…We met another one of the yellow pick-up trucks now, heading in the opposite direction. Kendall and the other driver waved to each other.
“Kendall, I’ve worked in real estate for years and I helped build several of the massive casinos in Vegas, during the boom years, but even that pales in comparison to this” Andrea said tiredly.
“Mister Billingsly said that I could talk openly with you all, and what you’re saying doesn’t surprise me, Andrea. A normal person can’t even begin to comprehend that house or the enormous amount of wealth involved with this field. Mister Billingsly, himself, may not even know the full extent of it, he simply runs the oil field itself.” Kendall explained.
“I think I can understand the reason for all the rules and regulations associated with this place now. Mister Billingsly certainly has a huge responsibility” Andrea commented.
“He deals with all the politics, which I don’t envy. And yes, the enforcement of rules and regulations are taken very seriously out here and this field is actually considered as part of our National Security,” Kendall replied.
“I don’t doubt that; Kendall” I affirmed.
All of us were silent again for a few minutes.
“…Danny, you little asshole” Andrea murmured to herself; while looking out her passenger’s window.
“We’re not legally obligated to that house, Andrea, we can just walk away,” Helen said calmly.
“I know that; Helen” Andrea replied.
“I’ll call Herb tonight,” Helen said confidently.
“…Danny Wickersham” Andrea repeated distastefully.
“You know what Danny’s doing, up there right now, don’t you, Andrea?” Helen asked, looking over at my wife.
“Looking down and laughing at us, I’d imagine” Andrea answered disgustedly.
“Laughing his ass off at us – this is all a game, remember?” Helen replied knowingly.
“Why would Danny have bought this place, to begin with, Helen? HOW in the world could he have purchased it at all? It’s in an oil field, leased on Federal land, for God’s sake! – You don’t just go buy land on Federal oil reserves for the fun of it, Howard Hughes wouldn’t even have been allowed to do that….Danny probably made twelve or fourteen million dollars, in total, during his whole lifetime and he partied most of that away, you remember how he was with money. I’d bet there’s four million dollars worth of green rug carpet in that damn place” Andrea now exaggerated with an incredulous shake of her head.
“He may have won it in a poker game, like, thirty years ago or something, Andrea, seriously. If he did win it in a poker game, then he probably never even set foot in the fuckin’ place” Helen answered quietly.
“You knew Danny as well as I did, Helen. He probably got it for a wink and a smile, somehow. It was probably all just another outrageous lark to him” Andrea sighed.
“Everything else was, I guess that’s why we all loved the idiot” Helen reasoned.
“Yes,” Andrea answered.
“Danny Wickersham was in a famous band or something at one time, wasn’t he?” Kendall now asked.
“Danny founded a band called Duxford Airfield, but that was a little before time, I’m afraid, Kendall” Andrea replied, on the verge of exhaustion.
“I’ve heard their songs, before,” Kendall said nodding her head. “…Oh, sorry, I meant to offer these a few minutes ago, Andrea. I hope you’re feeling better now” Kendall said holding up a tall water bottle which she took from within a plastic cooler that sat between her and me on the front seat.
“I’m better, thanks, Kendall. Yes, I’d like one, please” Andrea said reaching for the water bottle.
“I’ve got a few more up here,” Kendall said in reply.
I silently took two bottles of water from Kendall and handed one back to Helen.
“Thank you, Kendall,” I said, opening the bottle’s cap.
Andrea’s phone pinged with a text message.
“…Ricky’s in Seattle, staying with Harland Wyckoff right now,” Andrea said matter of factly.
Obviously, the text message was from Brenda…
“Maybe Harland can talk some sense into that idiot,” I said roughly.
Secretly, I was relieved at hearing Ricky was now with Harland Wyckoff and I think Andrea sensed this…
“I’ve got a little brother that likes to hop freight trains,” I said to Kendall, tipping my water bottle.
Kendall said nothing, only nodded her head.
“You have no idea who the girl in the tintype is?” I asked, looking at Kendall.
“The girl in the what?” Kendall asked.
“Old photographs were called tintypes, Kendall. I’m referring to the girl in the oval-shaped photo above the fireplace.” I explained.
“I’ve heard a lot of wild rumors, surrounding that place, long before I even got a job here. Supposedly there was a really old cowboy that lived there alone and looked after the place after everyone else had died. I guess he passed in nineteen eighty, or so. I’ve never heard anything about any girl living there, or really anyone else either, other than the old man that built the place. I don’t even know what his name had been but he was supposedly murdered or vanished or something like that, way back in the nineteen twenties or something, I guess.” Kendall said.
“REALLY? Any idea why or who may have killed him?” I asked incredulously, looking over at Kendall.
“Nothing really, it was such a long time ago, Tim,” Kendall answered, waving her hand in dismissal.
I silently nodded my head and took another drink of water.
“You hear a lot of rumors, working around oil field trash, Tim. Most of those conversations are just guff and fodder centered around pool playing and beer drinking during off-hours” Kendall said, shrugging her shoulder.
She seemed to use the term “Oil filed trash” with a degree of pride, I noticed.
Kendall now quickly pulled to the edge of the road and abruptly stopped as an ancient B-70 roared by us, heading in the opposite direction and kicking up a huge amount of dust. Kendall and the other driver waved at each other.
A B-70 was an oversize off-road tractor-trailer used to move huge amounts of earth.
Kendall slowly started the truck down the dusty road again.
“The water truck could probably make another pass, here on North Wellhead road, when someone has a minute” Kendall spoke into her radio.
“Roger that, I’ll be there in five minutes, Kendall” a man’s voice quickly answered.
“Thanks, Budd, I figured you were either loading or enroute” Kendall replied.
The radio chirped twice in reply via a double-tap of the mic’s key from the other vehicle.
…The oilfield execs probably didn’t allow for a lot of senseless chatter over the two-way radios here, I now speculated. I’d worked on a lot of jobs like that myself.
“Ever drive one of those?” I asked Kendall, sipping my water.
“Not yet but I do have a CDL” Kendall replied.
“What’s a CDL?” Helen asked from the rear seat.
“License to drive big trucks” I answered.
“Do you have one, Tim?” Kendall asked doubtfully.
“Yeah, got an eighty-four, long-hood Pete that your uncle wants to drive,” I said.
“Really, Allen wants to drive it?” Kendall asked, looking over at me.
“He said he did; when we flew Alice Mae down here” I answered.
“When was that? They fly here all the time with Alice Mae.” Kendall asked.