The Naked Face

by Jeffrey Greene

Table of Contents parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8

part 5

Rickard sat on a bench for a few minutes, trying to relax, then, making up his mind, headed back to the Green Light Café. It was coming dusk, and the dinner crowd was gone, replaced by a trucker with a pit-bull face guzzling coffee at the counter and an old leather-jacketed couple that he suspected were the owners of the ancient Harley parked at the motel. They mocked their ages with dinosaur masks: he a tired-looking tyrannosaur and she a blunt-toothed iguanodon.

They had a small dog sitting at their feet that they’d fitted with a Shirley Temple mask. Feeling sorry for the dog, Rickard took off his hat and sat down at the counter just as Amber appeared with the bikers’ dinners. When she’d taken care of them, she headed over to his end of the counter. “See what I mean about the sights around here?” she said, leaning in close enough for him to smell her.

“You failed to mention the world famous Piano Tree,” he said, smiling.

“Well, now you’ve seen it all. And I know you’re not hungry, so what can I do for you?”

“I could order another beer. Or...”

“Or what?”

“I could wait for you to get off work, and we could have a drink together.”

“Aren’t you leaving tomorrow?”

“Probably. I was talking about tonight.”

“All right, I’ll have one with you. After you’ve introduced yourself.”

“Sorry. Evan Rickard. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms...”

“Amber Stoltz.” They shook hands, then both squeezed disinfectant from a nearby bottle onto their hands.

“Where would you like to go, Ms. Stoltz?”

“‘Amber’ will do.”

“All right, Amber. Please call me ‘Evan.’”

“Choice of two bars in town, both dives, but the Horse’s Head is less sleazy and a lot quieter. I’m off in about an hour. Why don’t I pick you up at the Drifter at 9:30?”

“I’ll be waiting in front of Hovel Number Six.”

The Harley and the Chrysler were gone when he returned to the Drifter Inn and, with his car in the shop, the parking lot was empty, and all the units dark except the office. As had become his habit since going on the road, he unlocked the door of his room from the side, out of the line of fire, then reached in with one hand and flipped on the light switch before stepping inside.

To kill time, he cleaned and oiled his pistol. He attached the holster to his belt, and with the safety on, he practiced drawing and aiming, focusing less on speed than a calm, smooth deliberateness in all his movements. Then he put the gun under his pillow and the holster back in his travel bag. He was a consistently accurate target shooter but had never liked hunting, and the squirrel he’d shot at thirteen was his first and last kill.

Magda Sterns was a public menace, and organized law enforcement was in tatters out here, but no matter how many times he imagined the moment when he finally caught up with her, he still wasn’t sure what he’d do. She was prepared to kill anyone who got in her way, and he’d never faced a drawn gun in his life.

If he was honest with himself, he knew that part of the reason he hated her so much was because he was at least as afraid of finding her as he was of failing in his self-appointed vengeance quest, having essentially spent his life savings drifting toward indigence, without getting within a hundred miles of her.

The arrival of Amber Stoltz at nine-thirty sharp lifted his mood. Most of the cars left on the road these days were clunkers, and hers was a decommissioned police pursuit vehicle maybe thirty years old. A freshening wind swept the deserted sidewalks of Clifford as she drove the big-engined Ford slowly down the main drag. She’d changed out of her uniform into white jeans, a sleeveless black blouse and open-toed high heels. He liked the look and told her so.

“Thanks. My house is twelve miles out of town, so I keep a change of clothes in the car.”

“All alone out there?”

“More rattlesnakes than people where I live. And most of the human dogs and wolves around here know not to show up at my door without an invitation.”

“What’s keeping them off? Bigger dogs?”

“Just one. The size of a pony.”

As they pulled into the gravel parking lot of the Horse’s Head Tavern, its neon sign a midnight blue-bordered equine silhouette, he said, “Sorry for asking, but it might useful to know if you’ve become recently single.”

“Careful, aren’t you?” she said, as they climbed out. “Two years. And my ex-husband doesn’t live around here anymore. Said I poisoned the well for him in this town, and he was going to Vegas. Except for the monthly checks, I haven’t heard from him since.”

“I ask only because it’s hard to imagine you being single for long.”

Her rich laugh managed to convey both amused derision and genuine pleasure at the compliment.

“Would I be wrong in guessing that the pickings around here are pretty slim?” he asked.

“To none,” she replied. “Some of the guys around here think wearing a Werewolf gives them a license to act like one. And then on Monday morning they show up for work wearing a Lassie, automatically absolved of their full-moon behavior.”

“I know the type,” he said, unable to conjure a likelier suspect than Dave the Sheriff. “How about the ladies?”

“As a rule, we’re more civilized. Though there’s some I could name who match their morals to the mask, especially when it comes to other women’s husbands.”

He nodded, warmly recalling last night’s idyll with Raven/Black Cat.

The Horse’s Head was the usual smoky, stale beer-smelling den of iniquitous optimism, with the regular renters of barstools blearily surveying their evening accumulation of empty bottles, full ashtrays and mysteriously overloaded key rings. There were a few pool tables, some foosball, dartboards, but the place was fairly quiet, even the low-toned jukebox playing country songs ancient fifty years before he was born, just the kind he liked.

On the dance floor were a dozen or so dogs, birds, cats, a pronghorn antelope, a prairie dog, and an Olive Oyl in a cowboy hat and tight jeans doing country swing with a clumsy silverback gorilla in a jumpsuit.

“The answer is no,” she said.

He smiled uncertainly. “Remind me of my question.”

“From the look on your face: is the Horse’s Head her second home?”

He shook his head. “But I wouldn’t blame you if it were. Living in a town with two dives to choose from just barely beats doing all your drinking with the rattlesnakes.”

“So what was your question?”

“Does the waitress ever show up, or do I have to order at the bar?”

“She’ll be along. In the meantime...” She smiled, fixing him with her warm brown eyes and extended a tentative hand.

He took her hand at the same moment the waitress arrived. They both ordered neat whiskies. While they were drinking, another question occurred to him.

“I was accosted by Mayor Dimes in the park,” he said. “Said you had some excitement in Clifford a couple weeks ago. Some woman robbed the bank, made off with quite a haul.” He felt her hand tense up; against his will, it put him on his guard.

“That’s right,” she said. “Biggest thing around here since, well, the tornado dropped that piano on the tree. Luckily, it happened on my day off.”

“That is lucky,” he said. Part of him wanted to tell her everything, but he knew too little about Amber Stoltz to trust her that far. “What do you do on your days off?”

“Not much. Walk my dog. Ride my horse. Hike the canyons around here.”

“By yourself?”

“Most of the time.”

“Heard those canyons are easy to get lost in.”

“They are if you don’t know your way around. I’ve been hiking this area since I was a kid. Worst-case scenario is getting caught in a slot canyon in a flash flood.”

“Has that ever happened to you?”

“No, but it did to someone I knew. He drowned.”

He was still holding her hand, which she gently disengaged.

“You know what?” she said. “This place is getting me down. I know every fool in here. Except you, Evan Rickard. What do I know about you?”

“As much as I know about you, Amber Stoltz. We’re one square on the board past strangers. But some people you like on sight.” He stuck a bill under his glass. “Want to get out of here?”

She finished her drink, nodded. “I really hate to cut things short, but I pulled a double shift today, and I’m just realizing how beat I am. Maybe some other time?”

“Sure. I might come back through Clifford one of these days.”

“Not if you’re smart you won’t.”

When they were in the car, he said, “Sorry I caught you at the end of a double shift.”

“Not at all. Thanks for the drink.”

“My pleasure.”

“Almost a full moon,” she said as they headed back to the motel, rolling down her window and holding out her hand as if to catch the moon rays. When they got to the motel she leaned across the seat, took his hand and held it. He drew her closer, then felt her pull gently back.

“I don’t make a habit of this,” she said. “Just so you know.”

“Neither do I,” he replied. “Just so you know.”

“Look,” she said. “I left the bar early because I have to work in this town, and everybody knows everybody, and every little thing gets batted around.”

“I know. Grew up in a town not much bigger than this one.”

“But I have the day off tomorrow, and if you’d care to stop in and see me on your way out of town, I could show you some pretty country.”

“I’d like that. Should have my car by noon, if not earlier. Is it hard to find your place?”

“It’s three turns from here.” She pulled a pen and notepad from her purse and wrote the directions. So, about lunchtime?”

“I’ll bring a bottle of wine.”

“Great. Well, goodnight, Evan.”

“Goodnight, Amber.”

He waited until she drove off before taking his usual precautions entering his room. He watched her drive off, wondering if the apparent availability of such an attractive woman was too good to be true. Maybe she was exactly what she appeared to be: a bored, lonely waitress in her early thirties, a type he’d seen in any number of small towns in the last three months. But the way she’d reacted when he brought up the robbery still bothered him, though he knew he might have read it wrong. It was big doings in a very small place.

He’d found out the hard way the effect Magda Sterns had on some women, and men, too, if she happened to be in the mood. Was that why Amber had tensed up? She lived alone in a house twelve miles out of town, isolated enough to be a good hiding place. It was a long shot, and he hoped he was wrong, but at this juncture he couldn’t afford to pass up any leads. And he much preferred driving out there in full daylight.

Proceed to part 6...

Copyright © 2024 by Jeffrey Greene