The Winchester Boys and the Tremors of Doom - Chapter 2
The Chloride gas station was just…well, it was embarrassing; there was really no other word for it. The façade of the cashier-come-mini-mart had been completely painted over, mural style, in bright garish colors. The painted scene was of a huge UFO hovering over the desert, with smaller UFOs coming down to land, piloted by bubble-headed green aliens. Apparently they needed gas and, for some reason, beef jerky. The locals served them happily and waved at them, with big goofy grins on their faces. Dean, one hand on the nozzle of the gas pump, the other resting on his baby’s trunk, was transfixed by the mural’s tackiness. It was like watching a car wreck; you didn’t want to see it, but you just couldn’t look away.
The Chloride main drag wasn’t exactly big. After paying for the gas, Dean did a quick circuit of the town’s center and then parked in front of Yesterdays Restaurant. The restaurant, with its salmon-pink exterior walls, forest green double doors, and grass-skirted Indian Brave statue standing guard out front, certainly stood out.
“Dude,” Dean spoke quietly, his eyes darting up and down the row of classic wooden facades and tin roofs, “all the other buildings look like they came off the set of The good, the bad and the ugly. Why does the food have to be in the douched-up building?”
Thankfully the inside of the restaurant was a lot less colorful. It had cream walls, slate floors and high ceilings supported by exposed, wooden beams. Candelabras and fans hung from the ceiling and the mismatched cane furniture and white tablecloths gave the place a homey, rustic feel.
The boys took a table for two toward the back of the restaurant, angled so that neither of them had their back to the door or the front window, and they had a clear line of sight to both the entrance and the fire exit. They’d barely sat down when a thirty-something waitress with her dyed red hair pinned back into a straggly bun came across with her order pad.
“Welcome to Yesterdays,” she said, handing them each a menu, “Can I get you boys something to drink?”
Dean quickly scanned the available beers, listed on the back of the menu, and ordered a Budweiser.
“And for you?” the waitress turned to Sam.
“Make it two,” Sam flashed his dimples and Dean watched, bemused, as the waitress dissolved into a puddle of goo, before hurrying off to the kitchen.
“Dude, you are so in!” Dean said with a sly wink, mostly just to watch his little brother’s neck and face flush red. Sam didn’t disappoint.
“Shut the hell up,” he said, making a show of reading the menu and not even looking at Dean. “I’m just being friendly. Unlike you, I don’t need to bang everything with a pulse.”
Dean sniggered. “Man, you are so easy.”
Sam flipped the page. “That’s what she said,” he snarked, “about you. Come to think of it Dean, everyone says that about you.”
Dean laughed out loud. He’d missed this so much when Sam had been away at Stanford. Having his kid brother sitting opposite him, bantering and bickering with him while they shared a meal, it made Dean happier than just about anything.
“Maybe I am easy,” he said, “or maybe you’re just complicated. So long as everybody goes home happy, what does it matter?”
Sam looked like maybe he had an answer for that, but before he could voice it the waitress came back with their beers and asked them if they were ready to order.
Sam flashed his dimples again, shutting the menu and handing it back to the waitress, “I’ll have the grilled turkey on sour dour with hand cut potato wedges.”
“Good choice.” The waitress grinned and turned to Dean. “For you?”
“Uh…” Dean had been so busy stirring Sam that he hadn’t really looked at the menu yet. He began to hastily flick pages. “Uh…I’ll have…”
“They’ve got two pound monster burgers,” Sam said helpfully.
“Really?” Dean’s face lit up.
Sam nodded. “Or you could have The Big Dog, with all the fixin’s.”
“Oh man,” Dean pouted, “why’d you have to go and make it complicated?”
Sam laughed. “Okay, how about The Big Dog now and the monster burger for supper?”
Dean grinned. He nodded at the waitress and then took a good look at her name tag. “What he said. Thanks Marcy.”
Marcy took down the order and then looked back up at them, sucking at her bottom lip with her teeth.
“So you boys aren’t just passin’ through? You’re planning on stayin’ overnight?”
“Sure are,” Dean said, “my brother and I are road tripping to Vegas. We were just plannin’ on stoppin’ here for gas, but then we saw the sign for the Car Show and I figured I’d see if I could get my baby a trophy.”
“Oh,” Marcy’s face fell. “Then I gotta be honest with you, there’s talk we might hafta postpone it ‘til Sunday.”
Dean’s face matched the waitress’s. “Really? Why?”
Marcy shuffled uncomfortably and Dean’s spidey sense started to tingle. “It’s no big deal or anything,” she said, “just…one of the local ranchers had a couple cows go missing and then a couple teenagers dirt-biking out in the scrubland reckoned they’d seen…something out there.”
Sam and Dean exchanged a look.
“Something?” Dean said.
Marcy shrugged. “Prob’ly just kids being kids and coyotes out in the back blocks,” she said. “But they insisted on going out again and well…They’re prob’ly just bein’ bull-headed and thoughtless,” Marcy chewed at her bottom lip, “but they should’ve been back by now and they’re not. So their Dads and a couple others went out to bring ‘em in. They should be back soon, but...” she trailed off, her fingers white-knuckled against her order pad.
“You’re worried that maybe the kids got hurt,” Dean stated.
Sam looked up at him briefly and then turned to Marcy, his eyes brimming with compassion.
“Do they have cell reception out there?”
Marcy made a non-committal noise. “It’s not all that good around here. There’s a lotta black spots.”
“Did the kids say what they think they saw?” Dean asked.
Marcy’s eyes slid away. “Not a big deal,” she said again. “I’m sure everthing’ll be just fine. I’m gonna go put your order in.” She backed away and then hurried through the saloon doors that separated the restaurant from the kitchen.
Dean watched the hinged doors swing themselves to a stop and then turned to look at his brother.
“She seemed pretty spooked,” he said. “Could be our kinda thing.”
Sam pursed his lips. “Could be. Or it could just be kids being kids and coyotes out in the back blocks.”
Dean nodded. “Yeah. Whadya say we hang around anyway, and in the meantime, we can keep our ears to the ground, just in case?”
Sam took a swig of his beer and then wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.
“Thought we were on shore leave, Dean? Weren’t you just explaining the other day how being on vacation means that we’re not killing any monsters right now?”
Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t be a dick, Sam. I just said we shouldn’t go actively looking for a case. If you were a doctor and someone had a heart attack in this diner, would you refuse to do CPR cuz you were on vacation?”
Sam rolled his eyes and played with the label on his beer bottle. “That’s like saying if a werewolf ran in here would I refuse to get the silver bullets out cuz we’re on holiday. So that…that was a shitty analogy.”
Dean leaned forward, his face pinched and angry. “Okay, fine,” he said. “You argue about the quality of my analogy, College Boy. In the meantime, people are missing, Sammy. Kids are missing; could be hurt or worse, and I ain’t gonna sit around doin’ nothin’ just cuz we’re on shore leave.”
“I didn’t mean…” Sam said, “I was just pointing out…” he trailed off with a sigh. “Okay. You’re right. I’ll do a little research tonight, see if there are any local legends that might be causing a problem. Alright?”
Dean nodded and then took a long drink of his own beer. It was probably nothing. Sammy and Marcy were probably right. But something about the uneasy look on Marcy’s face had set his alarm bells ringing and over the years Dean had learnt to listen to them.
~~~
The motel was full, booked up months in advance by motor vehicle enthusiasts. There was an RV park on the outskirts of town, but the forty-something woman behind the motel desk told them that it didn’t have on-site vans, so unless they were driving a Winnebago, they were fresh outta luck on the accommodation front.
Dean’s face twisted in horror. “Do I look like a Winnebago driver?” he shuddered. “That’s my baby out there,” he pointed between the gaps in the angled blinds and the woman sucked in a breath.
“The ’67 Impala? That’s yours?”
Dean grinned. “You know cars.”
The woman raised an eyebrow and planted her hands on her hips, wheeling her desk chair backwards to give herself a better look at Dean.
“I oughta,” she said. “My daddy was a mechanic on the Daytona circuit. Also,” she inclined her head toward a framed copy of the front cover of Girl Torque. It was opaque with dust and sitting on top of an old grey filing cabinet, but Dean could clearly see that the girl in racing leathers on the front cover was the same woman who now sat in front of him. She was just a decade or so older now.
“No way!” he said.
The woman stood up and offered him her hand. “Lyn Fisher. Raced Indy Cars for nine years. Best I ever managed was fourth position, but I got a lot of press. Weren’t a lotta women in the sport back then.”
Dean looked positively giddy with excitement. “That’s awesome!” he cleared his throat and then held out his hand. “Uh, I’m Dean. This is Sam.”
Sam offered his own handshake. “Do you know if any of the motels in Kingman or Dolan Springs are likely to have any vacancies?” he asked.
Dean shot his brother a quick look. He’d assumed the lack of rooms would see Sammy arguing that they push on to Hoover Dam, but, hey, he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth, so he kept his shut.
Lyn shrugged. “I can call ahead and ask if you’d like? Save you the drive. Or,” she hesitated a moment, “Or I could call my sister-in-law instead. She’s got room since her daughter left for college. She’d probably put you up.”
“That’d be awesome,” Dean said, just as Sam said: “We don’t want to put you to any trouble.”
Lyn smiled. “It’s no trouble. I think she’d be glad of the company. And besides, that fine looking piece of automobile deserves a decent garage.”
“That’d be awesome,” Dean said again and Sam looked at him hard. Sure, Dean was a high school dropout and he’d never done well in English, but he was usually a little more articulate than this.
Lyn nodded and picked up the phone.
“Dude,” Sam whispered. “What’s with you?”
Dean’s eyes darted to Lyn, then to the framed magazine cover on the filing cabinet and then back to Sam. “1992,” he said softly, “Speedway, Indiana. Dad had a hunt at the motor speedway. You remember? That pissed off spirit of that driver? Caused a lotta crashes at the 500 that year. Even got someone killed before Dad could gank it.”
Sam’s furrowed brow straightened out. “Oh yeah,” he said. “You were, what? Thirteen? You had a major crush on the girl who got Rookie of the Year. What was her-” he eyes suddenly widened and then darted to Lyn. “No way!”
~~~
The house was white fibro-cement, single-story with an orange tin roof and small square windows set either side of the door. The yard was dusty baked-dirt, although an attempt had been made to create a front garden: a few scraggly trees, some cacti and some small grass bushes surrounded by rocks. The backyard was enclosed by a chain link fence, hung with a sign that said: ‘Never mind the dog, beware of the owner’. There was, none-the-less, a dog; a lean, alert Doberman with a docked tail, who came straight to the fence and stood growling and quivering as soon as the Impala rumbled into the drive way.
“Hey boy,” Sam approached cautiously, “who’s a good boy then!”
The dog barked.
“It’s okay, Sam,” said Lyn, “they’re friends.”
“Huh?” said Sam.
“The dog. He’s called Sam.”
Dean sniggered.
The screen door squeaked open and a tall, thin woman with spiky blue and pink hair appeared on the porch. She was bare footed and wore a rainbow-colored kaftan and a curious expression.
“These the boys?” she asked.
Lyn hurried to greet the woman, embracing her warmly.
“Love the hair, Kate. What does Lu think?”
Kate shrugged. “Hasn’t seen it yet. She’s been down at the gallery all day,” her eyes darted to Sam and Dean. “You boys better come in.”
They followed her into the cool darkness of the house and then Sam stepped forward to make the introductions. “I’m Sam, this is Dean. It’s a pleasure to meet you ma’am.”
Kate rolled her eyes. “Please. Ma’am is my mother! I’m Kate. You’ll probably meet my partner Lu at dinner.”
Dean treated her to his flirty, mischievous smile. “So you and, uh, Lu own a business together?”
“One of the local galleries.”
“That’s awesome. Sammy here loves art.”
Kate smiled at Sam. “How about we get you boys settled and then, if you like, I can take you down to the art gallery and Dean can go with Lyn to get registered for the car show.”
“I don’t want to put you to any trouble,” Sam said, as they followed their hostess down the corridor towards the bedrooms.
“It’s no trouble,” Kate replied, “I was gonna go down anyway; show Lu my new hair!”
She opened a wood-paneled door on the right hand side of the corridor and gestured inside. “Here you are,’ she said.
Dean peered inside and frowned. “Uh…there’s only one bed.”
Kate’s eyes darted from Sam to Dean and back to Sam.
“And that’s a problem because…?”
“It’s fine,” Sam soothed. “My brother and I are very grateful that you opened your home to us. It won’t be the first time we’ve had to share a bed.”
Kate’s mouth became pinched and her eyes narrowed. “Your…brother…” she choked out, “Lyn!” she shouted down the corridor; “You said they were a gay couple!”
Dean’s eyes widened comically. “Why do people always think we’re gay?” he hissed.
“Kate,” Sam reached out and squeezed the nervous woman’s arm gently. “It’s okay. We’re not bigots or anything. You and Lu have nothing to worry about from us.”
Dean’s jaw dropped. “Partners?” he said. “Like partner, partners?” he grinned and nudged Sam’s shoulder. “We’re staying with lesbians, Sammy!”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Excuse us,” he said, pushing Dean into the bedroom and closing the door behind them with an apologetic smile at Kate & Lyn. “Dude,” he said to his brother, “are we gonna have to have that conversation about reality and porn again?”
~~~
It was only a short walk to the gallery, but it was dusty and hot and Sam was sweaty and uncomfortable by the time they got there.
The gallery was blessedly air-conditioned and Sam shivered as his shirt began to un-cling from his back. The paintings on the walls of this gallery were definitely more Grandma Moses than Grant Wood. There were some patchwork quilts on display too, as well as a case of antique porcelain dolls.
“These quilts are gorgeous,” Sam said, and then his face heated. Thank God Dean wasn’t here or Sam would never hear the end of that comment.
“They are, aren’t they?” said an elfin woman with short-cropped hair, as she emerged from the back office. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed Kate on the cheek. “Love the hair, babe.”
She wrapped her arm around the taller woman’s waist and turned back to Sam.
“You must be one of our lodgers. Where are you from?”
“Uh, yeah. Sam. Pleased to meet you. Lu? Was it?” he reached forward and shook her hand. “My brother and I are on an extended road trip.”
Lu went still in her girlfriend’s arms. “Brother?” she glanced up at Kate.
Sam huffed out a laugh and rubbed at his jaw. “Yeah. Lyn kinda jumped to the wrong conclusion, which has happened before to be honest, so, I mean, we’re not offended or anything. And we’re not assholes or anything either,” and, okay, maybe he should’ve tried to avoid mentioning assholes given the subject.
Lu however, merely smiled. “That’s really interesting,” she said, “Why do you think people mistake you and your brother for a couple?”
Sam had actually thought about that long and hard after the whole thing in Oasis Plains.
“We kinda grew up on the road,” he said. “After our Mom died, our Dad…he didn’t cope too well, used to get the urge to hit the road and move on pretty often. New town; new school. You can’t always be bothered to try and make friends, especially when you know you’ll just be moving again. But we always had each other and,” Sam laughed shortly, “we never really had a lotta room so, uh, we probably don’t have the same kind of personal boundaries that most brothers do.”
Kate and Lu looked at each other. “That actually makes a lot of sense,” Kate said.
“Yeah,” Lu nodded, “and calling quilts ‘gorgeous’, does wonders for your Queer Cred too, darling!” Sam put his face in his hands. “Don’t tell Dean about that, okay? He’ll give me so much shit!”
Lu laughed. “Definitely brothers! Listen, why don’t you have a look around the gallery? I just have to borrow Kate for a moment for some boring business stuff.”
“Oh yeah,” said Sam. “Sure. No problem.”
Lu and Kate disappeared back into the office and Sam wandered around and looked at the paintings. Some of them looked so textured that Sam had to resist the urge to reach out and touch them. Eventually he made his way around to the case with the porcelain dolls, which were pretty creepy, he decided. Especially now that he knew that old ones like these were often made with real hair. And holy shit. Sam’s stomach turned to ice. That was a porcelain clown. He edged away slowly and found himself subconsciously heading toward the office.
“I’m telling you, Kate,” Sam heard Kate say, her voice rising in urgency. “She was freaked. Genuinely freaked. And when I told her about the missing boys…Look, Kate, I know you don’t put the same kind of stock into Hualapai legends that I do, but Hilda knows something about whatever is causing these earth tremors and the cattle disappearances.”
“That’s superstitious bullshit,” Kate said. “There’s nothing mystical about earth tremors and we’ve had cattle being taken by coyotes and mountain lions since God was in short pants!”
“Then explain the boys going missing! And don’t you dare say they’re just being teenagers,” Lu’s voice cracked, “because my nephew would never do this to us! Something is very wrong, Kate!”
When Kate spoke again her voice was much softer. “I know you’re worried, sweetheart. And you’re right. Luke would never just take off. They’ve probably had some problems with the bikes. They’ll be back tomorrow, I’m sure of it, and there’ll be a perfectly logical explanation, you’ll see.”
Sam backed quietly away from the office and was innocently looking at a large wall tapestry when the women rejoined him.
“That’s a tapestry of our Mural,” Lu said.
Sam’s puzzled expression was response enough.
“You don’t know about the Chloride Mural? The Journey? It was painted by Roy Purcell in 1966 on a collection of boulders about a mile and a half outside of town.”
“Oh right! Of course. It was his first recognized work, wasn’t it? Done in the abstract modernist tradition. Yeah, I remember learning about that in my Art History course at Stanford.”
Lu raised an eyebrow. “Stanford, hey? Well color me impressed.”
Sam grinned sheepishly.
“You ready to go?” Kate asked. “Or do you want to look around the gallery for a while longer.”
Sam said that he was ready to go, and the two of them headed to the door. Lu snagged hold of the back of Kate’s dress at the door step and reeled her in, flashing Sam a quick grin, before kissing her thoroughly. When they pulled apart, Sam couldn’t help smiling at Kate’s dazed expression.
Lu glanced up at Sam again. “You and your brother should make time to go and have a look at the actual mural while you’re here,” she said. “I think you’d appreciate it.”
~~~
“What d’ya suppose is going on over there?” Sam asked, pushing himself away from where he’d been leaning heavily against the Impala’s fender.
Dean peeked his head out from beneath the hood and frowned. A small crowd of people were gathering just up the street; several of them talking very animatedly. Among them, was a tall slender man, wearing a wide-brimmed Stetson and fringed chaps and vest. He had a very ‘Wild Bill Hickok’ look to him, and a zing of excitement ran though Dean as he realized that he was probably looking at the man known as Cahill.
When Sam and Dean had returned to the diner the night before to grab supper, they had been greeted again by Marcy. They’d inquired about the search efforts, and she’d told them about Cahill, the town’s primary ‘gunfighter.’ A throw-back to the old Wild West and one of Chloride’s appointed leaders, Ben Cahill was spearheading the search parties; and although he’d really wanted to see the gunfight, Dean was more interested to hear what was to be said and done about the disappearances.
“Let’s go check it out,” Dean replied, trying his best to conceal his eagerness. He wiped his hands on a shop towel, tossed it aside, and then he and Sam made their way across the street. The closer they got, the more apparent it became that there was a problem.
Sam slotted into the spot behind a young couple; the woman clinging to the man’s left arm, while he juggled a youngster in his right. There was a line of tension visible in their body language and in the way the held on to each other, as though at any moment they might be forcefully separated. And as Sam looked around, he noticed the same look in many of those gathered around to hear the news.
“What’s happened?” Sam asked them, leaning in to speak quietly.
The young man looked over his shoulder and eyed him warily before answering, “They found the boys’ bikes.”
“But no boys?” Dean asked, stepping up beside his brother.
“No,” the woman replied. She shook her head sadly and pressed further into her husband’s side. “Those poor boys.”
The man in the Stetson raised a hand, drawing all eyes to him. Like the rest of the group, Dean pressed in closer to hear him, and when he spoke his voice rose out of the middle of the crowd like a preacher on Sunday and everyone went quiet, waiting on bated breath for the news.
“Listen up folks!” Cahill called out to the crowd. “We need about a dozen volunteers to start if we’re going to comb every inch of those foothills. We’ll break up into groups of three or four - cover more land that way - fan out and work our way to the hills and up. Carl will head up one team, me another, and two more…Billy, why don’t you and Eric each take a team. All the rest of ya, split off into groups and then we’ll plot out the valley.”
No soon were the words out of his mouth, than there was a rush of people in motion. Dean pushed his way through the surging crowd-Sam following right on his heels-to make his way to Cahill.
“We’ll help,” Dean offered, pulling up just short of running into the lanky cowboy. “My brother and I, we want in.”
Cahill gave them each a brief once-over and then went back to his clipboard check list. “I appreciate the offer, fellas, but this is a local problem. I need men who know the terrain, men who ain’t afraid to use a rifle if the need arises. I don’t need no out-of-towners getting themselves into a jam and I especially don’t need a couple of frat boys straight out of the city on a road trip. Hell, for all I know, you’re probably out here cruisin’ old 66 on the way to Vegas; looking to get your rocks off in a couple of fast women and a little action. Well, not here. No thank you. This little excursion ain’t meant for tourists.”
“Do I look like a tourist to you?” Immediately Sam’s hand wrapped around Dean’s bicep, tugging him backwards in silent warning, but Dean just shook him off and plowed on.
“Look Cahill-you are Cahill, right? I get it. You don’t know me from Adam, but…if it’s trackers you’re looking for…guys who can handle their own and anything else that might come along, then we’re your guys.”
“No offence kid, but you don’t look like you could hit the broad side of a barn.”
“$50 bucks says otherwise,” Dean answered, not backing down one inch.
“Don’t waste my time.”
“No sir.” Sam took a guarded step in front of his brother. “We’re not here to waste your time. We just want to help. So if it’s proof you’re needing…name your target. Dean’ll take the shot. If you’re not satisfied, we’ll be out of your hair and on our way. Okay?”
“Fine.”
“Fine,” Dean repeated heatedly.
“See those buildings there?” He pointed down the street at a make-shift frontier town. “That’s our gunfight set. Second building, first window, second pane on the top…that’s the target.”
“Won’t that be a problem,” Sam asked, “us shooting up your set?”
“That whole town is one giant prop, son. Those are candy glass windows. They get replaced all the time.”
“Second pane? On the top?” Dean asked, verifying the instructions.
“Yup.”
“Okay.”
Dean didn’t hesitate. He pulled his Colt from beneath his waistband, checked the magazine, tapping it once, then twice against the butt of his gun before sliding the clip back into place. He dropped the safety and then he dropped the hammer. The clap of sound that followed was clear and bright and bounced briskly off the store fronts as it sailed-faster than the eye could see-shattering the second pane on the top of the first window of the second building; the building marked: Sherriff’s Office.
It took great effort for Cahill to hide his impression. In fact he had to swallow hard before he pasted on a look of indifference. Then and only then did he turn to face the boys.
“Fine,” he resigned. “What about you?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at Sam.
But Sam was waiting for him. He had his Taurus locked, loaded and ready to go. He didn’t even pause to site the target, just raised his weapon and fired. The echo rebounded a split second before the repeated tinkle of falling glass.
“Where’d you say you were from again?”
“Around,” Dean said brusquely. “Are we in?”
“Yeah. Yes, you’ll uh…you’ll be in my group; the both of you. Get your gear and meet back here in fifteen.”
Master Post / Next
The Chloride main drag wasn’t exactly big. After paying for the gas, Dean did a quick circuit of the town’s center and then parked in front of Yesterdays Restaurant. The restaurant, with its salmon-pink exterior walls, forest green double doors, and grass-skirted Indian Brave statue standing guard out front, certainly stood out.
“Dude,” Dean spoke quietly, his eyes darting up and down the row of classic wooden facades and tin roofs, “all the other buildings look like they came off the set of The good, the bad and the ugly. Why does the food have to be in the douched-up building?”
Thankfully the inside of the restaurant was a lot less colorful. It had cream walls, slate floors and high ceilings supported by exposed, wooden beams. Candelabras and fans hung from the ceiling and the mismatched cane furniture and white tablecloths gave the place a homey, rustic feel.
The boys took a table for two toward the back of the restaurant, angled so that neither of them had their back to the door or the front window, and they had a clear line of sight to both the entrance and the fire exit. They’d barely sat down when a thirty-something waitress with her dyed red hair pinned back into a straggly bun came across with her order pad.
“Welcome to Yesterdays,” she said, handing them each a menu, “Can I get you boys something to drink?”
Dean quickly scanned the available beers, listed on the back of the menu, and ordered a Budweiser.
“And for you?” the waitress turned to Sam.
“Make it two,” Sam flashed his dimples and Dean watched, bemused, as the waitress dissolved into a puddle of goo, before hurrying off to the kitchen.
“Dude, you are so in!” Dean said with a sly wink, mostly just to watch his little brother’s neck and face flush red. Sam didn’t disappoint.
“Shut the hell up,” he said, making a show of reading the menu and not even looking at Dean. “I’m just being friendly. Unlike you, I don’t need to bang everything with a pulse.”
Dean sniggered. “Man, you are so easy.”
Sam flipped the page. “That’s what she said,” he snarked, “about you. Come to think of it Dean, everyone says that about you.”
Dean laughed out loud. He’d missed this so much when Sam had been away at Stanford. Having his kid brother sitting opposite him, bantering and bickering with him while they shared a meal, it made Dean happier than just about anything.
“Maybe I am easy,” he said, “or maybe you’re just complicated. So long as everybody goes home happy, what does it matter?”
Sam looked like maybe he had an answer for that, but before he could voice it the waitress came back with their beers and asked them if they were ready to order.
Sam flashed his dimples again, shutting the menu and handing it back to the waitress, “I’ll have the grilled turkey on sour dour with hand cut potato wedges.”
“Good choice.” The waitress grinned and turned to Dean. “For you?”
“Uh…” Dean had been so busy stirring Sam that he hadn’t really looked at the menu yet. He began to hastily flick pages. “Uh…I’ll have…”
“They’ve got two pound monster burgers,” Sam said helpfully.
“Really?” Dean’s face lit up.
Sam nodded. “Or you could have The Big Dog, with all the fixin’s.”
“Oh man,” Dean pouted, “why’d you have to go and make it complicated?”
Sam laughed. “Okay, how about The Big Dog now and the monster burger for supper?”
Dean grinned. He nodded at the waitress and then took a good look at her name tag. “What he said. Thanks Marcy.”
Marcy took down the order and then looked back up at them, sucking at her bottom lip with her teeth.
“So you boys aren’t just passin’ through? You’re planning on stayin’ overnight?”
“Sure are,” Dean said, “my brother and I are road tripping to Vegas. We were just plannin’ on stoppin’ here for gas, but then we saw the sign for the Car Show and I figured I’d see if I could get my baby a trophy.”
“Oh,” Marcy’s face fell. “Then I gotta be honest with you, there’s talk we might hafta postpone it ‘til Sunday.”
Dean’s face matched the waitress’s. “Really? Why?”
Marcy shuffled uncomfortably and Dean’s spidey sense started to tingle. “It’s no big deal or anything,” she said, “just…one of the local ranchers had a couple cows go missing and then a couple teenagers dirt-biking out in the scrubland reckoned they’d seen…something out there.”
Sam and Dean exchanged a look.
“Something?” Dean said.
Marcy shrugged. “Prob’ly just kids being kids and coyotes out in the back blocks,” she said. “But they insisted on going out again and well…They’re prob’ly just bein’ bull-headed and thoughtless,” Marcy chewed at her bottom lip, “but they should’ve been back by now and they’re not. So their Dads and a couple others went out to bring ‘em in. They should be back soon, but...” she trailed off, her fingers white-knuckled against her order pad.
“You’re worried that maybe the kids got hurt,” Dean stated.
Sam looked up at him briefly and then turned to Marcy, his eyes brimming with compassion.
“Do they have cell reception out there?”
Marcy made a non-committal noise. “It’s not all that good around here. There’s a lotta black spots.”
“Did the kids say what they think they saw?” Dean asked.
Marcy’s eyes slid away. “Not a big deal,” she said again. “I’m sure everthing’ll be just fine. I’m gonna go put your order in.” She backed away and then hurried through the saloon doors that separated the restaurant from the kitchen.
Dean watched the hinged doors swing themselves to a stop and then turned to look at his brother.
“She seemed pretty spooked,” he said. “Could be our kinda thing.”
Sam pursed his lips. “Could be. Or it could just be kids being kids and coyotes out in the back blocks.”
Dean nodded. “Yeah. Whadya say we hang around anyway, and in the meantime, we can keep our ears to the ground, just in case?”
Sam took a swig of his beer and then wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.
“Thought we were on shore leave, Dean? Weren’t you just explaining the other day how being on vacation means that we’re not killing any monsters right now?”
Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t be a dick, Sam. I just said we shouldn’t go actively looking for a case. If you were a doctor and someone had a heart attack in this diner, would you refuse to do CPR cuz you were on vacation?”
Sam rolled his eyes and played with the label on his beer bottle. “That’s like saying if a werewolf ran in here would I refuse to get the silver bullets out cuz we’re on holiday. So that…that was a shitty analogy.”
Dean leaned forward, his face pinched and angry. “Okay, fine,” he said. “You argue about the quality of my analogy, College Boy. In the meantime, people are missing, Sammy. Kids are missing; could be hurt or worse, and I ain’t gonna sit around doin’ nothin’ just cuz we’re on shore leave.”
“I didn’t mean…” Sam said, “I was just pointing out…” he trailed off with a sigh. “Okay. You’re right. I’ll do a little research tonight, see if there are any local legends that might be causing a problem. Alright?”
Dean nodded and then took a long drink of his own beer. It was probably nothing. Sammy and Marcy were probably right. But something about the uneasy look on Marcy’s face had set his alarm bells ringing and over the years Dean had learnt to listen to them.
~~~
The motel was full, booked up months in advance by motor vehicle enthusiasts. There was an RV park on the outskirts of town, but the forty-something woman behind the motel desk told them that it didn’t have on-site vans, so unless they were driving a Winnebago, they were fresh outta luck on the accommodation front.
Dean’s face twisted in horror. “Do I look like a Winnebago driver?” he shuddered. “That’s my baby out there,” he pointed between the gaps in the angled blinds and the woman sucked in a breath.
“The ’67 Impala? That’s yours?”
Dean grinned. “You know cars.”
The woman raised an eyebrow and planted her hands on her hips, wheeling her desk chair backwards to give herself a better look at Dean.
“I oughta,” she said. “My daddy was a mechanic on the Daytona circuit. Also,” she inclined her head toward a framed copy of the front cover of Girl Torque. It was opaque with dust and sitting on top of an old grey filing cabinet, but Dean could clearly see that the girl in racing leathers on the front cover was the same woman who now sat in front of him. She was just a decade or so older now.
“No way!” he said.
The woman stood up and offered him her hand. “Lyn Fisher. Raced Indy Cars for nine years. Best I ever managed was fourth position, but I got a lot of press. Weren’t a lotta women in the sport back then.”
Dean looked positively giddy with excitement. “That’s awesome!” he cleared his throat and then held out his hand. “Uh, I’m Dean. This is Sam.”
Sam offered his own handshake. “Do you know if any of the motels in Kingman or Dolan Springs are likely to have any vacancies?” he asked.
Dean shot his brother a quick look. He’d assumed the lack of rooms would see Sammy arguing that they push on to Hoover Dam, but, hey, he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth, so he kept his shut.
Lyn shrugged. “I can call ahead and ask if you’d like? Save you the drive. Or,” she hesitated a moment, “Or I could call my sister-in-law instead. She’s got room since her daughter left for college. She’d probably put you up.”
“That’d be awesome,” Dean said, just as Sam said: “We don’t want to put you to any trouble.”
Lyn smiled. “It’s no trouble. I think she’d be glad of the company. And besides, that fine looking piece of automobile deserves a decent garage.”
“That’d be awesome,” Dean said again and Sam looked at him hard. Sure, Dean was a high school dropout and he’d never done well in English, but he was usually a little more articulate than this.
Lyn nodded and picked up the phone.
“Dude,” Sam whispered. “What’s with you?”
Dean’s eyes darted to Lyn, then to the framed magazine cover on the filing cabinet and then back to Sam. “1992,” he said softly, “Speedway, Indiana. Dad had a hunt at the motor speedway. You remember? That pissed off spirit of that driver? Caused a lotta crashes at the 500 that year. Even got someone killed before Dad could gank it.”
Sam’s furrowed brow straightened out. “Oh yeah,” he said. “You were, what? Thirteen? You had a major crush on the girl who got Rookie of the Year. What was her-” he eyes suddenly widened and then darted to Lyn. “No way!”
~~~
The house was white fibro-cement, single-story with an orange tin roof and small square windows set either side of the door. The yard was dusty baked-dirt, although an attempt had been made to create a front garden: a few scraggly trees, some cacti and some small grass bushes surrounded by rocks. The backyard was enclosed by a chain link fence, hung with a sign that said: ‘Never mind the dog, beware of the owner’. There was, none-the-less, a dog; a lean, alert Doberman with a docked tail, who came straight to the fence and stood growling and quivering as soon as the Impala rumbled into the drive way.
“Hey boy,” Sam approached cautiously, “who’s a good boy then!”
The dog barked.
“It’s okay, Sam,” said Lyn, “they’re friends.”
“Huh?” said Sam.
“The dog. He’s called Sam.”
Dean sniggered.
The screen door squeaked open and a tall, thin woman with spiky blue and pink hair appeared on the porch. She was bare footed and wore a rainbow-colored kaftan and a curious expression.
“These the boys?” she asked.
Lyn hurried to greet the woman, embracing her warmly.
“Love the hair, Kate. What does Lu think?”
Kate shrugged. “Hasn’t seen it yet. She’s been down at the gallery all day,” her eyes darted to Sam and Dean. “You boys better come in.”
They followed her into the cool darkness of the house and then Sam stepped forward to make the introductions. “I’m Sam, this is Dean. It’s a pleasure to meet you ma’am.”
Kate rolled her eyes. “Please. Ma’am is my mother! I’m Kate. You’ll probably meet my partner Lu at dinner.”
Dean treated her to his flirty, mischievous smile. “So you and, uh, Lu own a business together?”
“One of the local galleries.”
“That’s awesome. Sammy here loves art.”
Kate smiled at Sam. “How about we get you boys settled and then, if you like, I can take you down to the art gallery and Dean can go with Lyn to get registered for the car show.”
“I don’t want to put you to any trouble,” Sam said, as they followed their hostess down the corridor towards the bedrooms.
“It’s no trouble,” Kate replied, “I was gonna go down anyway; show Lu my new hair!”
She opened a wood-paneled door on the right hand side of the corridor and gestured inside. “Here you are,’ she said.
Dean peered inside and frowned. “Uh…there’s only one bed.”
Kate’s eyes darted from Sam to Dean and back to Sam.
“And that’s a problem because…?”
“It’s fine,” Sam soothed. “My brother and I are very grateful that you opened your home to us. It won’t be the first time we’ve had to share a bed.”
Kate’s mouth became pinched and her eyes narrowed. “Your…brother…” she choked out, “Lyn!” she shouted down the corridor; “You said they were a gay couple!”
Dean’s eyes widened comically. “Why do people always think we’re gay?” he hissed.
“Kate,” Sam reached out and squeezed the nervous woman’s arm gently. “It’s okay. We’re not bigots or anything. You and Lu have nothing to worry about from us.”
Dean’s jaw dropped. “Partners?” he said. “Like partner, partners?” he grinned and nudged Sam’s shoulder. “We’re staying with lesbians, Sammy!”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Excuse us,” he said, pushing Dean into the bedroom and closing the door behind them with an apologetic smile at Kate & Lyn. “Dude,” he said to his brother, “are we gonna have to have that conversation about reality and porn again?”
~~~
It was only a short walk to the gallery, but it was dusty and hot and Sam was sweaty and uncomfortable by the time they got there.
The gallery was blessedly air-conditioned and Sam shivered as his shirt began to un-cling from his back. The paintings on the walls of this gallery were definitely more Grandma Moses than Grant Wood. There were some patchwork quilts on display too, as well as a case of antique porcelain dolls.
“These quilts are gorgeous,” Sam said, and then his face heated. Thank God Dean wasn’t here or Sam would never hear the end of that comment.
“They are, aren’t they?” said an elfin woman with short-cropped hair, as she emerged from the back office. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed Kate on the cheek. “Love the hair, babe.”
She wrapped her arm around the taller woman’s waist and turned back to Sam.
“You must be one of our lodgers. Where are you from?”
“Uh, yeah. Sam. Pleased to meet you. Lu? Was it?” he reached forward and shook her hand. “My brother and I are on an extended road trip.”
Lu went still in her girlfriend’s arms. “Brother?” she glanced up at Kate.
Sam huffed out a laugh and rubbed at his jaw. “Yeah. Lyn kinda jumped to the wrong conclusion, which has happened before to be honest, so, I mean, we’re not offended or anything. And we’re not assholes or anything either,” and, okay, maybe he should’ve tried to avoid mentioning assholes given the subject.
Lu however, merely smiled. “That’s really interesting,” she said, “Why do you think people mistake you and your brother for a couple?”
Sam had actually thought about that long and hard after the whole thing in Oasis Plains.
“We kinda grew up on the road,” he said. “After our Mom died, our Dad…he didn’t cope too well, used to get the urge to hit the road and move on pretty often. New town; new school. You can’t always be bothered to try and make friends, especially when you know you’ll just be moving again. But we always had each other and,” Sam laughed shortly, “we never really had a lotta room so, uh, we probably don’t have the same kind of personal boundaries that most brothers do.”
Kate and Lu looked at each other. “That actually makes a lot of sense,” Kate said.
“Yeah,” Lu nodded, “and calling quilts ‘gorgeous’, does wonders for your Queer Cred too, darling!” Sam put his face in his hands. “Don’t tell Dean about that, okay? He’ll give me so much shit!”
Lu laughed. “Definitely brothers! Listen, why don’t you have a look around the gallery? I just have to borrow Kate for a moment for some boring business stuff.”
“Oh yeah,” said Sam. “Sure. No problem.”
Lu and Kate disappeared back into the office and Sam wandered around and looked at the paintings. Some of them looked so textured that Sam had to resist the urge to reach out and touch them. Eventually he made his way around to the case with the porcelain dolls, which were pretty creepy, he decided. Especially now that he knew that old ones like these were often made with real hair. And holy shit. Sam’s stomach turned to ice. That was a porcelain clown. He edged away slowly and found himself subconsciously heading toward the office.
“I’m telling you, Kate,” Sam heard Kate say, her voice rising in urgency. “She was freaked. Genuinely freaked. And when I told her about the missing boys…Look, Kate, I know you don’t put the same kind of stock into Hualapai legends that I do, but Hilda knows something about whatever is causing these earth tremors and the cattle disappearances.”
“That’s superstitious bullshit,” Kate said. “There’s nothing mystical about earth tremors and we’ve had cattle being taken by coyotes and mountain lions since God was in short pants!”
“Then explain the boys going missing! And don’t you dare say they’re just being teenagers,” Lu’s voice cracked, “because my nephew would never do this to us! Something is very wrong, Kate!”
When Kate spoke again her voice was much softer. “I know you’re worried, sweetheart. And you’re right. Luke would never just take off. They’ve probably had some problems with the bikes. They’ll be back tomorrow, I’m sure of it, and there’ll be a perfectly logical explanation, you’ll see.”
Sam backed quietly away from the office and was innocently looking at a large wall tapestry when the women rejoined him.
“That’s a tapestry of our Mural,” Lu said.
Sam’s puzzled expression was response enough.
“You don’t know about the Chloride Mural? The Journey? It was painted by Roy Purcell in 1966 on a collection of boulders about a mile and a half outside of town.”
“Oh right! Of course. It was his first recognized work, wasn’t it? Done in the abstract modernist tradition. Yeah, I remember learning about that in my Art History course at Stanford.”
Lu raised an eyebrow. “Stanford, hey? Well color me impressed.”
Sam grinned sheepishly.
“You ready to go?” Kate asked. “Or do you want to look around the gallery for a while longer.”
Sam said that he was ready to go, and the two of them headed to the door. Lu snagged hold of the back of Kate’s dress at the door step and reeled her in, flashing Sam a quick grin, before kissing her thoroughly. When they pulled apart, Sam couldn’t help smiling at Kate’s dazed expression.
Lu glanced up at Sam again. “You and your brother should make time to go and have a look at the actual mural while you’re here,” she said. “I think you’d appreciate it.”
~~~
“What d’ya suppose is going on over there?” Sam asked, pushing himself away from where he’d been leaning heavily against the Impala’s fender.
Dean peeked his head out from beneath the hood and frowned. A small crowd of people were gathering just up the street; several of them talking very animatedly. Among them, was a tall slender man, wearing a wide-brimmed Stetson and fringed chaps and vest. He had a very ‘Wild Bill Hickok’ look to him, and a zing of excitement ran though Dean as he realized that he was probably looking at the man known as Cahill.
When Sam and Dean had returned to the diner the night before to grab supper, they had been greeted again by Marcy. They’d inquired about the search efforts, and she’d told them about Cahill, the town’s primary ‘gunfighter.’ A throw-back to the old Wild West and one of Chloride’s appointed leaders, Ben Cahill was spearheading the search parties; and although he’d really wanted to see the gunfight, Dean was more interested to hear what was to be said and done about the disappearances.
“Let’s go check it out,” Dean replied, trying his best to conceal his eagerness. He wiped his hands on a shop towel, tossed it aside, and then he and Sam made their way across the street. The closer they got, the more apparent it became that there was a problem.
Sam slotted into the spot behind a young couple; the woman clinging to the man’s left arm, while he juggled a youngster in his right. There was a line of tension visible in their body language and in the way the held on to each other, as though at any moment they might be forcefully separated. And as Sam looked around, he noticed the same look in many of those gathered around to hear the news.
“What’s happened?” Sam asked them, leaning in to speak quietly.
The young man looked over his shoulder and eyed him warily before answering, “They found the boys’ bikes.”
“But no boys?” Dean asked, stepping up beside his brother.
“No,” the woman replied. She shook her head sadly and pressed further into her husband’s side. “Those poor boys.”
The man in the Stetson raised a hand, drawing all eyes to him. Like the rest of the group, Dean pressed in closer to hear him, and when he spoke his voice rose out of the middle of the crowd like a preacher on Sunday and everyone went quiet, waiting on bated breath for the news.
“Listen up folks!” Cahill called out to the crowd. “We need about a dozen volunteers to start if we’re going to comb every inch of those foothills. We’ll break up into groups of three or four - cover more land that way - fan out and work our way to the hills and up. Carl will head up one team, me another, and two more…Billy, why don’t you and Eric each take a team. All the rest of ya, split off into groups and then we’ll plot out the valley.”
No soon were the words out of his mouth, than there was a rush of people in motion. Dean pushed his way through the surging crowd-Sam following right on his heels-to make his way to Cahill.
“We’ll help,” Dean offered, pulling up just short of running into the lanky cowboy. “My brother and I, we want in.”
Cahill gave them each a brief once-over and then went back to his clipboard check list. “I appreciate the offer, fellas, but this is a local problem. I need men who know the terrain, men who ain’t afraid to use a rifle if the need arises. I don’t need no out-of-towners getting themselves into a jam and I especially don’t need a couple of frat boys straight out of the city on a road trip. Hell, for all I know, you’re probably out here cruisin’ old 66 on the way to Vegas; looking to get your rocks off in a couple of fast women and a little action. Well, not here. No thank you. This little excursion ain’t meant for tourists.”
“Do I look like a tourist to you?” Immediately Sam’s hand wrapped around Dean’s bicep, tugging him backwards in silent warning, but Dean just shook him off and plowed on.
“Look Cahill-you are Cahill, right? I get it. You don’t know me from Adam, but…if it’s trackers you’re looking for…guys who can handle their own and anything else that might come along, then we’re your guys.”
“No offence kid, but you don’t look like you could hit the broad side of a barn.”
“$50 bucks says otherwise,” Dean answered, not backing down one inch.
“Don’t waste my time.”
“No sir.” Sam took a guarded step in front of his brother. “We’re not here to waste your time. We just want to help. So if it’s proof you’re needing…name your target. Dean’ll take the shot. If you’re not satisfied, we’ll be out of your hair and on our way. Okay?”
“Fine.”
“Fine,” Dean repeated heatedly.
“See those buildings there?” He pointed down the street at a make-shift frontier town. “That’s our gunfight set. Second building, first window, second pane on the top…that’s the target.”
“Won’t that be a problem,” Sam asked, “us shooting up your set?”
“That whole town is one giant prop, son. Those are candy glass windows. They get replaced all the time.”
“Second pane? On the top?” Dean asked, verifying the instructions.
“Yup.”
“Okay.”
Dean didn’t hesitate. He pulled his Colt from beneath his waistband, checked the magazine, tapping it once, then twice against the butt of his gun before sliding the clip back into place. He dropped the safety and then he dropped the hammer. The clap of sound that followed was clear and bright and bounced briskly off the store fronts as it sailed-faster than the eye could see-shattering the second pane on the top of the first window of the second building; the building marked: Sherriff’s Office.
It took great effort for Cahill to hide his impression. In fact he had to swallow hard before he pasted on a look of indifference. Then and only then did he turn to face the boys.
“Fine,” he resigned. “What about you?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at Sam.
But Sam was waiting for him. He had his Taurus locked, loaded and ready to go. He didn’t even pause to site the target, just raised his weapon and fired. The echo rebounded a split second before the repeated tinkle of falling glass.
“Where’d you say you were from again?”
“Around,” Dean said brusquely. “Are we in?”
“Yeah. Yes, you’ll uh…you’ll be in my group; the both of you. Get your gear and meet back here in fifteen.”
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