Whisper to the Blood

FIVE

Auntie Vi opened the door before he had to knock twice. "What," she said inhospitably, but Johnny knew better. "Is that fry bread I smell, Auntie?"

Auntie Vi grumbled and opened the door wide enough for him to enter. "Got a nose on you like that Katya," she said, shooing him up the hallway to the kitchen. "I start bread, she show up on doorstep. Better than a bear at sniffing out food, that girl."

He grinned down at the heavy cast-iron skillet on top of the stove. Half a dozen flat, gently puffed circles of dough were already turning a golden brown in sizzling oil. On the counter next to it sat a bowl of bread dough.

Auntie Vi poked him in the side. "You want fry bread, you make." He gaped at her. "I don't know how, Auntie."

"Best you learn, then." Briskly, she showed him how to pull off a handful of dough, flatten it and stretch it into a circle, and hang it over the side of the bowl to wait its turn in the frying pan. She handed him a spatula and he got the pieces in the pan onto a cookie sheet lined with paper towels. When he put the spatula down and reached for one of them, she smacked his hand.

"But, Auntie, I'm hungry, I-"

"You eat when you finish," she said. "But they'll all be cold by then!"

She cast her eyes up to the heavens. "Fine, then. One. One!"

"Where's the powdered sugar? Oh. Thanks, Auntie." He tossed the fry bread from hand to hand, and when it had cooled a little sprinkled the sugar over it generously. The first bite was a little crunchy, a little chewy, a little greasy, and a lot sweet. He closed his eyes. "Auntie, this is… this is just one of the best things I ever want to put in my mouth."

She gave a skeptical grunt but he could see that she was pleased.

They finished frying the batch-Johnny managed to talk her out of another piece before they were done, and three more after that- and then he made her sit down at the table, poured her a mug of coffee, and cleaned up the kitchen. She put down two pieces herself, along with three cups of coffee, while maintaining a running criticism of his kitchen skills. There was also a lesson in the proper cleaning of a cast-iron skillet, involving warm water, no soap, and drying it over a hot burner.

As he was folding the dish towel and hanging it on the oven door handle, he said, "Auntie, did that guy I told you about last month ever show up?"

She eyed him as he sat down across from her. "He come a week ago. He stay here. You know him."

He nodded. "Yeah, from when I was Outside. Is he okay for money?"

She shrugged and picked up a deck of cards and began to shuffle them. "All right, I guess. He pay his rent on time."

"Good. Is he looking for work?"

"He look," she said. "Don't know if he find."

"I was wondering if maybe he could get on at the mine," he said.

She looked at him. "They hiring?"

His turn to shrug. "It was all over the school at lunch. Global Harvest is going to start hiring the first of next month, with preference given to Park rats."

Her lips pressed together.

"What, Auntie?" he said.

She glared at him, but there might have been a lurking twinkle in the back of her eyes. "I just hear this myself from Auntie Joy. Who tell school?"

"A lady came from the mining company. She's the skier, they hired her to be their representative. She talked to us at lunch, told us about the mine and how they were going to start taking applications right away and hiring next month. It's a big deal. Twenty bucks an hour, Auntie."

Auntie Vi shuffled cards in silence. "Your friend got job at Bernie's. Temporary, while Amy gets teeth fixed in Anchorage." She swept the cards up with an air of finality, and he took that as a hint to leave.

As he got up, she said, eyes on the cards as she shuffled them, "That mine lady rent room here, too."

"Oh," he said, taken aback. "Okay. That's good, I guess." He couldn't help ending the sentence on an interrogatory note.

"Of course good," she said briskly, tapping the cards on the table and sliding them back into their box. "All money in the bank for me. Mine a different story. Good for me maybe, but maybe bad for the Park. Now shoo you!"

Outside, he climbed back on the snowmobile and looked at the sky while he was waiting for the engine to warm up. It was almost three thirty, and it was cold and getting colder. It would be dark soon. He really ought to head for the barn.

But he wanted to see Doyle Greenbaugh, make sure he was all right.

It had been a long drive, almost twenty-five hours from the outskirts of Phoenix where Greenbaugh had picked him up to the warehouse in the International District in Seattle, where he'd got off. When they'd both got tired of listening to golden oldies on a series of radio stations, they'd started talking. Greenbaugh had never been to Alaska, but like everyone else in the known universe said he'd always wanted to go. Partly because he was homesick, and partly because he wanted to make sure Greenbaugh didn't fall asleep at the wheel, Johnny had told him all about his home state, and then he'd told him all about himself.

He wouldn't have done it today, but he'd been a lot younger then, and a lot less wary of casual friendship, and he'd been so very grateful for the ride that he had been willing to pay his way with conversation. In one ride, he'd traveled almost a thousand miles, well out of his mother's reach. He knew his grandparents weren't coming after him. He wondered if they'd bothered to tell her he'd left. He hoped not, and on the whole, he thought not. They hadn't liked his father any more than their daughter had, and they hadn't liked him much, either. By the time Jane knew he was gone, he'd be well out of reach, and by the time she caught up with him, he'd have Kate on his side.

And Greenbaugh had been so very interested, and not in a bad way, either. He'd bought Johnny a huge and sorely needed meal in a diner at a truck stop in Idaho and between mouthfuls of chicken fried steak and mashed potatoes and gravy he'd urged Johnny to keep talking. He'd listened uncomplaining to Johnny talking about his dad and had laughed at all the best stories and sympathized in all the right places. He'd come across as good-hearted, with an occasional flash of temper that faded as quickly as it sparked. He hadn't much education but he was sharp enough to own his own rig, which was admirable, even if he had lost it in the end.

No, not a bosom buddy, but someone to whom Johnny owed a debt of gratitude, so instead of turning right for the road to home he turned left and went out to Bernie's, a fifty-mile trip that had his nose bright red and his cheeks numb by the end of it. A helmet with a face shield would have cut down on the frostbite but nobody ever wore a helmet in the Bush.

The Roadhouse parking lot was crowded but it was easy enough to find a spot for the snowmobile. He went up the steps and opened the door. Inside, the belly dancers-one in full diaphanous regalia, one in bra and blue jeans, and a third in what looked like an Indian sari-beat on tambourines and clanged on finger cymbals and shook their hips at an adoring crowd consisting of the four Grosdidier brothers and Martin Shugak and a couple other guys he didn't recognize. Johnny watched the dancers himself for a few minutes, just to make sure they had the steps down. He wondered if Van had ever wanted to learn to belly dance.

Old Sam Dementieff and the usual crowd of old farts sat around a table watching football on ESPN on the enormous television hanging from another corner. Leaning against the bar, Mac Devlin stood, red-faced and angry, holding a bottle of beer. Someone else was sitting on the stool next to him, shoulders hunched, but he had his back turned and Johnny couldn't tell who it was. At a table in the back, Pastor Bill, his congregation a little smaller than in years past, exhorted the righteous to be faithful, to which everyone replied with a hearty "Amen!" and drinks were ordered all round, some of them not sodas. It looked like the no alcohol in church rule had been waived, which once the news got around might go far to increase the size of the congregation.

In the center of the room stood Talia Macleod, who he recognized from the lunchroom at school earlier that day. She was the focus of a group of Park rats who stood in a circle facing her with a communal expression that made him feel a little uncomfortable. Most of them were staring at her chest, currently displayed in a soft turtleneck sweater the color of which matched her hair and looked as inviting to the touch.

"In the past year alone the price of gold has gone up eighty-one percent," she said, although it sounded more like a purr, "silver a hundred and twenty-three percent, and zinc a hundred and thirty-two percent." She smiled at her admirers, and a collective quiver ran over the group. "I've heard all the naysaying and the doom and gloom, but when has Alaska ever gone the way of the South forty-eight when it comes to the economy? Whenever there is a recession Outside, we get a boom."

Howie Katelnikof, visiting with Auntie Edna and Auntie Balasha at their corner table, scurried over to stand a step behind Macleod. "She's right," he said, punctuating his words with a portentous nod.

Everyone wasn't buying into it, though. "And whenever Outside gets a boom, we go bust," Mac Devlin said loudly from the bar.

Without looking around, Macleod said, "True, but with gold on the way up to a thousand an ounce for the first time in history, even if we do get a little bust it'll never fall back to what it was. Guys, I'm telling you, Global Harvest is in it for the long haul. We won't be ripping out any railroad tracks on our way out of the Park."

"We sure won't," Howie said.

"You will when the gold runs out," Mac Devlin said. His contempt felt a little over the top, a little manufactured, and no one was listening to him anyway.

Doyle Greenbaugh came to Macleod's elbow with a tray of drinks, and Johnny saw her hand him a credit card that was as gold as the nuggets Global Harvest was prepared to pull out of the ground in Iqaluk, along with a brilliant smile. Howie smacked him genially on the back and made sure he snagged the first drink on his return.

"It'll be twenty years minimum before the gold runs out," she said, "and by then Global Harvest will have found something else worth harvesting. It's a big fucking Park, in case you hadn't noticed."

They laughed at that, Howie loudest of all, titillated by her use of profanity.

"You!" Bernie said, pointing at Johnny. "Get out, and don't come back for another five years!"

His voice was loud and meant to carry, so naturally all activity came to a halt while everyone turned to look where he was pointing. It was a technique that Bernie had perfected over the years in ridding the Roadhouse of wannabe underage drinkers.

Johnny felt his face redden. "I'm not looking for a drink, Bernie."

Any other time an underage entered the bar Bernie wouldn't let up until the door hit him in the ass. But then Bernie had not been the same since a year before, when Louis Deem had robbed his house of a greater part of Bernie's gold nugget collection and in the act of escaping had killed Bernie's wife and eldest son, Fitz. Fitz had been a friend of Johnny's, and he could not look at Bernie now without pain and sympathy. Bernie, unable to face it head on, turned his back abruptly and said in a hard voice, "Then get the hell on outta here."

Johnny caught Doyle Greenbaugh's eye, and nodded at the door. Greenbaugh nodded and said, "Take five, boss?"

Bernie nodded without looking around, and Greenbaugh snagged his coat and followed Johnny out on the porch. "Man, that Koslowski is one cranky old bastard."

Johnny stiffened. "He's a good guy, Doyle. He just lost his wife and son last year, and he's not over it yet."

"I heard. Helluva thing." Greenbaugh blew on his hands and shoved them into his pockets. His coat wasn't down and wasn't a parka, and he started to shiver almost at once. "How you doing, Johnny?"

"I'm fine. I dropped by Auntie Vi's to see if you'd shown up, and she said you were working here."

"Yeah, I remembered your stories about the place. I didn't believe the half of it when you told me." Greenbaugh grinned. "Especially the belly dancers."

Johnny laughed, appeased. "Now you know better."

"No kidding. Anyway, I told Bernie I was looking for work, so he put me on temporary while his regular barmaid is off."

Johnny remembered his dad saying that the Salvation Army was the best place to go for a bed and a meal when you were down to your last dime. It was the one charity Jack had been willing to write a check to, but there was no Sally's in the Park. A little shyly Johnny said, "Are you okay for cash?"

Greenbaugh shrugged. "I'm okay for now, but thanks for asking."

"Did you hear about the mine?"

Greenbaugh jerked his head at the bar. "Hard to miss, with the babe going full steam. She's been here for a couple hours now, talking it up to everyone who walks in."

"Did she talk to you?"

"She did." Greenbaugh grinned. "She says she thinks she might be able to find something for me. There are some real opportunities in this mine. Get in on the ground floor and a person can just coin the money, you know?" He winked at Johnny. "I'm hoping it ain't only a job, if you catch my drift." He nudged Johnny with a jocular elbow. "We're staying in the same boardinghouse, after all."

Johnny felt uncomfortable at sexual badinage with someone so much older than he was-the guy had to be in his thirties-so he pretended not to understand. "That's great, Doyle, I'm really glad to hear it. She told everybody up to the school that they were going to start taking applications immediately and that they'd start putting people to work on the first."

"Barely two weeks from now, I know. Howie Katelnikof was talking to me about it."

"What's Howie know about it?"

"He was the first guy she hired, caretaker out on the claim. He says he'll try to get me on next. He's a good guy."

"You're kidding."

Greenbaugh looked surprised. "No. Why would I be?"

Because, Johnny thought, every Park rat worthy of the name knew that Howie Katelnikof was the best excuse for preventive homicide the Park had ever seen. Because whenever a cabin was burgled, a snow machine stolen, a truck stripped for parts, Howie Katelnikof was the guy voted most likely to. Because Howie Katelnikof was always going to be the go-to guy in the Park to fence stolen property, buy a lid of dope or a hit of coke, and Jim Chopin was certain he was cooking up batches of crystal meth and selling it retail out of the homestead he and Willard Shugak had been squatting on since the death of Louis Deem.

But mostly because Howie Katelnikof had tried to kill him last year, and Kate, and he had almost killed Mutt. Johnny thought of himself as a pretty easygoing guy, but once he got pissed off he stayed pissed off, and he was pissed off at Howie for life. He opened his mouth to issue a warning of some kind, but he'd hesitated too long. Greenbaugh had something else on his mind. "Listen, kid, do me a favor?"

"Sure," Johnny said. "Not like I don't owe you about a hundred."

"I'm going by the name of Gallagher here. Dick Gallagher. Richard, if you want to get technical on me." He grinned again, but he was watching Johnny with a sharp eye.

"Oh," Johnny said inadequately. He rallied. "Um, I guess it's none of my business why."

Greenbaugh-Gallagher-shrugged. "I don't mind saying. There's stuff left over from my life I'd as soon be shut of." He grinned again. "Women, mostly. I want to start fresh, new life, new name, new job. Remember how you told me that day in Ahtna that a lot of people do that at the border crossing?"

Johnny had said that. "Yeah."

"Well, that's me, to the life. I'm starting over here, clean slate. So Dick Gallagher from now on, okay?"

Johnny thought back to earlier that day and making fry bread with Auntie Vi. Had Greenbaugh's-Gallagher's-name been mentioned? "Is that the name you're registered under at Auntie Vi's?"

"Yep. Started the way I mean to go on. So what do you say? Forget that loser Greenbaugh?"

It seemed ungrateful and unreasonable to refuse. What did it matter, anyway? A new name to go with a new life. Wouldn't be the first time that had happened in Alaska. He remembered the stories Kate had told him of her time in Prudhoe Bay, when the news cameras would come into the mess hall and half a dozen guys would get up and walk out, leaving their dinner on the table, before the deserted wife or the parole officer they'd left Outside caught them on film at eleven. "Okay," he said, "sure. Why not?" He was proud that Greenbaugh-Gallagher-trusted him enough to ask the favor. How many times does a sixteen-year-old kid get asked to help somebody hide out from his past? It was right out of Zane Grey. It made Johnny feel like a card-carrying member of the Last Frontier.

Greenbaugh-Gallagher!-thumped his shoulder and grinned at him again. "I'm sure glad I picked you up on the road, Johnny. You're my lucky charm!" He laughed heartily, gave Johnny's shoulder another thump. "Oh," he said, pausing with one hand on the door, "and maybe you could tell that little girlfriend of yours, too. Make sure she knows my new right name, and tell her why?"

"Sure," Johnny said. "Van's cool. She'll be happy to."

"Great," Gallagher said, and disappeared back inside.

Without knowing how, Johnny had the distinct feeling that there was a joke he was missing, but it was getting darker and colder and later by the minute, so he shrugged it off, climbed back on his snow machine, and headed for home.