The Influence(23)

Ross finished his chores and had an early lunch, making himself a sandwich and washing it down with some Beck’s.

He felt weird and ill-at-ease. It was daytime and his computer was on, but the ranch still seemed creepy. He was all alone here aside from the horse, the goat, the bees and those freaky chickens, and he was far enough away from town or the nearest house that, as the movie tagline said, no one could hear him scream. So if he tripped and conked his head on a rock, or if he choked on his food and suffocated, there’d be no one to rescue him.

Tripped or choked?

That wasn’t really what spooked him, was it?

No. It was something less tangible, and for some reason he found himself thinking about Christmas night, when he’d seen—or, more precisely, felt—that big black thing swooping low and silent over the ranch. Goose bumps popped up on his arms, and he decided to call Alex, knowing he’d feel better if he had someone to talk to.

His cellphone battery was dead, though he’d just charged it last night, so he used the land line in the shack to phone his friend. The news was not good. Just as Ross had had to abandon his life in Phoenix in order to survive, Alex was planning to move to Salt Lake City, where he’d found a job as an IT supervisor for a small company that made rubber floor mats.

The news made Ross depressed. “Kind of far afield, isn’t it?”

“I won’t have to declare bankruptcy.”

“But you’re an engineer.”

“So are you.”

Ross looked out his window at the chicken coop. “You’re right.”

They spent the next hour commiserating, catching up on the doings of their other friends, glumly appraising their respective futures, and by the time he hung up, Ross no longer felt afraid. His apprehension had been stupid and childish, nothing more than a symptom of cabin fever, and he decided to take the pickup and drive into town. There wasn’t much to do in Magdalena, so he ended up going into the bar, where the only other patron was Jackass McDaniels, the handyman, who remembered him from the farmer’s market and invited Ross over by patting the stool next to him and saying, “Sit your ass down, bud. Any cousin a Lita’s…ah, you know the drill.”

Ross ordered a beer and asked the question he’d wanted to ask since meeting the man. “So is your name really Jackass? Your parents didn’t name you that, did they?”

The handyman shrugged. “Might as well’ve been my name. That’s what my old man called me. My momma always called me Chester—that’s my given name—but my daddy never called me nuthin’ but Jackass. When the old bastard died—praise the Lord—I decided to sort of reclaim the word, make it good. You know, kinda how the blacks did with n—”

“I get it.” Ross held up a hand. “So is your mom still alive?”

He shook his head sadly. “Died a couple a years ago, God rest her soul. But she was good up to the last. No oldtimer’s disease or cancer or nuthin’. She just died in her sleep, peaceful like, and there wasn’t none of that wastin’ away or loss of memory. It was a good life, and she went out on top.” He drained half his beer glass in one chug. “How about you? Momma and daddy still alive?”

“Yeah.”

“Not that close, huh?”

Ross was surprised. “You can tell?”

“Got a sixth sense about these things. People with daddy issues can always spot a fellow traveler. Want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“Okay.” McDaniels finished his beer and ordered another.

Ross nursed his drink. “So, have you always lived here?”

“Magdalena born and bred.”

“And was your dad a handyman, too?”

“Nah. A farmer. And a shitty one at that. We lived in a trailer in the middle of a dead field where he was always trying to grow cotton. He grew some, I guess, and we raised enough animals to kinda eke out a crappy existence. But after he keeled over—heart attack—my momma and I sold the land to Holt, who was trying to expand his ranch at the time. A lot of other people at that end of the valley already sold, so we were pretty much the last holdouts. Momma was tough, and we ended up gettin’ some decent money. I was of age then, and I convinced her to buy a little plot of land up close to the mountain here, and me and a few buddies put up a house, plumbing, wiring and all. I was pretty good at it, so I just kept on. That’s how I became a handyman. Now I can fix or build just about anything.” He nodded at Ross. “You’re…what? Some kind of scientist?”

“Engineer.”

“What’re you doin’ here?”