping their trash and stuff out here. On our land.”

Before the pair even submitted an offer on the place, they owned it.

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Pacing around the cramped, filthy living room of his single wide mobile, Percy Madden, known as “The Fireman” was having a bad day. He listened to the angry voice on the phone. He hated being yelled at.

“Let me get this straight...He’s alive? I gave you one simple job to do. How the hell did you screw this up...and what exactly do the cops know?” The man on the phone questioned.

Percy’s brow creased with anger and frustration. Scraggly mustache hairs curled under his upper lip, which he had a habit of nibbling on when upset.

“How the hell do I know what the damn cops know?” Percy yelled back into his phone.

“Right. I thought he was dead...hey...you’re breakin’ up...say that again,” Percy demanded while tapping his fingers on the table.

“Well, if that ain’t a bunch a bullshit. You need to give me more time to fix things, or we’re all gonna wish we were at the bottom of the god damn lake. Comprende?”

Flipping the old Motorola phone shut, he shoved it in his back pocket, which hung below his butt revealing the dirty white of his boxers. Old Viet Nam tattoos bled into the sun damaged crevices of his arms. Stressed, Percy jerked his neck in two quick snaps, trying to pop the tension out.

Crouched in the corner, a brown and white, speckled Queensland Healer maintained a vigilant eye on the man. He scooted closer into the safety of the walls; burying his nose under his paws, trying hard to disappear. The man’s boots scared him. The ragged old boots smelled good, but they could hurt.

Ignoring the dog, the man poured bourbon in a Mason jar glass. No ice. Kicking open the old aluminum screen door, he limped outside with a snarl and a belch, then sat in a dirty corduroy recliner on the deck. A discarded Kenmore refrigerator, used as storage, tilted in the heat, along with a plastic garbage container half full of empty beer and soda cans. The deck was made of old rotted Douglas fir. Percy liked to tell his few visitors that the moss growing in between the planks were better than nails and kept the deck from falling apart.

This was his vantage point on the top of Miami Mountain, where he guarded his warped world. In his post traumatic mind, he was a soldier still at war. Each burning swallow of whiskey brought back the old courage, as he began devising Plan B.

Suddenly, the sound of an unfamiliar vehicle caught his attention. This was a quiet road not traveled by many, unless they lived here. Picking up the army issued binoculars, he focused in and caught sight of a white pickup.

“SHOTGUN,” he roared. “Git out here!”

Damn Realtors, he thought. Probably showing that damn Tringsley place. This is what caused Plan A in the first place. Damn Realtors, Damn Carson, and be damned whoever buys that  place...

Shotgun nudged the unlatched screen door open with his muzzle, and stood at attention in front of his man. His brown eyes alert and locking into Percy’s hard distant eyes. Eagerly anticipating whatever the man required of him, for fear of being assaulted by the boots, should he be branded a bad dog.

“C’mon, let’s get the quad and see what we got cookin’ over there. Maybe have us a little fun,” he said after gulping the last of his drink.

Percy snatched his handgun, also Army issued, although not to him, and tucked it into the front of his pants. He followed Shotgun’s path to the rusty metal shed, where the camouflaged Quad was parked. Not army issued.

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  Beth and Hanna slid onto the gravel driveway causing a whirlwind of dirt. The dogs panting, tugging, jumping and squirming ,with the safety chain barely securing them. The dashboard of the truck now had a coat of dust so thick, it could be used as a note pad.

“Guess I could’ve slowed down a bit,” Beth grinned.

  A livestock gate hung crooked, and closed in front of them. Hanna jumped out of the truck to unwrap the heavy chain. The metal gate swung open, missing the truck by an inch.

After tossing her empty beer can in the back of the truck, country style, she climbed in the back with the dogs, her legs dangling from the lowered tailgate and held on to Pearl.

Beth drove up the narrow driveway passing a gnarly, old oak. Its long twisted branches weaved in and out, struggling to hide the stash of mistletoe it cradled inside.

Curving to the right she parked the truck in the shade. Beth watched Hanna as she slid out and stared at the endless rows of show-stopping, snowcapped peaks, swaggering and sparkling in the last row, as if they were saving the best for last.

“Wow,” was all she said. With her cowboy hat and the rugged mountains in the background, she might have been poised for the next Marlboro commercial.

“Is this awesome or what?” Beth asked reverently, staring at Hanna.

A breeze blew striving to subdue the 98 degrees at five in the evening. The Fresno Bee predicted it would reach 100 today in Oakhurst.

The neglected adobe brick home stretched out towards the South. Weathered redwood siding high above, was aerated by pesty woodpeckers. The crazed roofline raced past the front entryway, as if to escape the cruel birds, thus creating a canopy with parking for two.

Under the shade of the awning, Beth unlocked the arched wood door. It was two inches thick with massive wrought iron brackets, and a life-sized, hand-carved horse’s head, smack dab in the middle.

An unfamiliar smell and faint scratchy sounds diverted their attention upward.

“Bats. They’re inside that gap over the door,” Beth informed.

“Mmmm,” was all Hanna said as they heard what they assumed, was the revving of a motorcycle engine approaching from the mountain side.

Blackjack and Pearl were getting agitated. The shift of the wind alerted their keen sense of smell that something was amiss.

Pearl’s fur ruffled and bristled along the ridge of her back. Blackjack squirmed and worked hard at slipping out of his collar. He succeeded and like a super hero, leaped over the bed of the truck. Pearl watched as Blackjack raced the gravel road up the mountain. Encouraged and not wanting to miss out, Pearl, with one burst of strength pulled the chain clear out of the truckbed. Ignoring her fear of jumping from high places, she vaulted and bounded up the hill after Blackjack. Her leash dragging the safety chain between her four legs with amazing grace, very lady-like and never disturbing her natural gait.

Hanna and Beth heard the commotion, but the dogs were faster than they, and were gone before they could take their eyes off the bat poop. The engine sound sped closer, then abruptly stopped. A gunshot rang out, shattering the mountains into shredded silence.

“Oh my god, the dogs!” Beth yelled.

Racing to the truck, Hanna fished the 36mm out of her fanny pack, and clicked the safety off. It was always loaded.

“I always forget about that thing,” Beth said, relieved they had some sort of protection.

“Just drive...c’mon,” Hanna ordered.

“I’m goin’...I’m goin’” Beth repeated, backing up the truck, annoyed at her girlfriend’s bossiness. She was impressed Hanna was a cop, but resented her acting like one towards her.

“The ranchers will shoot if they catch a dog messing with their cattle, ya know,” she said like a know it all.

“I don’t see any cattle around,” Beth said while maneuvering the big truck around dead fallen branches. The road meandered for a distance, then seemed to get lost. 

“Dang, that’s all poison oak. Tons of it. Maybe I should stop here...?” Beth half asked, half said.

“No, drive around, over to the left. You can make it,” Hanna advised.

She crept the truck around the bend, while the poison oak appeared to extend its branches, trying to infect the truck. There was no trace of the dogs, but as they reached a small summit in the road, the huge barn was in sight. A mangy dog or coyote was sniffing around the sliding barn doors. Beth weaved the truck warily down the road towards the barn. Hanna held her gun below the window with both hands clenched tight.

They both saw Blackjack fly around the corner of the barn. “Stay here!” She ordered Beth. “In the truck.” She added.

Hanna was already out of the truck and running down the road towards the barn.

“I’m coming too!” Beth called out and chased behind her, watching in every direction, trying to locate Pearl. Who does she think I am? A little kid?  She thought.

The sound of the motorcycle engine revved and whined, but the two women couldn’t locate it. There were too many trees and overgrown shrubs in the way. The barn shrunk the landscape and blocked most of their view with its enormity. As Beth and Hanna turned the corner of the barn, Blackjack was chasing the other dog, which was not a coyote. The scared dog ran towards the sound of the engine. Nimble and quick, through the poison oak, leaping over granite rocks, and scooting around clusters of oaks, it was faster that Blackjack.

“Blackie...come!” Hanna shouted. “Get over here! Blackieeee!”

“That damn dog!” Beth muttered, deciding to search the barn for Pearl. She slid open the heavy wooden door. It was pitch black inside.

“Pearl, Pearly Girl, where are you? C’mon, c’mon pup,” She chanted in a playful voice, otherwise she knew Pearl would just ignore her.

  A sound came from the back of the barn. Her eyes were beginning to focus in the dark, so she inched her way in that direction. An old red, horse pulled wagon sat in one corner, minus the horse. Dried and cracked leather tack hung from the walls on hooks, interwoven with massive tangles of spider webbing. The sound persisted as she got closer. She passed homemade wooden boxes with little rusted wire doors that took up a third of the barn.

“Wow...this is so very cool. Kinda scary and smelly, but I love it!” As she was talking to herself, Beth spied a door with a padlock on it near the back of the barn.

“I can’t wait to tell Hanna about this,” she whispered  wiping the sweat of another hotflash from her brow.

Finally, Pearl decided to saunter out of a stall dangling a squirming item in her mouth.

“What do you have?” Beth asked suspiciously. Before she could grab onto to her, Pearl dashed past her, with the ‘catch me if you can’ gleam in her eyes. She was so cute, but maddening at the same time. And this was her favorite game.

“At least both dogs are alive and accounted for,” she voiced to herself, following Pearl outside, and not wanting to  think about what was in her mouth.

Outside the sun was fading, with a quietness that was unsettling. Now, Hanna and Blackjack had disappeared. Pearl had grown bored with the critter she had and dropped it. The mouse scampered away to find sanctity back in the dark barn. Pearl’s ears stood erect. She heard something. As she was concentrating, Beth slyly took her by surprise and grabbed a hold of her collar.

“Phew! One dog down,” she sighed with relief.

Beth started to walk her towards the truck, but Pearl wouldn’t budge. Her four legs planted like steel poles in the ground, while her eyes searched and her muzzle sniffed the air. The curl in her tail became tighter and started wagging. Beth followed the direction Pearl’s eyes were staring and lo and behold, it was Hanna and Blackjack walking towards them.

“Well, Sarge... any news of what was going on?” Beth asked with a tinge of sarcasm.

“Nothing except, that dog must belong to the motorcycle. It was long gone. Sounded like it went up the mountain towards the attorney’s place.”

“Let’s go home. I’m tired, hungry, and one incident away from cranky. C’mon Pearl let’s go,” She headed for the truck while Hanna and Blackjack took a sidetrip to the barn.

After a few moments of silence, Hanna startled the mood by saying, “Let’s put an offer on it.”

“You haven’t even seen the inside of the house yet,” Beth countered.

“I love it,” Hanna said smiling.