Prodigal

Chapter 22

22

Adam couldn’t see what Luther was doing in the back of the Sheriff’s vehicle, what with the metal grill, the seats, and the height difference. He hated to leave the relative warmth of the SUV, but curiosity—or self-preservation—got the best of him. Adam grunted as he stepped down, lifting the outside handle to quietly close the door. He walked around to the back, startling Luther.

“You don’t listen well, do you?” Luther snapped.

“Sorry,” Adam said, hands in his pockets. “Thought you might need the keys. And since it’s my car, I figured the least I can do is stand in the cold and do nothing, instead of sitting in the cold and doing nothing.”

Luther lost the look of imminent growling, but Adam knew he was walking a fine line with the man and needed to stay on his good side. He stood clear as Luther pulled the tarp from a stack of cinder blocks.

“I’m taking notes,” Adam said, tapping his head, “in case there really is no hope for my driving.”

“Well, if you ain’t figured it out yet,” Luther grinned, and grunted as he hoisted a cinder block in each hand. “Said the hooker to the blind bishop.”

Luther set the blocks on the ground next to the car. “If you’re going to be here come winter—real winter—you might want to throw a few of these in the back of that little car of yours. Extra weight might help keep you on the road, and sometimes they’ll even help you get back on the road when you’ve gone off. Some people use kitty litter instead, but I can’t say I’m a fan.”

Adam reached for a couple of blocks, but when he felt their weight, he decided one at a time would be enough to be getting on with.

Luther smiled and said, “You got nothing to prove to me, except that you’re a dumbass if you try carrying a stack of cinder blocks when you can’t even stand to wear a seat belt.”

The deputy stepped down into the ditch next to Adam’s car. “You’re lucky. It’s pretty shallow here, but the ditch gets deeper further up the lane. And it’s been raining, but just enough to make it cold and wet, not enough to make the ground real soppy.”

Luther placed one of the blocks in the ditch and wiggled it back and forth until he was satisfied it was secure. Adam stepped down for a better look. The hatchback’s front tire was just a couple of inches above the block.

“No wonder you landed in the ditch. These tires are balder than my Great Uncle Whitney. Why don’t you get your jack?”

Adam moved his blankets and other belongings aside to access the spare tire and jack beneath. Jack in hand, he returned to find Luther had added a cinder block parallel to the first one, and was placing another one on top of the matched set. Adam perched on the narrow sliver of road between his car and the ditch and wedged his crappy little jack beneath the car frame. He nearly dropped the handle on his toe trying to attach it to the rest of the mechanism.

Luther shook his head. “I hate those damn useless things. Might as well try and lift the car, Popeye-style. Go ahead and give me a few inches—I’ll tell you when to stop.”

Adam gritted his teeth, pumping the little handle slowly up and down, up and down. After about a dozen times, he suddenly discovered he’d been holding his breath, took a big gasping suck of air, and suffered the effects immediately. He leaned lightly against the car, the world lost in a swirl of grays. When the fog cleared from his mind, he realized Luther was watching him.

“Keep going, hoss,” the deputy said, smiling. “I want you to know I’m only laughing because it’s not me.”

For some reason, that nearly made Adam laugh, too. Perhaps it was some kind of pain endorphins. He went back to pumping.

“Okay, that’s good. Stop for a minute.” Luther placed another cinder block on top, so he had two matched sets, and scooted the top pair toward the car until both sets lined up. “Perfect. Now let it down a little bit, until the tire settles right on top.”

Adam did, then joined Luther in the ditch to take a closer look at his handiwork. “You sure this will work?” Adam asked.

“Are you asking me as a deputy, or as a man whose younger brother never met a ditch he didn’t like?” Luther grinned. “If this was a bigger car, I wouldn’t try it without stabilizing these cinder blocks, but this one doesn’t weigh much more than a go-cart. And we’re only supporting a small fraction of its weight.”

Adam squatted next to Luther and reached out with his less painful arm to feel how much play there was in the stack.

“Goddamn, what’s wrong with your thumb?” Luther asked. “Otto didn’t do that, did he?”

Adam extended his right arm slowly, turning his hand so the deputy could get a better look. Instead of relaxing with the rest of his fingers, Adam’s right thumb stuck out straight and at an awkward angle from his hand. The knuckle also seemed oddly square. Adam could bend it a little bit if he concentrated, but not much.

“No, it’s been like that ever since I was a little kid. I always say I’m a lousy fighter because I can’t make a proper fist,” Adam admitted. “My handwriting’s pretty awful, too. I’m one of the few natural righties you’ll meet that was forced to go southpaw.”

Luther focused on the stack of blocks again, adjusting their fit beneath the car’s tire. “Okay, the blocks will probably settle a little, so lower the jack some more, but don’t take it out yet.”

The car shifted the tiniest bit as Adam slowly cranked the jack down, and he fought the urge to step backwards and land himself in the ditch. Once he was sure the car was stable, Adam returned to Luther’s side. The deputy squatted, now examining the stack of blocks from a marginally safer side angle instead of directly in front of the car.

Adam wasn’t sure what Luther was looking for, and his own gaze drifted to the sky. Mid-morning now, it was pretty out, even with the leafless trees casting bony shadows. Maybe they’d hit sixty degrees today. Fifty-five, anyway. A loud peep drew Adam’s attention. A pair of cardinals—one drab female and one iridescent red male—tilted their heads to look down at the humans. In combination with their black masks and triangular beaks, the behavior appeared almost creepily intelligent.

“What’d you do, fall out of a tree?”

It took Adam a moment to figure out that Luther was still talking about his injured thumb. “Car accident,” he said.

Luther’s head jerked up toward Adam. Obviously he knew the history. Adam didn’t like to talk about it, so it was always nice when he didn’t have to add, the one that killed my mom.

Luther’s eyes were still on Adam when a loud crack resounded through the air, heralding a chain reaction. The cinder block directly beneath the hatchback hung in place for a full second before splitting apart and triggering the next crack. Adam jumped up onto the road as the car’s front wheel dropped. He grabbed Luther beneath the arms and yanked him backwards with a groan, just as the car’s jack gave way in the soft earth. The hatchback lurched forward a couple of feet before the undercarriage came to rest.

“Sonuvabitch,” Luther said, getting to his feet and leaning against the Sheriff’s vehicle. “Never had a block fail like that before.”

Adam’s hands shook, and his knees were none too steady, either. He could still feel the effort of lifting the large man tearing across his ribs. “Closest I ever want to come to auditioning for the Darwin Awards,” he wheezed.

“No kidding,” Luther agreed. “You okay?”

“I’ve been better,” Adam admitted.

Luther snorted. “I should hope so. Thanks for that.” He inclined his head toward the ditch. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to get somebody to pull the car out. The department vehicle could probably do it with the tow hitch, but I’ve got to be getting up past the Nicholsons, and I don’t have a decent tow line with me.”

Adam nodded, hugging his bent arm to his ribs. “No problem, Luther. I appreciate the effort. Just drop me at JJ’s and I’ll figure it out later.”

“That works.” Luther put a hand gently on Adam’s shoulder. “You look like you’re about ready to keel over. Why don’t you get back in the truck and I’ll put that jack away for you.”

Adam climbed painfully back in the SUV, not bothering with the seat belt. He doubted Luther would insist on it for less than half a mile on a back road. He thought maybe Luther was warming to him. That is, until he watched in the rearview mirror while the deputy spent far longer than necessary to put the jack away. About as long as it would take to rifle through someone’s belongings in an unlocked car.