Rage

Bunny MacIntyre stood in the doorway. Her auburn perm was wrapped in an orange scarf and she wore a blue-checked western shirt tucked into straight-leg jeans. A necklace encircled her wattled neck. Silver and turquoise, peace symbol dangling from the central stone.

Barnett Malley had worn it the day we’d tried to talk to him.

MacIntyre took in Milo ’s gun and said, “Pfft. Put that stupid thing away.”

Milo obliged.

She said, “I asked you a question.”

“Looks like you’ve got a vacancy, ma’am.”

“And it’s gonna stay that way.”

“Shucks, ma’am. And here I was thinking about country living.”

“Then do it somewheres else. This is my place. Gonna be a painting studio,” said MacIntyre. “Shoulda done it a long time ago. Now you leave right now, you don’t have my permission to trespass. Go on.”

Dismissing wave.

Still smiling, Milo strode up to her quickly. When he was a foot away, the smile was gone and his face had darkened.

MacIntyre stood her ground but it took effort.

Milo said, “When did Malley leave and where did he go? And no bullshit.”

MacIntyre’s pink lashes fluttered. “You don’t scare me,” she said, but strain thinned her smoker’s voice.

“Don’t want to scare anyone, ma’am, but I will cuff you and haul you in for obstructing justice if you give me any more lip.”

“You can’t do that.”

He spun her around, brought her arm behind her. Gingerly. Regret weakened his eyes.

A look that said An old woman. This is what it’s come to.

Bunny MacIntyre howled. “You damned bully! What do you want from me?”

Her voice was all strain, an octave higher. Milo released her arm, spun her back so she faced him.

“The truth.”

She rubbed her wrist. “Big brave guy. I’m filing a complaint.”

“I’m sure it was a thrill having him here,” said Milo. “Younger guy, I’m not judging. But now he’s gone- with a woman his own age- and things out in the real world have grown ugly, so it’s time to toss the May-December fantasies and help me get to the truth.”

Bunny MacIntyre gaped. Smiled. Slapped her flank and roared with laughter.

When her breathing finally slowed, she said, “You thought he was my boy toy? Man, are you stupid!” More laughter.

“You’re covering for him,” said Milo. “All for a platonic relationship?”

MacIntyre laughed herself hoarse. “Stupid, stupid, stupid! He’s family, you dolt. My sister’s son. She died of cancer and so did Barnett’s father. And despite what the government claims you’ll never convince me it wasn’t because of all that radiation.”

“ Los Alamos.”

She blinked. “Let me tell you, they got all kinds of crazy things going on there. Few years back there was a huge fire, burned thousands of acres black but spared the lab. That sound logical? Supposedly it was set on purpose by some Smokey Bear types to control forest fires and the winds blew it out of control.” She snorted. “Tell it to the marines.”

“Barnett’s your nephew.”

“Last I heard, that’s what you call a sister’s son. I’m all he’s got left, mister. He’s an orphan, get it? I was willing to take him in from the beginning but he didn’t want a handout so I sent him over to Gilbert Grass. When Gilbert retired, I told him I could really use the help. Which was true. Is helping family illegal now?”

“He’s got a sister in Ohio.”

MacIntyre pursed her lips. “That one. Married a banker, rich snob. She always looked down on Barnett ’cause he wasn’t much for schooling. Not stupid, don’t go thinking he was stupid. He had trouble reading but give him a pump to fix, or something to build, and he’d do it in a flash.”

“Good for him. Now where is he?”

“He’s a good boy,” said MacIntyre. “Why don’t you just leave him alone?”

“Where is he, ma’am?”

“Don’t know.”

“Ms. MacIntyre- ”

“You deaf?” She rubbed her wrist some more. “You can pull a Rodney King from today till tomorrow but I don’t know. He didn’t tell me.”

“He left without a word?”

“He left thanking me for everything I’d done, said it was time to go. I didn’t ask questions because I don’t like to ask questions and Barnett doesn’t like to answer them. He’s been through enough. The man’s a vegetarian, that tell you something?”

“He likes animals.”

“He’s peaceful.”

“When did he leave?”

“Three days ago.”

“His truck’s here.”

“Gee,” said MacIntyre, “Sherlock Holmes must’ve put on a few pounds.”

“What’s he using for wheels?”

Silence.

“Ma’am?”

“He’s got another one.”

“Another truck?” said Milo. “It’s not registered.”

“It’s registered to me.”

“Then it’s your responsibility, not his.”

“Suppose so.”

“What kind?”

MacIntyre didn’t answer.

“Something happens,” said Milo, “the liability is yours. And if it’s registered, all I have to do is make a call.”

She twisted her mouth.

“If it’s not,” he said, “you’re in trouble.”

“Haven’t gotten around to it yet. It was Gilbert’s, I bought it from his widow.”

“What make?”

“Also a Ford.”

“Color?”

“Also black.”

“Where does Barnett keep it?”

“Somewhere in Santa Clarita and don’t ask me where ’cause I don’t know.”

“Auto-storage facility?”

“One of those customizer places. He’s having work done on it. Souping up the engine, big tires, you know- boy stuff. Don’t you think he’s entitled to have some boy fun?”

“Is he traveling alone?”

“You just said he had a girl.”

“Did you know it before I told you?” said Milo.

“He mentioned he had a friend, but that’s it, don’t know her name.”

“Never met her?”

“No, but she’s good for Barnett and that’s all I care about.”