Act V
Darkness had overtaken him, and the stars came out, winking and twinkling overhead. Without the sun�s path to guide him, J.R. tried to maintain as straight a path as possible toward the rest stop, nearly impossible in the rough terrain. Like most people, he was familiar with only a few of the constellations, but he knew that Polaris, the North Star, was at the end of the handle on the Little Dipper, and that offered some aid in direction.
He knew it was dangerous to travel in the desert after dark. Wild animals aside, there were always things to trip on and arroyos and ravines to fall into. He was tired, thirsty and very hungry, and it was starting to seem prudent to just bed down under a shrub. But that was not without risks as well. Snakes and scorpions were common in desert terrain, both with bites or stings that could cause great illness or death.
So he plodded onward, placing each step carefully, turning on the flashlight whenever necessary, but he preferred to save the batteries. Occasionally, he stumbled over a chunk of sandstone or a tangled clump of shrubs, but mostly the surface was not difficult or obstructed.
A small dark shape, moving across the landscape, stopped in front of him, and he knew it was watching him with interest. J.R. felt his pulse step up a bit. Were there cougars or bobcats in the Mohave Desert?
Nervously, he flipped on the flashlight and shone it in the animal�s direction, and felt a shiver run up his spine when he saw the eerie, luminous eyes reflecting the light. The animal was small and shaggy, with grayish brown fir and large upright ears that flicked forward and back, listening to sounds the human could not hear. A desert coyote, searching for an evening meal.
Its mouth was open wide, panting in the heat, and seemed to be regarding him with watchful curiosity, determining if he was prey or predator. They stared at each other for a long time, neither one moving, and it occurred to him that the coyote was as cautious of him as he was of it. Finally, the creature turned and trotted away.
With his path clear again, he resumed his journey, and soon reached the summit of a small rise of ground. To his tremendous relief, he saw the dark shapes of the abandoned buildings below him.
His heart lifted at the sight of them and his first instinct was to move quickly toward them, to get out of the open where Jessup might stumble upon him, but a sense of caution was holding him back. Barnaby had told him over and over again that he must not rush in, that prudence must be applied to certain circumstances, and this was one of them. He had no idea where Doyle Jessup was at that moment, and that warranted an attentive look around without rushing blindly into an unknown situation. He came to a stop at the top of the rise.
Squatting down to make himself less conspicuous against the skyline, he turned his attention to the group of buildings, studying them intently. Darkness had thrown its cloak over the desert and there were no street lights to illuminate the small cluster of buildings, but the stars cast just enough reflected light to see the darkened structures with moderate clarity. Although he had no idea what signs he should be looking for, he began studying the buildings.
First, he examined the restaurant, the farthest building from his position, squinting into the shadows beneath the awning where he had rested earlier that day, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Sliding his gaze across the empty parking lot to the nearer building, he focused on the service station. Like the restaurant, it was quiet with no sign of movement, but as his eyes moved toward the gas pumps, something attracted his rapt attention; something that he knew with absolute certainty had not been there when he had stopped for lunch.
There, in the deep shadows beneath the awning, he could just make out the dark shape that was the front end of a vehicle. A tiny bit of starlight reflected on the dark headlights.
For several long moments, he continued to gaze at the car, pondering the possibilities and listening intently for the sound of a familiar voice calling his name. No such inquiries came back to him. It was possible that whoever it was, Barnaby, Betty, or even Lieutenant Biddle, might have walked around the building, out of view and out of hearing range, but he knew he could not just walk down there blindly and risk encountering the prison escapee. Jessup could be lying in wait for him. Or, he might be out in the desert looking for him.
The area remained still and quiet, with no sign of movement. Behind him, he heard the yammering cry of a coyote, possibly the one he had passed only a few minutes before, and the sound lifted the hair on the back of his neck. Turning his head, he scanned the desert with his eyes, pausing briefly on every clump of brush, imagining it to be the convict.
Satisfied that the path down to the station was clear of immediate danger, J.R. slowly and carefully picked his way down the gentle slope and walked toward the service station, keeping a wary eye on the desert all around him.
When he reached the stone wall of the station, he crept along the side of the building until he reached the front. Pausing there, he peered around the corner at the vehicle that waited beneath the canopy. It was parked in the space between the boarded up door and the nearest bank of pumps. Inching forward, he looked cautiously down the concrete drive. Jessup was nowhere in sight. All he had to do was cross several yards of open space to reach the vehicle.
J.R. cast another wary perusal in the direction in which he had seen the convict nearly an hour earlier, then pushed himself away from the wall and approached the vehicle.
Directly above his head, something asked, �Ho-hoo?�
J.R. nearly leaped into orbit, and he dropped the flashlight on the concrete. Spinning around quickly, he looked up and saw an owl perched on the edge of the awning, watching him with its large round eyes. It was a big, beautiful bird, silhouetted against the night sky, and it blinked and hooted again.
He gave a shaky laugh at his own jumpiness, and his hand went to his chest to steady his pounding heart.
The owl moved its head from side to side, observing the human with curiosity, then it ruffled its feathers and turned its attention elsewhere, presumably looking for a field mouse or a jackrabbit.
J.R. bent to retrieve the flashlight, making sure that the battery cover had not popped off, but he did not dare turn it on to see if it worked. If Jessup was nearby, he would see the light. Casting another wary glance around him, he crossed the remaining distance to the vehicle. Pressing his nose against the passenger side window, he squinted through the darkness inside the car, but it was impossible to determine if the keys were in the ignition. His hand grasped the door handle, but lingered there for a moment, realizing that if he opened it, the overhead light would come on.
Concealed in the shadows beneath the awning, he glanced toward the open desert again. Jessup was still nowhere to be seen, so he gripped the door handle, he pulled on it, intending to open it just a crack.
Locked.
He exhaled sharply as he shifted his gaze to the driver�s door, trying to determine if the lock button was up or down, but in the dark, he was unable to see it. Quickly, he walked behind the car and approached the driver�s side door, but just as he reached for the door handle, he glanced toward the desert again and saw a dark shape emerge from behind a clump of brush, walking along the road toward the station.
J.R. instantly crouched down beside the vehicle, hoping the darkness beneath the awning was enough to conceal him from the criminal. His pulse accelerated again as he watched the solitary figure walking toward him.
He figured he had two choices: Open the car door on the chance that the keys were in the ignition, or back away. The odds were fifty-fifty that the keys were there; either they were or they were not. If they were there, he could start the car and drive away before Jessup was close enough to do anything about it. If they were not there, the overhead light would betray his presence. Indecisively, his hand crept toward the door handle.
Fifty-fifty.
J.R.�s gaze went from the door handle to the desert again. Jessup was getting nearer, and in the moonlight he could see the man�s head turning from side to side, still scanning the dark landscape, searching for his victim. Jessup was near enough that he would not only see the overhead light, he would probably hear the car door open as well.
Fifty-fifty.
While he delayed, Jessup was continuing to advance. He was getting close; dangerously close; close enough that J.R. could see the baton that he still carried in one hand. Make a decision! he thought to himself.
Jessup had not left the keys in the car before, when he had attacked him from behind. And he knew that J.R. was moving toward the rest stop. It was not likely he would leave the keys in the ignition this time.
Finally, he pulled his hand away from the door handle and, remaining in a crouched position, he slipped around the rear of the car and squatted down behind the trunk, wondering if he would be seen if he darted for the safety of the wall. Rising up, he looked over the trunk to check Jessup�s progress, and found that he was alarmingly close now.
Sweat popped out on his brow and dampened his palms as he turned his head to look at the corner of the wall farthest from the criminal. If he made a dash for that corner, would Jessup see the movement? Facing the convict again, he silently willed the man to turn around, thus providing him with a few moments of relative safety to run for the corner.
After a long tense moment, during which Jessup was getting closer and closer, the owl hooted again, and J.R. felt a tremendous amount of satisfaction when he saw the convict�s body jump violently on startled reflex. He staggered several paces backward, nearly falling to the ground as he looked up quickly to see what had made the noise. Spying the owl there, he raised the baton in a threatening gesture. �Get outta here!� he said, gruffly.
The owl apparently decided to seek a more accommodating perch elsewhere. It took flight, passing so close to Jessup that the convict actually ducked to avoid the beating wings, then he turned to watch it as it disappeared into the night, shouting a curse at the retreating bird.
Using the moment of distraction to his advantage, J.R. shoved himself away from the car and dodged around the east corner of the building.
Safely concealed, he peered around the edge of the stone wall. Still looking around, Jessup slid his hand into the front pocket of his grimy trousers and withdrew the keys to the car. They had not been in the ignition, and J.R. felt an inner trembling with the realization of what would have happened had he opened the car door. Jessup would probably be chasing him across the parking lot at that very moment.
Unaware that his prey was only a few yards away, Jessup opened the car door and slid into the driver�s seat. Inserting the key in the ignition, he turned it and the engine cranked over with a roar and a puff of smoke from the exhaust pipe. J.R. saw the head and tail lights come on, and shrank back behind the corner as Jessup applied a little pressure on the foot-feed and revved the engine. Then he shifted into drive and slowly pulled out from under the awning.
The part-time detective remained pressed against the wall, listening intently as the car eased slowly along the parking area, apparently still searching for his victim, before finally turning onto the highway heading east toward Las Vegas.
Fully exposed, J.R. remained motionless, his body pressed against the building, hoping the shadows concealed him from the driver of the car, and he watched with renewed hope as the taillights disappeared into the desert.
J.R. heaved a loud, weary sigh. The convict had apparently given up, deciding it was best to simply get out of the area.
With Jessup gone, he knew that he could breathe a bit easier. Now, he needed to decide what to do. He figured he could either find a place to bed down for the night, or he could start walking back toward the convenience store. That meant covering a lot of ground he had already traveled previously, but he had the advantage of the cooler nighttime temperatures, plus he would be easily seen if Betty should happen to drive this way looking for him.
In fact, it seemed odd that she had not shown up yet. It was possible that she had come looking for him before he reached the Oasis, and had missed her. A moment of concern gripped him. Had she encountered Jessup along that road somewhere?
The mere thought of it made him want to run along the narrow black ribbon of highway looking for her, but decided that would be pointless. If Jessup had harmed her in any way, he likely would have taken her vehicle in the hopes that it was better maintained mechanically than the other one. Betty was fine, he decided. She and Barnaby would come out tomorrow morning to pick him up, and all would be well. He would try to find some place safe to stay the night.
The service station was quickly discarded as a place suitable for sleeping. Even though it had been a long time since the place had been boarded up, he imagined that he could still smell the oil and grease that was synonymous with service stations.
His eyes moved to the restaurant building. With a little luck, perhaps he could pry up one of the plywood panels enough that he could get inside the building. He should be safe there. Pushing away from the corner of the building, he jogged across the parking lot toward the restaurant. When he reached the awning, he paused again to look up the highway, but there was no vehicle in sight. Jessup was gone, and likely would not return.
Turning his attention to the plywood panels that were nailed over the glass windows and doors, J.R. crept along the front of the restaurant, testing for weaknesses in the nails or in the wood itself, working his way along the street-facing wall, then moved around the corner. As with the front of the building, the plywood on the side wall seemed secure until he reached a side entrance near the back corner. Here, one side of the plywood had been released from the nails and bent back easily when he pulled on it. Behind it was the door, which should have been locked against intruders, but curiously the knob felt loose when he placed his hand on it. Obviously, someone had pried the door open at some point over the past few years. This was not too unexpected. Vagrants and transients often found a way inside abandoned buildings, and this one was no different. He just hoped there was no one inside who might resent his presence!
As with most exits, the door opened outward, and he pulled it as far open as it would go. It strained against the plywood panel that had been pulled loose but he was careful not to force it too far, for he did not want to pull the plywood completely off. Opening it just enough for his slender body to slip through, J.R. squeezed into the restaurant.
It was nearly pitch black inside, and he raised the flashlight and flipped it to the �on� position. At first, it flickered uncertainly, a residual effect of being dropped on the concrete. J.R. gave it a forceful shake, and the light came on, pushing back the total darkness inside the building. He was standing in an entryway that resembled a short corridor. No doubt, this was the service entrance, where incoming supplies were received.
On his right was a dark room, and he turned the flashlight toward it. The beam found a small room, but there was no furniture with which to identify its purpose. Most likely, it was an office of some kind, perhaps where the receiving clerk or restaurant manager had been stationed. Beer cans and whiskey bottles littered the floor, along with some old bones that might have been left over from a chicken dinner. Whoever had been living here, J.R. hoped they were long gone, for transients were generally territorial.
Passing the office door, he reached for the wall on the other side of it and felt his way along it until he reached the kitchen. It was open and empty. The ovens and grills and even the sinks were long gone, the hookups sticking out of the wall where they had once stood. Turning to his left, he found a closed swinging door which separated the kitchen from the main restaurant area. He pushed through it.
With the flashlight beam leading the way, he stepped into the dining room. The large open space had been cleared of the tables, chairs, and booths that had once accommodated hungry travelers. Fondly, he recalled traveling with his parents as a boy and stopping in similar places, and it was easy to imagine the red-checked table cloths and the clinking of silverware mingled with conversation.
The only furnishing that remained in the room was a long service counter, a permanent fixture which had probably been constructed on-site and ran parallel to the wall, but the bar stools that had accompanied it had been removed. The far end of the counter had probably held the cash register. During its operational years, he knew that it probably had also displayed packs of cigarettes, candy, and chewing gum. Beyond the end of the counter and opposite the main door was an open doorway leading into a darkened room, and he presumed that it had probably served as the gift shop.
His sigh was loud in the quiet building, wishing for one of those candy machines that sometimes stood in the entryways of such establishments. A water fountain would be even better, but knew that the water had been turned off ages ago.
Deciding that this was as good a place as any to spend the night, J.R. moved between the wall and the counter, and sat down on the floor, trying to make himself as comfortable as possible. He would have time to explore the rest of the building in the morning, while he waited for a ride home.
Go to Act VI