The Naked Face
by Jeffrey Greene
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Table of Contents parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 |
part 6
As Mayor Dimes had promised, Rickard’s car was ready by late morning. He checked out of the Drifter, then visited the town’s one hardware store and bought a pair of binoculars, a large canteen, and a gallon of water. He also visited “The Lone Liquor Store” and bought a bottle of blended red. The road went straight for about four miles, then began to twist and curve up into the hills. There was no traffic.
At the eleven-mile mark, he pulled over and took the pistol out of his bag and laid it on the seat, then turned onto a dirt road at the base of a low hill. He drove for another mile, then spotted the low, gated ranch house in the distance, shaded by cottonwoods, the fence line a good hundred yards from the front of the house. There was a narrow, corrugated dirt road running perpendicular to the drive leading up to Amber’s house, lined with a few Fremont cottonwoods. He turned onto it and parked the car in a shady spot.
He didn’t see a horse, which meant she probably stabled it somewhere nearby. He knew he might be visible from the house, but there wasn’t anywhere else to hunker down in all this openness. He got the binoculars and scanned the house and property, looking for a likely spot where a second car might be concealed. Amber’s old Ford was in the driveway, but no other car was visible from where he stood.
Amber emerged from the side of the house with a huge Great Dane by her side. She was dressed in jeans and a work shirt and wearing a new mask, a deer. Feeling a bit ashamed of himself, he focused the binoculars as she walked a distance from the front door and stopped, shading her eyes as she looked toward the dirt road, watching for him, apparently. After a moment she turned and headed back to the house.
Even from this distance, he could read the changes that switching from a predator to a prey animal had made in her gait and body language. She stepped more tentatively, turning her head frequently at the slightest sound, like a deer in the forest, scanning the area as if expecting trouble. A wise practice, he thought, for a woman alone way out here. Or was he misreading the situation? He waited until she went into the house, then backed the car up to the intersection and turned left onto the dirt drive.
He drove through the open gate, hoping she hadn’t spotted him surveilling her property. The Great Dane approached, not barking, but looking him over with serious intent. He stayed in the car until she came out and waved, telling “Ramón” to mind his manners.
He quickly slipped the gun into the glove box as she approached the car, her eyes smiling. He carefully opened the door, and an enormous head thrust in to greet him. He petted Ramón for all he was worth, and then, ordered back by Amber, the dog finally made room for him to step out and close the door behind him.
“Hi,” he said, holding the bottle of wine. “He really is the size of a pony. But sweet.”
“Don’t tell anybody,” she said. “His fearsome reputation keeps the jackals away. Glad you got your wheels back. Can’t do much around here without ’em.”
“Being car-less in Clifford taught me that.”
“Come on in.” She stood aside to let him go in first, like a good hostess, and he entered with skin crawling, but if Sterns had ever been here — and this seemed increasingly unlikely — she wasn’t here now.
Seeing Amber Stoltz’s house from the inside, his suspicions seemed absurd. It was airy and pleasant, with decorative ceramics and Native American sand paintings on walls the color of a soothing desert tan. The modest, one-story ranch was well-shaded by the cottonwoods, the curtains and windows were wide open, and a ceiling fan made the central room comfortable. A round table with two chairs was set for lunch.
“From hunter to hunted,” he said, indicating the deer mask. “I like it.”
“Thanks. Extended-wear models like yours exceed my budget. But I prefer variety. This mask makes my natural skittishness obligatory.”
“Is it the mask or having a near-stranger to lunch?”
“A bit of both. Have a seat. The prix fixe menu today is tortilla soup and tuna melts.”
“Sounds great.” He sat down while she went into her small kitchen and came back with a corkscrew. He opened the bottle and poured two glasses while she brought in the meal. The food was good, and he praised her cooking.
“Thanks. It is fun, but only when there’s someone to cook for,” she said. “I usually eat at the Green Light.”
“My wife used to enjoy cooking,” he said, wondering why in hell he was bringing up Julie.
“Used to?”
“She died.”
“I’m so sorry. Where did you live, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Oklahoma City.”
“And now?”
“No fixed address.”
“Must have hit you pretty hard.”
He nodded. “Sold my house, quit my job, cashed out and hit the road.”
“Sounds drastic. And lonely.”
“Yeah. But if I’d stayed among the prairie dogs, I would have missed seeing the World Famous Piano Tree. And meeting the Green Light Café’s star waitress.”
Her smile flickered and went out. “How long have you been traveling?”
“Don’t you mean ‘drifting’? Three months, more or less.”
She shook her head, sat back in her chair and swirled her wine before taking a long sip.
“We hardly know each other, Evan, but I’m gonna say this anyway. I’ve seen my share of drifters. They have a certain look I know so well that I don’t need to hear one word of their bullshit. Because it’s always bullshit. They blow in, complain about the food, get drunk, try to pick up whoever’s behind the counter, then blow on to the next ghost town. I still don’t know what it is you’re doing out here, and it’s none of my business. But drifting? No, not you. You’re after something.”
He drained his glass, set it down, having come to a decision. “You’re right, Amber. Something I’m not sure I want to find.”
She poured more wine in their glasses, then sat back and waited.
“You remember when I mentioned the robbery last night?”
“Yes.”
“Well, the woman who pulled it, I know her. My wife and I both knew her back in Oklahoma City.”
She watched him warily. “Go on.”
He told her everything, in more detail than he’d told anyone else besides the police. And as he talked, he was watching her reactions. Watched her eyes widen, her back stiffen, her hands clenching, as he described Julie’s fascination, then fear, and her murder. Of his decision to go after her killer, and his complete failure to find the woman, even a reason to keep going. Amber listened, drinking her wine, not taking her eyes off him.
“She just reeled Julie in,” he said. “And I wasn’t immune, either. She probably could have seduced me, too, gotten herself a married couple to play with, if she’d wanted that. But I was the lucky one: she doesn’t care for men.
“Trailing somebody like that, you get paranoid. I’m not a killer; hell, I don’t even like bugs smashing on my windshield. But Magda Sterns is dangerous, and the law doesn’t seem interested in crossing state lines anymore. When I mentioned the robbery and felt you tense up, it made me wonder if your paths had crossed, that you, too, might have met her and been... well, drawn in. Anyway, I accepted your invitation mostly because I wanted to see you again, and partly because I needed to be sure I was wrong.”
She was silent for a full minute, staring out the window. “You know, I really wanted kids,” she said. “Finding out, after two months of nearly dying from the Indo-5 Variant, that I couldn’t have children, closed a lot of doors.” She pointed to her mask. “The freedom to be anything, depending on my mood, to re-make myself every day, may not be much, but it’s better than joining a cult or drinking myself to death.
“Trouble is, when you know every soul for miles around, staleness sets in, no matter what mask you wear. And regardless of the mask, I’m still just a waitress in a greasy spoon. When you came in yesterday, I could see myself in your eyes: that there’s one of me in every town you’ve been, all of us dead tired of the same old shit, looking for something new.
“Which is a roundabout way of saying you weren’t wrong, Evan. I met Magda Sterns more than a month ago at the Horse’s Head. It was late for me, around one a.m., and I’d hardly sat down in a booth when the barmaid brought me a drink, and pointed to the person who’d sent it, a pale, black-haired woman sitting at the end of the bar. I don’t go that way with women. At least, I hadn’t.
“She came over and asked if she could join me. That’s when I saw how beautiful she was. Tall, strong, with a walk that caught every eye in the place, dressed in tight jeans, boots and a leather jacket over a black t-shirt. Her mask was one of those really expensive Chameleons: a perfectly sculpted female face that I think was grown from cuttlefish stem cells, because it could instantly change colors and patterns to match her surroundings.
“As she came toward me, her face would flicker, change and briefly disappear, and all you could see was her intense blue eyes. Gorgeous eyes, but hard; no gentleness there, no sympathy, just hunger for whatever she happened to want.
“That night, it was me. She sat across from me and rarely looked away. Her voice was a low rasp that cut through the noise around us. It’s hard to explain the effect she had on me, that she has on most people, I guess. I was dazzled, flattered, embarrassed and turned on by the brazenness of her attentions, and more than a little scared. Most people have limits, acts they just aren’t capable of. But even then, I think I knew that she didn’t have any limits.”
“Two questions: was she alone? And was she armed?” Evan asked.
“She was alone. And no, she wasn’t armed, not that evening. She was out to seduce me, not scare me off. Didn’t talk much about herself, and even when I pressed her, she kept deflecting my questions. Long story short, we closed the bar and she followed me home. Ramón didn’t like her, and he likes most people. That should have tipped me off, but it didn’t. It took me a couple weeks to see what I was to her.”
“And what was that?”
“A distraction, a hideout. By this time, I’d seen her guns: the long-barreled pistol and the sawed-off shotgun. We never went to town together and acted like strangers when I was working — her idea — and I agreed. I had no clue what she was up to until the robbery, and the descriptions of her were spread around town. The bank guard she messed up, Bob Simmons, and my late father were friends; used to go fishing together. She must have kept right on going after the robbery, because I haven’t seen or heard from her since.”
“I assume you haven’t told the mayor or the sheriff about this.”
She shook her head. “I was too ashamed. And afraid of being implicated.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong, Amber. She’s a psychopath. People aren’t real to her; they exist for her use. She’s killed two people that I know of, and probably more.”
“I’ve been terrified ever since the robbery that she might come back here. Do you think she would?”
“I doubt it. The mystique she builds around herself is a smokescreen. The less you know about her past, the less chance you have of becoming a liability. You’re not a threat to her, because she knows you have to live in this town and wouldn’t be likely to tell anybody about your relationship.”
“I hope you’re right. But the thought that she might just show up at my door any time has given me some bad nights. I’ve been keeping Ramón in the house after dark.”
“I don’t suppose she hinted at where she might be headed?”
“No. But wherever she went, I hope she stays there.”
“I do, too, for your sake. Of course, this leaves me back where I started. Mind if I ask what you two talked about?”
“Truth is, she did most of her talking with that body of hers. In words, not much besides ‘Pass the salt,’ and ‘Pour me some more wine, honey.’ Sorry I can’t tell you more, but she played her cards close.”
“I’m glad you didn’t try to get more out of her. She isn’t sentimental about her lovers.”
She looked down at her glass. “Evan, I wonder if you’ve ever thought about, maybe... no, forget it. None of my business.”
“I know,” he said. “You think I should give it up, count myself lucky not to have caught up with her and leave justice to the legal authorities. And you’d be right. I’m no good at hunting anything, much less people. But then I think of Julie, the way she looked on that bed, the blood. I can’t get it out of my head.”
Amber poured them both more wine. “But we both know that Magda Sterns is living on borrowed time. Sooner or later, the cops or one of her many enemies will put her in the ground. I can only imagine how you must feel, knowing your wife is dead and the one who killed her is still at large. But you’re here, now, alive. And if you don’t mind a near-stranger saying this: I’d like to keep you that way.”
He smiled. “Just keep me alive, or keep me alive with you?”
She was silent for a moment, staring at her glass, then looked him in the eye. “Maybe both.”
He got up and carried their plates into the kitchen, then came back and walked to the window. “We’ve known each other for less than twenty-fours, Amber. Is it just me, or does it feel like I’ve known you a lot longer than that?”
She got up and came to the window, standing close to him, but looking out across the prairie. “No, Evan, it isn’t just you.” She touched his arm, and he turned and embraced her.
Copyright © 2024 by Jeffrey Greene
