Native

By Rick Sterry

In a small town on the Oregon coast, a runaway teen steals a bicycle and a local renegade poaches a rare bull elk, setting off a series of events that lead to murder.

There are a number of "natives" in this fast-paced novel. At its heart is TJ Garvin, a well-known local renegade whose family settled on the Oregon coast generation

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bearpaw Press
• Release date: Sep 1, 2018
• ISBN: 9780991669394

Book preview

1

WHEN L UKE WOKE UP AGAIN THEY were driving along the ocean. Timbered hills rose on one side of the road and on the other cliffs dove down to where frothy waves beat against stone. It had been raining before, but now it was foggy. Beneath him he could hear the tires hissing on the wet highway. Luke sat in the back of the van by himself, separated from the driver in front by a wall of steel rods woven so close he could not have put his little finger through if he had wanted to.

Soon the van crossed a tall bridge over a wide river toward a town that rose away from a snug harbor and spread up into the misty hills like a picture on a calendar. Luke sat up and took notice. There were two or three dozen fishing boats tied up in the harbor. Their masts, sticking up through the low fog, looked like another page on the same calendar. The van turned off the highway and into the town, and Luke felt his heart start to pound. So this was where he was being taken.

Streetlights were already on, though it wasn’t yet quite dark, and most of the storefronts on the main street were lit. They pulled into the parking lot next to an ugly pink concrete building that said Rogue County Courthouse across the front.

Here we are, Luke.

The driver of the van was Mr. K. That’s what all the kids at the school called him because of his unpronounceable Greek name. He was bony inside his loose suit and wore a dead-looking hairpiece. Mr. K got out in the drizzle and opened an umbrella. He unlocked the side door and slid it open. C’mon, kid, he said. Man. Can you ever sleep.

Luke walked with Mr. K toward the dim lights coming out of the courthouse building. Hey, I left my backpack, he said, and started to trot back to the van. The letters on the side said Saint Martin’s School over a lame picture of two boys smiling like they couldn’t be happier about things. Behind them stood a priest with his hands on their shoulders.

Hold it, kiddo, Mr. K said. I’m not gonna file a report that says you got away from me. No way. We’ll just go back together to get your backpack. You got some more getting away to do, do it later.

Fuck you, Luke said.

Through a window. Luke could see an old couple sitting on a wooden bench inside the ugly pink building. The old man stood up when Mr. K opened the glass doors and ushered Luke in, and the old woman put down a magazine she’d been holding. Luke dimly remembered the woman; she was Grandma Louise’s younger sister, Rosalee. She sat there looking scared, and seeing her fear Luke understood that coming to live with her was going to be another runaway situation. It was a good thing he’d learned not to have any expectations that anything would ever work out.

Mr. K looked at his watch. Sorry to be late, he said, but the fog slowed us down. Didn’t hit it till the coast. Thick as clam chowder.

No problem, the old man said. His hair was white as tissue paper, but his wrinkled face was tan except for his bushy white eyebrows. He looked at Luke as if he were the most interesting thing he’d seen in a long time. Luke kept his hands in his pockets so that he would not have to shake.

You must be…? Mr. K said, his hand extended.

Clive Williamson. This is my wife Rosalee, the old man nodded at the woman.

And this young man is, of course, Luke Russell, Mr. K said.

The old man came up close and clapped one hand on Luke’s shoulder and stuck the other out to be shaken. I’ve really been looking forward to having you here, Luke, he said.

Luke didn’t like the hand on the shoulder. He gave a brief boneless shake and turned his eyes away, saying nothing.

You’ve met your great aunt, Rosalee, remember, Luke? At your mother’s funeral.

Not really, Luke said and put his hands back in his pockets.

Well. It was some time ago. Rosalee said. Five years. She smiled a forced smile that had just a little of Grandma Louise in it.

Well, we’ve got some things to go over, Mr. K said, looking at his wrist again. He held up a thin folder he’d carried in from the van. Luke was sure that somewhere in the folder was his I.D.

I have an office in another part of the courthouse, the old man said. We might be more comfortable there. He turned and started off as if there were no further need to discuss the issue. Luke followed, and so did Mr. K and Rosalee.

So how have you been? his great aunt Rosalee asked as they walked down the hall.

Okay, Luke said. He kept his eyes down and his hands in his pockets.

They came to a plain door that said Commissioner Clive Williamson on it. Inside was a large desk strewn with papers, and off to the side a smaller table surrounded by wooden chairs and covered with a large map. The old man rolled up the map and snapped a rubber band around it and put it into a wicker bin with other maps, and then the four of them sat down at chairs around the table. Two walls were taken up by shelves filled with folders and stacks of records and files. There were pictures on the wall of the old man with other old men shaking hands and smiling at the camera. In some of the pictures the old man didn’t have white hair.

Well, let’s get started, Mr. K said. As you know, Mrs. Williamson, Luke was in a foster home for a time after your sister’s death. He left without permission and then there were a number of run-ins with the…authorities. There are the two felonies here, and as you know….

Yes, the old woman said. She shifted uncomfortably in her chair and it creaked loudly.

It has taken some doing to obtain his release to your custody, he said, with a tiny nod to the old man, but the judge has allowed it. He is requiring only two things. Mr. K held up two skinny fingers.

First, he must stay in your custody for all of the remaining months till his eighteenth birthday. Second, he must be enrolled in the local school while it is in session.

That’s already been arranged. The old man began to drum his nails on his desktop, and then stopped. He caught Luke’s eye and winked, wearing a big smile as if he expected fun things to start happening soon.

Mr. K set the folder in the middle of the table and tapped it once. Now the medical is here as well. Luke has not had a seizure since we got him on the Dilantin. Right Luke?

Luke said nothing. He was imagining himself grabbing off the wig and spitting on Mr. K’s bald head, snatching the folder, racing out the door and disappearing before anybody could stop him.

He’s been self-administering for some time now, Mr. K said, but he needs oversight to help him verify that he takes the Dilantin in the right dosage. Zoloft once a day in the morning. It is very, very important. He turned to Luke with his phony teacher smile. Did you take your pills today?

A moment earlier Luke knew this question was coming, but as usual he couldn’t remember the morning very well. He’d been happy and confused and frightened all at once about leaving the school to go to live with Grandma Louise’s sister in a strange town. He ignored the question, since he was not sure.

Well, I’ll be on my way. Mr. K pushed the folder across the desk to the old man. I just want to tell you before I go that I personally appreciate what you’re doing here.

You mean taking on an epileptic, retard delinquent, Luke said out of the side of his mouth, just loud enough to be heard.

This froze everybody for a second or two. He heard a buzzing develop in the air.

Luke is a little challenged with his self-concept, Mr. K said.

It’s what I am. You better get used to it. In the silence the buzzing grew loud in Luke’s ears, and he thought, no, not now. Please. Not now. He felt the light beading on his forehead and knew what was going to happen unless he slammed the door in his mind. Made it go away. He gritted his teeth and forced his attention on something in front of himself. He took a deep lungful of air.

Is something wrong? the old man asked, and the look on his face was full of such concern that Luke could not tear his gaze away from it, and they looked at each other for a long moment, the old man stopped in the act of putting the folder into his briefcase.

It’s cool, Luke heard himself say in a calm voice, and turned his eyes away.

I’m sure everything is going to work out just fine. Just fine, Mr. K said and offered to shake Luke’s hand, but Luke ignored him.

Well, good luck, he said, and left, shutting the door very quietly behind himself.

We have a room all ready for you, Luke, the old man said, standing up from the table. You’ll like it here, and he winked again, as if he knew just what was going to happen and could hardly wait.

Luke could tell they were waiting for him to say something, but he could think of nothing to say. Then he said Thanks, and stood up too.

Do you have any questions? the woman, Rosalee, asked.

Luke shrugged.

You’ll be eighteen when? The old man asked.

July first. Luke did not tell the old man the number of days, though he knew, had been counting them for months.

Well, you have to understand that until then you’re in our…in our charge. When you’re eighteen you can do what you want to.

Right, Luke said. If there was anything he knew for sure, it was that.

In the meantime, though, there will be rules, of course. Rosalee said.

Right, Luke said, his spirits sinking further.

We can go over those later, the old man said. But the main thing is Rosalee and I hope that you’ll want to stay here in Rogue Harbor with us, Luke. Even after your birthday. He darted one of his hands out again and this time grabbed Luke’s arm above the elbow and held on for a second, giving it a squeeze. I could help you get a job. A good job.

Luke shrugged the hand away. He didn’t like being touched.

By golly, young fella, I’ll bet it’s been a long time since you’ve had a dish of really good ice cream, now hasn’t it?

Luke nodded and smiled a little, and the old woman laughed in a relieved way.

What kind is your favorite? she asked. Luke thought for a moment then shrugged and tried to make a smile which he knew didn’t work. Oh God, he thought to himself.

Well, I know it’s late, but how about we all go over to the Frostee Queen and see how big an ice cream sundae they can make? What about it? the old man said. He got to his feet and started toward the door, and Luke and his great aunt got up and followed him.

Luke had nourished a faint hope that it would work out with Grandma Louise’s sister, but that hope was already melted away as they left the courthouse. It was stupid to hope for things. When his mother got sick he’d hoped she’d somehow survive, though everybody whispered that it was no use. Then he’d hoped that he and Grandma Louise could keep the little farm in North Dakota going with his mother gone, though they couldn’t. He’d run away and left his grandma when she needed him, and he never forgave himself for it. He didn’t even know she’d died till he was put in jail the first time. After the arrest Children’s Services had placed him at Boy’s Ranch. He’d hoped that this would work out, too, that he’d get to work with horses, but Boy’s Ranch turned out to be a scam where he lived in a barracks and never had good food to eat and got his ass worked off for a dinky allowance. Going from not having any rules to having rules about everything didn’t work, and so he’d run away again.

When he was arrested for a second time he was assigned to Black Rock Survival School for discipline training. Except for all the marching and standing in lines, he enjoyed his months at the survival school, but when he was out of that they put him in Saint Martins, a kind of prison with priests, and he didn’t like that at all, but there was no opportunity to escape. Then one day Children’s Services brought news that Grandma Louise’s sister wanted him to come and live with her, and here he was, no better off than before except that this should be an easy scene to get away from.

• • •

Outside the courthouse they got into an older Subaru wagon and drove to the Frostee Queen, right on the highway where he’d passed earlier. Somebody had nailed wooden shingles all over an old gas station to try to make it look different, but it didn’t. It was full dark now, and a single streetlight in front made a glowing circle in the misty rain and fog. The old man drove into the light and parked. Two heavily loaded touring bicycles were parked in front, each with an orange phosphorescent safety flag on a tall thin rod. Inside, settled in a booth, Luke ordered the largest sundae available at the urgings of the old people.

While the three of them waited for their orders Luke studied the two bicyclists in another booth. They were a tall slender man with a thick red moustache and a smaller woman with very muscular legs. They appeared tired and wet and glum and sat silently without speaking to one another. They looked like they might be fighting.

Your mother was just the…the prettiest woman, Rosalee said. And Louise was just the dearest heart. Luke could see that she wanted him to say something, but he did not. What do you say to that?

I saw you looking over those bikes as we came in, the old man said to Luke. Would you like to have one? You know there’s almost nothing you can’t get if you want it. Well, bike, hell! At seventeen you’re nearly ready for a car. Do you have a driver’s license?

Luke shook his head no. He kept looking at the table and said nothing. He had just one thought in his mind.

Have you ever driven a car?

Luke shook his head again. Put the retard behind the wheel of a car, he thought, and he would be gone.

The ice cream came, and he began to eat it slowly, and then he asked if it was all right if he went to the bathroom.

You don’t have to have my permission to go to the john, the old man said with a stern look. We trust you.

That’s right, Luke, the old woman said.

There was a door near the bathroom which opened to the outside. Luke went through this door and into the dark, then moved quickly around to the front of the building. It had started to rain lightly again. Without hesitation he entered the unlocked Subaru, opened the briefcase and shook the contents on the floor. He found the envelope Mr. K had given the old man and tucked it into his backpack. From it he removed a sharpened nail with a thin wooden handle, wrapped with electrician’s tape, and stabbed a hole in the front tire of the old man’s car. The tire hissed fiercely. He moved quickly to the bicycles and stabbed both the front and rear tire of the smaller bike. He mounted the larger one and pushed off. A moment later the two bicyclists burst out of the ice cream parlor. Luke heard their outraged shouts, and then he heard feet slapping the wet pavement behind him.

The bicycle seemed impossibly heavy under the load. There were saddle packs over both the front and back fenders, and there was even a pack hanging on the handlebars. The pedals barely turned over. He’d never been on this kind of bike before, with gear adjustments made by twisting the handgrips. The chain slipped as he changed gears in the dark, and he seemed to be going slower and slower while the slapping footsteps grew louder and closer behind him. A car approached from the front, and looking back in the headlights’ glow Luke could see the running man’s angry eyes above the red moustache, could hear his determined, high-pitched panting.

Then, finally, Luke levered into a gear which allowed him to slowly pick up speed. The slapping and panting became fainter. The next car lights showed the man stopped far behind, bent over with his hands on his knees.

• • •

Luke knew they would find him if he remained on the highway, and so at the first opportunity he turned off on the far side of a bridge and went inland on a paved road that ran along a river. He found the front bike light and it lit his way. He was barely able to keep from whooping out loud, even though he was cold and wet.

The retard scores, he thought. The retard scores a good one.

No one was driving on the road, and when Luke came to another bridge over the river he dragged the bike out of sight and slipped down under it where it was dry. He removed things from the saddlebags and looked at them in the light from the bike. There were dry fleece socks and thermal underwear and a tightly-rolled sleeping bag which puffed to full size when he took it out of its stuff sack. He removed his wet clothes and put on the dry underwear and pulled the sleeping bag up around himself and tried not to admit that he was as scared as he had ever been. He’d thought carefully about getting away, but he hadn’t thought about what he would do next.

2

TJ G ARVIN WAS HAVING ONE LAST beer at the Green Door when Kirk Clippert came in breathless and excited with big news. Poker paused in mid-deal, and the 8-ball players pulled back from the table to hear the details.

Bear Mosier was working his new D7 Cat on his five-acre place on Winch Creek. Should have known better than to be operating it on steep, rain-slick clay, but that was Bear. Had his Cat, finally, and wanted to play with it. The D7 slid into the gully, rolled over, skidded on him awhile, and then tumbled on down into the creek bottom landing tits up.

Bear dead?

Meatballed, what I heard. Might never get the D7 out, Kirk said, loving the attention, his little eyes darting everywhere.

The cull. TJ knew when he finished his beer Kirk would leave to tell the story again someplace else. He had the urge to hammer him one for Bear, loosen a couple of his brown teeth, but instead he flagged Manny the bartender down, laid a twenty on the counter and ordered a cold half rack to go.

Hearing about Bear was like being stung on the heart by a yellow jacket, leaving a pocket of poison inside, and he needed time to ease it out of himself. He considered borrowing someone’s cell phone and calling Johanna to explain to her that he