I wondered what she was doing right now…. Writing in her notebook? Practicing the viola? Reading her battered copy of To Kill a Mockingbird?
I was still thinking about it when I heard music in the distance. It sounded like… the Rolling Stones?
Part of me expected to push through the grass and see Link standing there. But as I edged closer to the chorus of “You Can’t Always Get What You Want,” I realized it was the Stones, but it definitely wasn’t Link.
The voice wasn’t bad enough, and too many of the notes were right.
It was a big guy, wearing a faded bandanna tied around his head, and a Harley-Davidson T-shirt with scaly wings across the back. He was sitting at a plastic folding table like the ones the bridge club used back in Gatlin. With his black shades and long beard, he looked like he should be riding an old chopper instead of sitting next to a riverbank.
Except for his lunch. He was spooning something out of a plastic Tupperware container. From where I was, it looked like intestines or human remains. Or…
The biker belched. “Best chili-ghetti this side a the Mississippi.” He shook his head.
Exu cawed and landed on the edge of the folding table. An enormous black dog lying on the ground next to it barked but didn’t bother to get up.
“What’re you doing around here, bird? Unless you’re looking to make a deal, there’s nothing for you here. An’ don’t even think I’m letting you get into my whiskey this time.” The biker shooed Exu off the table. “Go on. Shoo. You tell Abner I’m ready to deal when he’s ready to play.”
As he waved the crow off the table, and Exu disappeared into the blue sky, the biker noticed me standing at the edge of the grass. “You out sightseeing, or are you looking for something?” He tossed the remains of his lunch into a small white Styrofoam cooler and picked up a deck of playing cards.
He nodded my way, shuffling the cards from hand to hand.
I swallowed hard and stepped closer as “Hand of Fate” started playing on the old transistor radio sitting in the dust. I wondered if he listened to anything besides the Rolling Stones, but I wasn’t about to ask. “I’m looking for the River Master.”
The biker laughed, dealing a hand as if someone was sitting on the other side of the table. “River Master. I haven’t heard that one in a while. River Master, Ferryman, Water Runner—I go by a lot of names, kid. But you can call me Charlie. It’s the one I answer to when I feel like answering.”
I couldn’t imagine anyone getting this guy to do anything he didn’t feel like doing. If we were in the Mortal realm, he would probably be a bouncer at a biker bar or a pool hall where people were dragged out for breaking bottles over one another’s heads.
“Nice to meet you… Charlie,” I choked. “I’m Ethan.”
He waved me over. “So what can I do for you, Ethan?”
I walked over to the table, careful to give the giant creature on the ground a wide berth. It looked like a mastiff, with its square face and wrinkled skin. Its tail was bandaged with white gauze.
“Don’t mind old Drag,” he said. “He won’t get up unless you’re carrying some raw meat.” Charlie grinned. “Or unless you are raw meat. Dead meat like you, kid—you’re off the hook.”
Why didn’t that surprise me?
“Drag? What kind of name is that?” I reached out toward the dog.
“Dragon. The kind that breathes fire and chews your hand off if you try to pet him.”
Drag looked at me, growling. I moved my hand back to my pocket.
“I need to cross the river. I brought you these.” I laid the river eyes on the padded card table. It really did look like the ones at the bridge club.
Charlie glanced at the stones, unimpressed. “Good for you. One for the way there, one for the way back. That’s like showin’ a bus driver your bus ticket. Still don’t make me want to get on no bus.”
“It doesn’t?” I swallowed. So much for my plans. Somehow I had thought this was all working out too easily.
Charlie looked me over. “You play blackjack, Ethan? You know, twenty-one?”
I knew what he meant. “Um, not really.” Which wasn’t entirely true. I used to play with Thelma, until she started cheating as badly as the Sisters did at Rummikub.
He pushed my cards toward me, flipping a nine of diamonds on top of the first one. My hand. “You’re a smart boy—I bet you can figure it out.”
I checked my card, a seven. “Hit me.” That’s what Thelma would have said.
Charlie seemed like a risk-taker. If I was right, he probably respected other people who did the same. And what did I have to lose?