The Last Outlaw(115)
“No, sir,” Bruce told him. “Everyone knows the story, and of course, every town has its old ghost tales or sensational stories about its beginnings. The famous Jake Harkner being raised right here in Brownsville, that’s one of the draws here. You know—like the birthplace of Billy the Kid or Wild Bill Hickok, or the Coles and the Youngers. Nobody ever figured you’d actually show up here. The little stone-and-cement house you lived in…where your pa was found with that girl…it still stands. Once in a while, a traveler goes to see it.”
A blackness enveloped Jake’s heart and mind so heavily he thought he might pass out. He grabbed hold of a support post inside the mortuary and bent over.
“Mister Harkner?”
“Where?” Jake groaned the words. “Where is the house?”
“Out of town a little ways. If you stay on the main street and head east, you’ll see it on a little hill. There isn’t much left of it—no roof or anything, and no interior but one wall—otherwise, just the outside walls. The city took over the property and kept it for storytelling, an attraction, so to speak.”
The man’s eyes widened at the look on Jake’s face when he turned toward him. “An attraction? An attraction?” Jake roared.
“Mister, you asked, I told. Don’t take it out on me if it upsets you.”
“Do you own a maul? Some kind of sledgehammer?”
“Yes, sir…out back, standing against the wall.”
Jake headed into the back of the business.
“Hey! That’s where I live back there!”
Jake ignored him and charged through the man’s living quarters, ignoring a woman peeling potatoes in the kitchen. She gasped and watched him, then looked at her husband. “Who is that?”
“Jake Harkner, that’s who!”
“The famous one?”
Her husband didn’t answer. He followed Jake through the back door, where Jake tore through tools in the backyard until he found the sledgehammer.
“Mister Harkner, what the hell are you doing? That stuff belongs to me!” He stepped well away when Jake whirled, sledgehammer raised.
“Mister, I’m borrowing this. I’ll bring it back.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out some bills, not even counting them. “There’s your pay for the headstone. I’ll tell you where to put it when I get back, and then I’m leaving for a few days. When I come through here again, that headstone had better be where I tell you to put it, or I’ll use this goddamn sledgehammer on you, understand?”
Orlando swallowed. “Yes, sir.”
“And is my father buried somewhere around here? And the girl?”
Orlando stepped even farther away. “The parents came and got the girl, or at least that’s what the historians tell us. They took her to Mexico and buried her there somewhere.”
Santana! I’m so sorry.
“Your father was buried in an old graveyard that doesn’t exist anymore. It got flooded out bad in a hurricane a long time ago, thirty years or more. A lot of the graves got washed away, and the old, decayed bodies mixed up together. They had to be reburied in a mass grave in the new cemetery. There aren’t even any headstones.”
“Good! That’s how John Harkner should have been buried, with no kind of acknowledgment.” Jake struggled not to throw up…not to scream…not to cry out in anguish. It was all here. It was all right here, not the past any longer.
The little boy in him wanted to go to his knees and weep. Randy! My God, Randy! You said you’d be with me if this happened.
He had to think of that…only that…Randy. He charged away, walking around the building and still carrying the sledgehammer. He headed for Outlaw and mounted up, then noticed Cole a few yards away. “I told you to get a hotel room!” he shouted.
“Sorry, Jake. Lloyd told me that no matter what you said, I should stay with you when we got here, maybe lag behind but keep an eye on you. And from the way you look right now, I’m guessin’ he was right.”
“This is personal!” The words were growled from somewhere deep inside.
“I know, Jake. I know.”
Jake turned Outlaw in a circle, wielding the sledgehammer. “Follow me if you want. We might have to get out of Brownsville tonight after all.” He charged away on Outlaw. People stared as he tore through the main street and headed out of town. Some had to jump out of the way, and one woman screamed. Cole followed, bringing the packhorse along. After several minutes of riding, Jake finally pulled up, staring at a huge hackberry tree on a hill. Partway up the hill sat a completely deteriorated stone house and nothing else. It looked naked and lonely.