The Third Rescue Page 10

  After he was introduced, Jack looked up and said, “Thanks, Mille. They look like nice kids.”

  She excused herself, and he said, “She’s such a beautiful lady. I don’t know what it is about black skin, but it seems to age so much better than white, don’t you think?”

  He looked at Oval, who rubbed his cheeks and quickly responded, “I don’t know, skin’s not really my thing.”

  “What is your thing?” asked Jack.

  “Friends,” said Oval, looking at CJ. “And hot women, obviously.” He looked over at Penny.

  Penny gave him a fake smile back.

  Jack grinned and said, “Well, you have good taste. Like me. I keep trying to get Mille to go out with me, but she tells me I’m just an old crackpot and turns me down. She probably told you that too, didn’t she? But that’s all right. Everybody thinks I’m an old crackpot. That suits me fine.”

  He looked around at them as if he expected them to say something, but they all seemed tongue-tied at that moment. After a few awkward seconds, Penny broke the silence.

  “I’m sure you’re not a crackpot at all, Mr. Dobbins,” she said.

  “Technically, you could call me Doctor Dobbins, although I haven’t been a doctor for a very long time. But call me Jack. And thank you, but the truth is, there are times that think I am a crackpot.”

  CJ cleared his throat, and said, “Ms. Parsons said you might be able to help us—”

  “I doubt it,” Jack said quickly. “She told me you were looking for orphanages and whatnot, but I don’t know anything about orphanages. I don’t know why she sent you to me.”

  “Um, okay,” said CJ, “but she said you also read everything about the same stuff that we’re looking for.”

  “Like what?” Jack asked, looking skeptical.

  “Like—” CJ started.

  Jack interrupted, asking, “Look, you’re CJ, right? The one who’s trying to find his mother’s parents?”

  “Grandmother’s parents,” CJ corrected. “My parents were killed in a car wreck when I was just a baby. So I’ve been looking for birth records back around the late 1940s. But I can’t find anything.”

  “What’s your grandmother’s name?”

  “Violet Jones.”

  Jack gave a little laugh. “Okay. And she’s from around here?”

  “That’s what she says,” said CJ, holding back the theory that she came from Russia or some other foreign country.

  Rubbing his chin, which didn’t look like it had been shaved in a few days, Jack asked, “What’s this about her being a spy?”

  CJ felt embarrassed. Ms. Parsons must have told him. Just the way Jack said it made it clear he thought it was crazy.

  CJ responded, “Well, that’s what Aunt Donna—er, Penny’s grandmother Donna—said. That’s her theory, anyway.”

  “Sounds like an interesting family. Why would she have that theory?”

  “I don’t know. Just because she didn’t know where Nini, my grandmother, came from,” said CJ.

  “Hmm. Well, I don’t know anything about spies, either.” Jack shrugged. “How do you think I could help you?”

  “Well, like I said, Ms. Parsons said if anyone would know of anything strange happening back in the sixties, like a prison break or escaped spies, or espionage trials, then you’d be the one.” CJ held little hope that this was going anywhere.

  “And you’ve already looked for this stuff?”

  “Some. But we can’t find anything. Maybe it would be in the newspapers from back then.”

  “Well, you’ll never have time to go through all those records. They’re on microfilm.”

  Oval said, “We know what a pain that is. It’s like they tried to make things digital before they knew what digital was, or something.”

  Jack smiled. “Is your grandfather still alive? What does he think about all this?”

  “Yeah, he’s alive. And he’s not talking about Nini’s background. Of course, I don’t think he knows about the spy theory.”

  “Good. So he doesn’t know what your”—he pointed at Penny—“grandmother thinks about your”—he pointed at CJ—“grandmother. What was your grandfather’s name?”

  “Gus Mazza. Or, Giuseppe, really. That’s his real name,” CJ answered.

  Penny corrected him. “Well, technically, his name is Giuseppe Matzelini,” she said. “He changed it to Mazza sometime later.”

  CJ said, “Right. That was in, like, 1982, before he moved to Newport, Kentucky.”

  “Matzelini, huh?” said Jack. He gazed left and that right, around the library, as if he were looking for somebody. He seemed to give it some thought, and then said, “Look, let me think about this, okay? Maybe I can come up with some ideas for you. Let me have your cell number, CJ, and I’ll call you if I think of something.”

  So CJ gave his number, and they all thanked him. They stopped by the desk and thanked Ms. Parsons on the way out. She said she hoped Jack had helped, and wished them good luck. CJ was sure they were going to need it.

  23

  Las Vegas, April 2018

  “Well, that was a big zero,” said Penny once they were outside. “For a crackhead, he didn’t show me anything.”

  “No, he didn’t help us at all,” chimed in Oval. “What are we going to do now? This seems like a lost cause.”

  “I’m not ready to quit yet,” said CJ. “And it was crackpot, not crackhead.”

  “So. Same difference,” said Penny.

  “Whatever, I’m not feeling good about the spy angle, or the prison break,” said CJ. “Let’s go out to that orphanage, the ranch thing. I know it’s a long shot, but I’ve got nothing else right now.”

  CJ drove while Penny found directions to the 4-Bar Ranch, which was north and east of Las Vegas, not too far from a big Air Force base. It was on a back road, in what seemed to CJ like the middle of nowhere. A long, unpaved driveway took them to the main building, a low single-story structure that could have been the original ranch house, painted red with white trim. Out behind the main building, they could see several others, also painted red and white, including a barn, a building that looked like a big garage, and others that could have been bunkhouses, with rows of windows.

  When he’d called the 4-Bar, CJ had basically been stonewalled, so he expected to get the runaround now. Thus, he was pleasantly surprised when they were greeted at the door by a man who introduced himself as “Reverend Billy Stubble, the ranch director.” He was a big man in his forties, his plaid shirt stretching over his belly, which lapped over and nearly hid his silver belt buckle. He had short dark hair and a big smile. He looked the part of a rancher, wearing cowboy boots and jeans, and even a string tie. He invited them to sit with him in a comfortable living room filled with plush couches and big chairs.

  Unfortunately, it quickly became apparent that despite the friendly greeting, Reverend Billy wasn’t going to be much help. Even though he knew about older orphanages, the ranch had no records going back before the 4-Bar started in 1965. He even knew about the fire at Sunny Acres, and thought that whatever records might have existed were probably destroyed in the fire.

  “You might try the state records office up in Carson City,” he said. “If anyone has any records on orphans in Nevada, that’s who would have them. I’m not optimistic, mind you, and it’s a long way to go, but that’s about the best thing I can tell you.”

  The disappointment was weighing on CJ. His head hurt, and he stood mute, not knowing what to ask next. Nothing seemed to matter.

  Penny, however, reacted differently. She was mad. “Reverend Billy,” she said, “how can someone, an orphan, find their parents? I know people do it. But how?”

  Reverend Billy frowned. “My dear,” he said, “I don’t know how. It’s not easy. I know that. The thing is, the parents—or most often, parent—who gives up a child doesn’t want to be found. At least, that’s been true most often in my experience. Or perhaps the parents are deceased, and the child is a true orphan, with no
family. And then, of course, to protect both the child and any remaining family, all the records are sealed. The bottom line is, you’re not supposed to be able to find the parents unless they want to be found.”

  Oval said, “I’ll bet if we were Oprah or somebody like that, we’d be able to find anybody.”

  Reverend Billy turned to Oval. “Oprah’s got lots of money, and she could hire lots of people to look, but I’ll tell you: they’d be doing the same things you are. They’d be digging and knocking on doors. If they have more success, it’s just because they knocked on more doors. So don’t give up.”

  “Easy for you to say, Rev,” said Oval. “He’s got an assignment due when he gets back to school next week.”

  “I wish I could be of more help,” said the Reverend, rising from his chair and showing them out.

  Without saying anything, Penny got in the driver seat for the trip back to town. Her spinning wheels threw gravel as she sped back for the main road. “What a waste of time,” she muttered.

  Oval, in the back seat, said, “True. So what’s next, old buddy?”

  CJ could sense the mood in the car. “I’m sorry, Oval. I’ve wasted your spring break. You should be at the beach.”

  “No biggie,” responded Oval. “Hey, look out there. We’ve got lots of sand. Just add a little water, and it’s pretty beach-like.”

  CJ smiled a thank-you to him, and said, “This whole search thing has just been asinine.”

  Penny raised her eyebrows and looked at CJ. “Wow. Be careful there, cowboy. You don’t want to go hurting yourself working up those big words.”

  Without looking at her, CJ said, “I know you’re really mad at me, Penny. I waste your time and then I mess up with that whole cousin thing.”

  Penny concentrated on her driving for a minute, going as fast as she could. But then she slowed and said, “I’m not mad at you. And as for the cousin thing, it’s not even a thing. We’re not cousins. I just wished you didn’t hate me.”

  CJ looked over at her. “Hate you?” he said. Where did she get that idea?

  Oval squelched out, “Not cousins?”

  At that moment, CJ’s phone rang. He looked at it, debating whether to answer. He didn’t recognize the number, a Las Vegas number. Shaking his head, he answered.

  It was Jack Dobbins. “CJ, I’ve been thinking it over, and I might have some things you’ll be interested in. Can we meet?”

  “Meet? Again?” CJ said. He looked at Penny and Oval, made a face and shrugged.

  Oval nodded, and mouthed back, “Why not?”

  “Okay, sure. I guess we could meet. When?” asked CJ.

  Jack asked him to come back to the library, and CJ told him they could make it in about forty-five minutes. Then Jack closed by saying, “And make sure you’re not followed this time.”

  CJ didn’t know how to respond, so he merely said, “Okay.”

  When he told Penny and Oval about what Jack had said, Oval went crazy.

  “I told you that white car was following us the other day,” he said, turning to scan the traffic behind them.

  Penny and CJ disagreed with Oval about the white car. Penny said, “That Jack is supposed to be a crackpot. Maybe that’s why—he’s paranoid and thinks people are after him.”

  Still, after some discussion, the trio devised an elaborate plan to evade any potential followers before going to the library. Their plan involved doing a U-turn on a busy street, having Penny drop Oval and CJ off at one end of a mall, and then driving around and parking on the other end. Penny would go into the mall on the other end, while Oval and CJ would walk through the mall. Oval would go out to get the car while CJ watched to see if anyone was following Oval. If not, he’d go to the car, and they’d drive around to pick Penny up back on the other end. They thought they were really clever.

  They had plenty of time on the ride to town to discuss the cousin thing. Penny told CJ that if he had listened to Grandmother Donna, he would have realized that she’d admitted that Melissa, Penny’s mother and Donna’s daughter, had been born before Donna met Marcio. So Marcio was not Melissa’s father, and Penny and CJ were not blood relatives.

  “So,” she said, “we’re not cousins. You can’t use that as an excuse for not liking me.”

  “But,” protested CJ, “I do like you.”

  “Stop. You’re just going to make me mad again.”

  24

  Las Vegas, July 1964

  Donna came over after she got off work that night and immediately adopted Venus, treating her like the younger sister she never had. Over the next several days, she brought over some clothes so Venus could change out of the pajama-like outfit that she’d worn out of the desert, and some personal care items, including a toothbrush. Donna was a bit taller and a bit curvier, meaning her clothes didn’t fit Venus well, so she decided that the two of them would have to go shopping using Gus’s money.

  Gus didn’t object. He appreciated the attention Donna was giving Venus, helping her relax and feel more comfortable. He felt responsible for Venus, and very protective. He had no idea what to do with her. If only she’d give him some idea, some direction, some hint as to what she’d like to do or where she’d like to go . . . but she seemed content to live in Little Bull’s bedroom and absorb his and Donna’s attention.

  Venus didn’t divulge much of anything about her life to Gus. Donna said she was amazingly naïve, unable to drive a car, find her way around, or even shop.

  “It’s like she’s never been in a store, never tried on shoes, never paid for things before,” Donna said. “It’s not like she’s dumb. You don’t have to tell her anything twice.”

  Donna had been dating Little Bull for a few months. She’d been working as a cocktail waitress in the casino that also employed Little Bull, his father, and, part-time, Gus. Soon after they started dating, Little Bull got her a job dealing blackjack, which paid a little better, had better working hours, and meant she didn’t have to be on her feet in high heels for hours every day. On the other hand, she was curvy, flirty, and outgoing, so she’d always done well with tips as a waitress. All in all, though, she seemed happy with the change.

  She had a baby daughter, less than a year old, and that had held her back from spending more time with Little Bull. But within a few days of meeting Venus, she cleaned up the little room behind the kitchen that had been used primarily for storage. She put in a crib and a little dresser and called it “the nursery.” The next day she moved in, with her daughter Melissa sleeping in the nursery, Donna with Little Bull, and Gus still on the couch. Donna said she’d decided that Venus needed her close, but Gus wasn’t sure that was what was really behind the move.

  Little Bull clearly had the hots for Donna, and he was surprisingly good with Melissa. He’d comfort her when she cried, and even changed a diaper now and then.

  Venus became the full-time babysitter whenever Donna was working or was out with Little Bull. She accepted the role willingly, and didn’t seem to expect much in return.

  The change in living arrangements left Gus confused. With so many people now living in the small house, Gus hated sleeping on the couch, where he had no privacy. He continued to feel very protective of Venus, but at the same time he was drawn to her sensually, which went beyond sexuality. Even though she projected an aura of neediness herself, at the same time she seemed attuned to him and his moods. He tried to be strong, to engender a sense of trust and safety, but still she was able to comfort him when he was overwrought and soothe him when he got agitated, often with just a word or a touch.

  As she became more comfortable around him, Venus told Gus a little about “those men,” who’d held her, along with her mother and a small group of friends, as a prisoner. She said they had been treated badly but wouldn’t elaborate. She claimed not to know why they were prisoners, where they were being held, or who the captors were. When he asked how long she’d been held, she said, “a long time.”

  Gus questioned her about what had happened tha
t night in the desert. He wanted to know what had become of Oaf and Tony Faccio, and to understand what had really happened to her.

  In private, she told him that it had been an escape. She didn’t know details, only that they’d been in the back of a truck, driving over rough roads. When the truck crashed, she’d been thrown out the back. She’d become disoriented, and when the shooting started, she panicked and ran away from the guns. That’s when she found Gus.

  One of the most confusing parts of her story for Gus was when she talked about what happened to her mother and her friends. She would only say that her mother and the others were “gone.”

  Gus offered to help her find her mother and the others. But Venus just shrugged and repeated, “They’re gone,” as if that was the end of it. She wouldn’t talk about any of her story with anyone but Gus, not even Donna.

  About three weeks after the event in the desert, Gus was starting to feel antsy about the start of high school in the fall. He asked Venus if she wanted to enroll with him, but she declined. She said she’d been taught by some of the “nice” people who’d been her captors, and that she’d had access to television so she was reasonably aware of current events and culture. She was wary of going out in public, and particularly of meeting new people. Shopping with Donna was okay, she said, because nobody knew who she was. But going to school was out of the question.

  About that same time, Gus was approached at work by two men who flashed badges and asked to speak to him. He was at the loading dock behind the casino, helping unload a shipment of equipment.

  The two men pulled him aside and showed him a Polaroid picture of what was clearly a dead man. They asked if he knew the man.