The Legend of Kareem by Jim Heskett Page A

biker bandanna and hints of a tattoo poking above her jacket collar. She nodded at Omar.
    Omar opened the trunk and we both put our bags inside, then rounded the car. He got in the front, and I slid into the backseat.
    The woman reached across the car and shook Omar’s hand. “Well, I’ll be god damned. It’s good to see you.”
    “It has been too long,” Omar said. He turned to me. “Vanessa, this is Tucker Candle.”
    I reached forward, but Vanessa turned away from me and kept her hands on the steering wheel. “I don’t know you, Tucker Candle. Me and Omar go way back, and he says you’re okay. But don’t take no offense if I want to find out for myself, get me?”
    “Um, okay. I understand.” The impulse to bolt out the car door tugged at me, but I had to believe Omar knew what he was doing.
    Then, a second thought: why in the world would I think Omar knew what he was doing? This was the same guy who had faked his way into a pseudo-escape from a group home.
    Before I could do anything impulsive, Vanessa floored the gas, and we were off.
    We spent a half hour on a two-lane highway before connecting with I-37. I craned my neck around every few minutes, looking for reappearing cars or anything that appeared to be too close. Maybe I was deluding myself that I could spot a tail.
    For most of the trip, no one spoke. Vanessa played some horrific death metal, music so menacing and anxiety-producing that it made me long for dreadlocked Zeke’s jam-band stuff. At least that music was mellow. This stuff made me want to hurt somebody, and that didn’t seem to be the right kind of mental state for me to be in.
    “How is your son?” Omar said above the grinding music.
    “Doing good,” Vanessa said. “He’s living with his dad up in Denton right now, but I get up to see him every now and again. Sure as shit is hard being a long-distance mom, but I’m doing my best to make it work.”
    Omar had told me he knew this woman but not how. She dropped a pinch of chewing tobacco in her cheek, and I got a look at a few gold teeth.
    “I am glad to hear it,” Omar said. “I appreciated the Christmas card.”
    Vanessa spit into an empty soda bottle. “I only had a couple dozen of them made. Just trying to stay in touch, you know?”
    Christmas card? So odd.
    A half hour later, we entered Three Rivers. Typical small-town Texas, with a dollar store, a Chinese buffet, and a host of Mexican restaurants lining the strip of the main street. Auto parts store. Gas stations at either end of town.
    We blew through the town in about two minutes, then Vanessa turned onto a dirt road a couple miles past. We drove along a rutted track with disc-like cacti plants blurring on both sides, past dried-up ponds and random cows munching yellowing grass. Every time we hit a hole in the road and the car bounced, I had to take deep breaths to calm myself.
    We bounced along the road for ten minutes, crossing some flatlands until we finally came to a half-unpainted house in the middle of a great big nothing. The property also contained a barn, a separate garage, and several cars littering the front yard. Besides a few rolling hills obscuring the view, I could see for miles in all directions.
    Vanessa parked and got out, then popped the trunk. Omar gave me a look. “It is better if you do not ask too many questions. I will speak for us if need be.”
    With our bags in hand, she jerked her head at me, and I got out of the car. On one side of the house, a cage built of chain link fencing housed a chubby black Labrador. The dog barked a rumbling howl; like the sound of an old car engine attempting to turn over. Its eyes were wide, tail curled, foam at the corners of its mouth.
    “Okay, listen up,” she said. “You and Omar will be staying on the second floor, last door on the right. We ain’t got internet, but we got a house phone that we can make available to you. Talk to me or somebody before you use it.”
    I slipped my phone out of my pocket. No