understanding human nature. If they were they’d be CEOs and they’d be making a lot more money, with fewer chances of landing in jail.
As he reached to pull on the emergency brake, he wondered how William was doing back in Quantico. Third generation. He had never wanted that even before the divorce, even before they had been reduced to seeing each other only once or twice a year.
He straightened and opened the truck door, pushing everything out of his mind but his story, his act. As he stepped down from the truck, he consulted a map and then turned, squinting at the house and the trees and hills.
His arm hair prickled when his back was to the house.
When he finished turning, he saw the old man on the front porch, standing with a slight stoop, hands by his sides. Up close he did not look so good. He had long thick white hair, leonine might be the description, but his mustache was darker, almost black. He might have been wearing a wig but where he would get that sort of wig, Griff did not know. A Halloween store, maybe. The old man’s eyes were wide, bright and observant and his face was neither friendly nor concerned. He did not look like he wanted company but he did not look terribly unhappy about it, either.
‘Hallo!’ Griff called out. ‘Is this the Tyee farm? I hope I’ve come to the right place.’
Someone had parked a jug of sun tea on the edge of the porch, away from the steps. It was a big glass jug with a cap and yellow flowers painted on one side.
‘This homestead used to be known by that name,’ Chambers said. ‘What’s your beef?’
‘I’ve been looking for a place to stay, maybe get work, and some folks in town said you might be able to help me. I’m a traveler in a dry land, friend.’
Chambers remained on the top step of the porch but his lips twitched. ‘You’re probably in the wrong place.’
‘Well, I see the trees are dusty,’ Griff said, trying for a joke. ‘They look dry.’
The old man’s face settled into concrete. ‘Have to spray all the time, kill the damned insects. Let me know your intentions or move on.’
Griff tried to look unnerved. ‘What I’m saying is, I hear there’s a church around here and some people I could sympathize with. It’s kind of lonely for that sort of company where I live.’
‘Where do you live?’
‘Multnomah County.’
Chambers grimaced. ‘Queer place. Liberals and queers. Just right for each other.’
‘Exactly,’ Griff said. ‘Don’t know why I ever moved there. Niggers and Kikes. Crawl right up your pants leg. Have to squash them or they’ll nip you in the jewels.’ He slapped his pants and shook one foot. Levine had coached Griff on this dialog.
‘You’re somewhat of a clown, aren’t you?’ Chambers asked. His eyes had wandered casually to the truck, then to the barn, and finally to the northern hills, and his lids drooped for a moment along with his shoulders. ‘Show-offs and clowns always bring trouble.’
‘I apologize. I sure could use some good old-fashioned preaching, whatever you can offer, sir,’ Griff said, hoping for the right amount of awkwardness, out-of-stepness. Chambers was the brightest and most experienced of a sorry lot. He had instincts born of fifty hard, ambitious years. Margaret Thatcher’s loo. Griff could hardly believe it. Right here in Snohomish County.
‘You been in prison until recently?’ Chambers asked.
‘Yes, sir, Monroe. I did not want to let on right away.’
‘Did they tell you about Tyee at Monroe?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Who told you?’
‘We’ll need to get better acquainted, sir, before I reveal that.’
‘Well, come closer, let me get a look at you.’
Griff took a few steps forward.
‘My God, boy, you have arms like pig thighs. Pumping iron?’
‘Yes, sir. Weights kept me sane.’
‘Some almighty tats. Come on up here. Where you from before Monroe?’
‘Boise.’
‘Why don’t you tell me some names.’
‘Jeff Downey, he used to be a friend. Haven’t seen him in ten years. Don’t know if he’s still alive.’
‘He isn’t,’ Chambers said, and sniffed. ‘Which is convenient.’
‘Mark Lindgren. His wife, Suzelle.’ Again he was working from Jacob Levine’s script.
‘You talk with Lindgren recently?’
‘Nosir, but he knows me.’
‘Mind if I do some checking up on you?’
‘Nosir. But right now I’m very thirsty.’
‘For word or deed?’
‘Beg pardon?’
‘Will my words quench your thirst, or are you here for deeds? Because I’m not much in the way of deeds these days. Kind of staying quiet out here, like those volcanoes you can see from the road.’
Griff nodded. ‘I understand, sir. Just wanted to make your acquaintance and get some preaching. Find a church where I can feel comfortable.’
‘Well, that’s all right. What’s your experience with weapons?’
‘Knives kept me alive once or twice. Know guns pretty well. Used to collect shotguns. The wife sold my whole gun rack on e-Bay. Ex-wife.’ He jammed a load of masculine resentment into that. ‘Nigh on fifty thousand dollars’ worth, some my granddaddy had back in North Carolina. Frenchmade, German, beautiful things. She just…sold them.’ He waved his hands helplessly, and tightened his throat muscles to make sure his face was red.
Chambers said, ‘We all lose earthly things. Time comes when we make others lose earthly things, that’s the balance.’ Chambers liked this display of anger, the red face. ‘I’ve got sun tea out there on the porch and ice in the kitchen. Want a glass?’
‘Nothing harder?’ Griff asked, twitching his right eye into a wink.
‘I do not allow alcohol. I do excuse that request, coming as it does from a Monroe man. Still, you could have been worse off. You could have done your time in Walla Walla.’
Griff grinned and shook out his hands. ‘Yessir.’
They sat on the steps of the porch and drank tall glasses of sun tea sweetened with honey. Chambers was surprisingly limber and got down on the front step with barely a wince. His legs were long and skinny within the faded dungarees. His bony ankles stuck up from oversize and well-worn brown leather Oxfords. The sun was high over the farm and the dusty trees cast real shadows. It was the sort of bright day rarely seen up in
