Chapter Thirty-Five

Coy Cox had spent the past two days sorting in his mind some things that had bothered him for a long time. He had decided to ask Link about his problem when he heard the news of the capture of Link and another man. Some people said Link was a criminal.

Coy knew that was just plain wrong. Link was a good man. He and his family always were real nice to Coy, much nicer than anyone except Mama had been. There just had to be some mistake.

The news upset Coy so much he couldn't go home. He tried to see Link in the hospital, but the ladies at the front desk said no one could see him except the sheriff and the doctor.

Coy sat on the curb of the hospital parking lot. His bicycle and cart were parked securely within sight beside him. He pondered his and Link's troubles while he swatted at the bugs drawn by the streetlight.

Coy looked at his watch. The time was near midnight. There was no moon and it was real dark. He hated to be alone in the dark and he was afraid to go all the way to his home at this time of night. There were no streetlights where he lived now, not like when he lived at his mama's house.

He brushed the tears from his face. Mama always said he shouldn't cry out where people could see. He had to act like a man who could take care of himself so no one would lock him up.

When he lived in Mama’s house he hadn’t worried so much about being locked up. Ever since he had to move out, though, he couldn’t stop fretting about it.

Sheriff Gary Don told him he’d better do what he said or he’d have to lock Coy up. Sheriff Gary Don had never said that when Mama was alive, but he was always saying it now. Coy didn’t understand why Sheriff Gary Don had changed so much. Or why these terrible things had happened. Maybe Link would help him figure it out.

Coy tried not to cry, but the tears wouldn’t stop. He missed his nice house something awful. How he wished he could be with Mama back in their little place right now.

Shuffling sounds at the back corner of the parking lot caught his attention. He wiped a sleeve across his eyes and stood to see better. His heart beat wildly in his chest. When he saw a man in a deputy’s uniform, Coy sighed with relief.

"Being out this late is real scary," he whispered to himself. "Reckon it's good there's a deputy close by."

He watched the deputy slowly approach. Something about the officer puzzled him, but he couldn't figure out what was wrong.

The man touched his fingers to his lips in a shushing motion as he crouched between a van and a pickup parked nearest to Coy. When the deputy beckoned to him, Coy trembled with fright. He wanted to run, but then the deputy might shoot him.

"Oh, no, oh, no. What should I do?" he muttered to himself.

He started in surprise when the deputy called him by name. "Coy, please come here. I need your help. Bad."

That voice. It sounded familiar. Slowly, Coy walked a few paces toward the figure.

"Coy, it's me, Link Dixon. I need your help. Will you help me?"

A smile lit Coy's face and he closed the distance between them. "Why, Link. Is it really you?"

He stopped and stared. "Oh, my, oh, my. What happened to your face?"

Before Link could answer, Coy remembered the things he'd heard. "I tried to come see you this evenin' but those people at the desk said you couldn't see no one."

Link called to him again. "I need your help. Some people think I'm a criminal and want to put me in jail. You know that's not true, don't you?"

"Why, o' course. I heard what some folks was sayin' about you, Link. But I just knowed you wouldn't never do nothing wrong. That's why I was tryin' to see you--so I could tell you I know Sheriff Gary Don must have made some kinda mistake."

"Look, Coy, I've been hurt and I can barely walk now. I have to get away from here fast. Do you think you can help me get somewhere safe and out of sight?"

"Why, sure enough." Coy turned back to his bicycle and pushed it near Link. "Good thing I already emptied my cart for the day. You just climb up in here and I'll take you anywheres you want to go."

Link stared. "You can't mean to ride your bicycle with me in that cart?"

He was incredulous at the thought of folding his bruised and aching body into one of the small spaces provided. "Don't think I could fit myself around and over the sections. Besides, I'm much heavier than your usual load."

He wedged himself onto the running board of a van to ease his weight from his feet. "Anyone we pass will see me. We wouldn't get two blocks from here before we were caught."

"Oh, no. Oh, no. I give Miss Gwen's kids rides all the time and they think it's fun. See, I just pull out these dividers." Coy removed the wooden partitions that separated portions of his cart and laid them flat on the wagon bed. He unfolded a tarp that he kept rolled up behind his bicycle seat.

"If you was to curl up in there on your side, I'd put this old cover over you. No one could see you."

Link heard sirens. They sounded headed his way. Maybe they were ambulances. No, there were too many.

The nurses must already have found the deputy and alerted the authorities. Soon the place would be crawling with officers searching for him. He couldn't walk much farther without some rest, especially in the shoes he'd taken from the deputy.

Coy’s cart was his only chance to escape.

With misgiving he half crawled, half fell, into the cart. By tucking his knees against his chest he folded himself inside the rickety wooden structure. Coy covered him with an ancient tarpaulin that smelled like the inside of a dirty garbage can.

Link gagged at the odor, but managed to suppress the waves of nausea. Sirens drew closer, then passed. Others sounded as if they were coming from several directions.

Link didn't want to think about what might have been hauled in this spot before tonight. This was no time to look a gift horse in the mouth—or nose.

The cart lurching forward loosed a wrecking ball in his head. Each bump shot pain through every muscle and joint. The bicycle chain clanked a ragged rhythm as Coy pedaled out of the hospital parking lot. No one stopped them.

In a loud whisper, Coy spoke to his passenger, “Now we’re away from the hospital and turning down Elm Street.”

Coy relayed each street and major landmark they passed. The movement of the rickety cart against the pavement proved torture for Link. In his contorted position the suffocating tarp and the constant jostling against his battered body literally became unendurable. Link slipped into the blessed relief of unconsciousness.