In all, it was the perfect nick, so good that even its clearest failure proved its greatest success. One crisp October afternoon she approached a tall, dapper man with graying hair as he left the Clift Hotel. He listened attentively to her plight, immediately reached for his wallet, and handed her a hundred-dollar bill. Annalee had never seen one before. She counted the zeros twice. ‘I’ll bring you the change,’ she managed to say, thinking somehow she would.
‘Nonsense.’ The man grinned. ‘You keep what’s left after the Kotex – which I imagine will be a hundred dollars. It’s an excellent hustle. Talent’s rare these days, and deserves encouragement. Besides, I just won eight grand in a poker game and I like to keep the money moving.’
‘Well, go get ’em, cowboy,’ Annalee laughed. She was still laughing when she picked up Daniel.
She usually worked the city once a month. At first she just worked an afternoon, but after Daniel was weaned she’d leave him with a sitter for two or three days while she hit Montgomery Street and spent the evenings and nights with the young artists and revolutionaries in the Haight, smoking weed and drinking wine. She was attracted to poets and saxophone players, but hardly confined herself to their company. She never took any of them home.
Annalee and Daniel spent the rest of each month at the ranch. She’d bought a single-shot .22 with her earnings, and she occasionally killed a deer or wild pig, freezing what she could cram in the refrigerator’s tiny box, drying or canning the rest. There was a large garden and a dozen chickens and ducks. The old orchard still produced, and nearby Cray Creek held small trout year-round, with salmon and steelhead arriving in the fall. She worked hard, but they lived well, buying the few things the land didn’t provide.
Annalee spent the evenings reading library books her poet friends had recommended or playing the old guitar she’d found under the bed, making up songs for Daniel’s amusement.
Annalee and Jack greeted each other with whoops and hugs on the front porch. Smiling Jack had hardly changed – a touch more gray in his hair, the smile-wrinkles around his eyes perhaps more pronounced. But Annalee had changed immeasurably: At nineteen she looked strong, solid, and wild. Her movements carried a sense of ease and grace, and her eyes looked right at you. Smiling Jack was impressed. He held her at arm’s length, declaring, ‘Sweet Lord o’ God, girl, but if you ain’t lookin’ about nine hundred forty-seven percent better than the last time I seen you. You must take to this country living.’
Annalee laughed, tossing her hair. She said to Daniel, who was standing in the doorway, ‘This is Smiling Jack Ebbetts, the man who let us stay here.’
‘Hi,’ Daniel said.
‘It’s a pleasure, Daniel.’ Smiling Jack offered his hand, which Daniel eyed hesitantly before shaking. ‘Doubt if you remember this crazy ol’ double-clutcher,’ cause you hadn’t made a month o’ life when I swept you and your momma off the cold shoulder of I-80 right outside Des Moines and hauled you on out here to look after the Four Deuces, but I sure remember you and our long, sweet ride to the coast.’
‘I don’t remember you,’ Daniel said.
‘Not many folks remember very much from when they were babies.’
‘Yeah,’ Annalee said, ‘but when most people say they’ll be back in a few months, they aren’t three years late.’
‘Had to see if you were serious about making a go of it here.’
Annalee folded her arms across her breasts. ‘We’re still here.’
‘Naw,’ Smiling Jack waved dismissively, ‘I was joshing on that – never had a doubt. What happened was I got involved in all sorts of family stuff back in Florida, and then on my way back out here, I found a monster three-card monte game in Waco. Lost my truck seven times.’
Annalee nodded. ‘And how many times did you win it back?’
‘Eight or nine,’ Jack smiled hugely, ‘plus enough money to burn a wet mule.’
‘Well come on in,’ Annalee said, gesturing toward the door. ‘I’ll help you count it.’
Smiling Jack broached another proposition to Annalee when they’d finished lunch. ‘Me and some friends have a notion to use this place as a safe house, and––’
‘What’s a safe house?’ Annalee interrupted.
‘Just a fancy term for a hideout, I guess. A safe place.’
‘Running from the law?’
‘Generally,’ Jack nodded. ‘Not always, though. Sometimes just resting.’
‘And the proposition?’
‘I want you to run it. Take care of the people.’
‘Do you have eight or nine trucks really?’ Daniel cut in, tugging at Smiling Jack’s sleeve.
‘No, pardner, just one. A ’49 Kenworth diesel.’
‘I’d like to ride in it,’ Daniel said.
‘You’re on, but you’re gonna have to wait a little bit. Right now your momma and me are doing some business negotiation.’
‘Okay,’ Daniel said. He went outside.
Smiling Jack turned back to Annalee. ‘You’d get a thousand dollars a month, plus free rent, whether the place is used or not – and most often it won’t be.’
‘What sort of people will I be dealing with?’
