A Dredging in Swann

by Tim Garvin

  Squint made a distracted smile. He said, “Only a fool kills hot.” He wheeled and continued toward the generator shed. Behind it stood the scrubber shed and the trench descending the slope toward the tarp-­covered log lagoon. He spoke without looking back, to the sky. “Doesn’t go with the life you think you’re leading, does it?”

  He stopped and turned again.

  Seb stopped beside the trench, keeping a red paddle length between them. He ran his hand under the waist of his Walmart windbreaker. His left hand found the nut on the drawstring. He pulled it, loosening the hem.

  “But it goes with the life you do lead. It goes with the life every weak-ass motherfucker on the planet leads and can’t look in the face. Why are you here?”

  Seb pulled his phone from his pocket. “I found her testament.”

  “Well, that day has come then.”

  Seb said, “I came to make you a deal.”

  Squint swung the paddle into a cane, turned, and walked toward the door of the generator shed. He cranked it open, reached the paddle inside, and propped it against the wall.

  Seb dropped the phone and snatched at the windbreaker hem, but it snagged on the holster bottom. He tore it free and drew the nine millimeter, thumbing the safety as it came up, seeing the lever action rifle in Squint’s hand now, seeing him bring it fast to his shoulder. He dropped to the grass as Squint fired. He brought up the pistol with two hands and fired twice. Squint ran sideways, levering the rifle. As the rifle came up again, Seb fired again, then rolled. Then his chest was in midair, and he twisted onto his back, preparing for the drop, heard the rifle shot, and felt a bullet pluck through his calf. He dropped eight feet and landed on the small of his back in the mud, his pistol held aloft with both hands. He lay for a moment, his eyes flicking around the perimeter of the trench. He needed to be at the deep end where the pipes descended, his back to the trench wall, the scrubber shed directly above, where there was no place for a man to appear and aim. Which Squint might anticipate. And it didn’t really matter. From anywhere on the perimeter, Squint could peek Seb’s position, then fire without exposing himself.

  Seb sat up slowly, letting the mud reluctantly un-cling from his windbreaker, like a slow-motion dream, only the monster was not chasing him but had found him and was above him, anywhere at any instant on the perimeter. He sat, scanning and listening. He drew his feet toward his thighs, hunched forward, and with a single lurch was able to stand without releasing the pistol. He felt a stab of pain, saw the bloody blotch on the front of his tan pants. He pulled the leg free and stepped. Pain surged, but the leg held his weight. He slogged to the end of the trench, put his back against the pipes, pistol raised, his eyes continuing to flick around the perimeter. His calf throbbed. Against the cool of the mud, he felt the warmth of blood pooling around his ankle.

  His position was hopeless.

  He heard a scrap, heard the door of a shed close. He shouted, “Did I hit you?”

  Squint’s voice came from above him, close. “I’m afraid you did not.”

  “I told you I came to make you a deal, Squint. I can’t make it if you kill me.”

  Seb heard a clack above him, raised the pistol and without taking the time to turn and look, fired twice directly overhead, then glanced up and saw the red oar clatter against the pipes two feet above him. The oar withdrew. Then he saw the valve, saw that one of his bullets had struck the swollen brass. The center pipe at his feet began to spew noisily into the muddy water.

  Squint said, “I was fixing to turn on the gas, Seb. Looks like it’s on now. I can hear it bubbling.”

  Seb said, “No one is going to think I fell in and shot the valve.”

  “I can change the valve. I believe I’ll sink you in the lagoon anyway.”

  Seb smelled the acrid odor of rotten eggs, strong, then weak, then strong. He said, “You’re going to want to hear this deal.”

  “I can’t deal, Seb. I’m sorry about it.” The voice had moved from the pipe end, was farther away and moving.

  Seb said, “Cody needs a deal even if you don’t.”

  There was a silence. Squint said, “All right, explain that.” The voice was at the opposite end of the trench now. Seb leveled the pistol, aiming just above the perimeter where a man might peek.

  “You heard about those choppers that crashed?”

  “I did.”

  “If you’d been to town recently you’d have seen a bunch of federal investigators out and about.”

  “Go ahead.”

  Seb said, “The choppers crashed because one of them dropped a load out of its belly net and turned around and hit the other one. What they dropped was a trailer full of Stinger missiles. They dropped in a creek right in front of Cody’s camp, and he found them and took them and has got them buried somewhere. If they get him, he’s gone for good. So that’s the deal. You confess and save us the trouble of a trial, and I’ll let him slide.”

  Squint said, “How do you know he’s got them?”

  “I saw that tent on the video and figured it out. Then I went to talk to him. The feds will be up with him pretty soon, because they found where he’s been digging flytraps, and he’s got a record for it.”

  There was silence above him.

  Seb said, “What do you think?”

  There was another silence, longer. Then Squint said, “So what’s the deal again?”

  “I let him go. And you confess.”

  “You smell that gas yet?”

  “I smell it.”

  Squint appeared at the edge of the hole opposite Seb, the rifle cradled. He said, “You’re bleeding.”

  Seb lowered the pistol. He said, “It’s through and through. No bone.”

  Squint said, “Can you climb?”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Come up here to the shallow end, and I’ll hoist you.”

  As Seb came forward, Squint uncradled the rifle and extended the barrel into the trench.

  Seb said, “You got that on safe?”

  “I do.”

  Seb holstered his pistol and seized the barrel with both hands. Squint pulled him from the hole with one powerful lift.

  Seb said, “You want to hand me that rifle?”

  “Not yet. Sit down and take a look at your wound.”

  Seb helped himself onto the grass with his hands. He pulled the muddy windbreaker over his head and drew up his filthy cuff. The hole was leaking but not pulsing.

  Squint said, “Metal jacket. You’re good.” He sat crossed-legged on the grass, the rifle on his lap. He said, “You got her letter on you?”

  Seb lifted his phone from the grass where he had dropped it. “It’s on my phone.”

  “Where’d you find it?”

  “Leo sent it to his wife.”

  “I figured a copy might be out there. But I didn’t know who to strangle for it. I might could get out from under it. The thoughts of an old lady getting me back for fouling her creek. I wonder would a court hear it.”

  “Maybe not.”

  “Ah, well. The world is a vicious coward, Seb. Vicious to the bone and a coward to see it. The motherfuckers sent us to war where we killed our brothers like Cain. I know you killed, but I killed over twenty. I killed kiddos, and I killed women. And they raised me up for it, gave me the Silver Star. They said, strut on, big dog. You didn’t kill Jorge. He had to go. And I liked him.”

  Seb waited.

  “Pull out your phone. I want you to read her letter.”

  Seb removed the phone from his front pocket and woke it.

  Squint said, “I loved that woman. I called it love anyway. She was a mile from me all the years, and I never could love my wife, which I think gave her cancer. Germaine could look at you and take you right inside her. Not just her body now. But God’s at the bottom of the cesspool, says Seb Creek. Could be! Life did
not open its secrets to me. Read that letter. Read it well, if you don’t mind.”

  Seb read, “Dear Mr. Sackler. I have thought long about how to compose this letter. I am quite ill and hope I have not waited too long. I will get the facts out at least. I would also like to express my state of mind and heart, which I assure you I recognize and scorn as a selfish need. Your fate was to be imprisoned for forty-eight years for a crime you did not commit, plucked from a carefree life. My fate was to cause it and know it and live a coward. Here are the facts. As a girl, I recognized my beauty and its power and was first a precocious flirt and soon a wanton. I could blame the freedom of the age, but the truth is that I enjoyed men and took my pleasure there. When Rufus Cooper, known as Squint, came home on leave from Viet Nam a celebrated hero, I pursued him, and we began an affair. I soon tired of him and began to return the attentions of our neighbor, Hugh Britt. The night of the murder, I arranged an assignation with Hugh, and Squint followed me to Hugh’s boathouse where he found us in a state of nature. He flew into a rage, knocked me down, then took the axe from the wall, and killed Hugh before my eyes. Then he ran away and a few days later was back in Viet Nam. I have many times tried to recapture my state at that moment and have not very well succeeded. I was numb, terrified, and desperate. I took the axe and rinsed it in the water below the dock as if that might somehow conceal the crime and my involvement. Then I ran down Twice Mile Road to my home where I lifted away a board on the cover of an old well and threw the axe in. When you were arrested, I remained silent. I confess to you that I was relieved. I sometimes wonder if you had been sentenced to death whether I would have come forward. I take no comfort in thinking that I may have. I take no comfort anywhere, and never have, since the night of that murder. If you are vengeful, you could not wish me punished more severely than I have been. I acted for my reputation, and both our lives were wasted, and I am the cause. I have lived these long years walled in a prison as real as your own. I do not impose on you by asking your forgiveness, but if we meet again in the world to come I fervently hope it will be in a state where our earthly wrappings and desires will have fallen away to dust. The well is located on the left side of the house facing the inlet. It is thirty feet or so from the log wall and is ringed in brick. My father later filled it in. I was responsible for the anonymous amounts deposited in your prison account. I would have sent a thousand but did not want to create newsworthy attention. The lucidity of my writing should testify to my healthy state of mind. Your legal ordeal is over, but this document should be of some use for your reputation.”

  Seb looked up. He said, “And her large beautiful signature. Germaine Evelyn Ford.”

  “Can’t you see why I was captivated?”

  “She must have been quite a woman.”

  “She could swallow you whole. Hell, I was a farm boy. I didn’t have no business with a girl like that, and I knew it. But the government made me a hero, and here she come. She figured me out pretty quick. She did like my war stories though. I believe sex and death are connected to the same appetite. Turn on your recorder.”

  Seb opened the recording app.

  Squint said, “I’m glad not to kill you. I about got sick of it after Jorge. Ready?”

  Seb nodded.

  Squint said, “This is Squint Cooper of Cooper Farms on Twice Mile Road. I’m sitting here with Seb Creek, who is present and a witness. I confess that I killed Leo Sackler and Jorge Navalino, and also I killed Hugh Britt. Now I’m going to tell a few details. You had the main of it, Seb. Did you find that axe, by the way?”

  “We found it yesterday.”

  “He was fucking her from behind, standing up. Oh, lord, that did for me. I smacked her down, then took that axe off the wall and put it right in his forehead. Down he went, and I hit him again for spite and hatred. She never made a peep. I believe she was waiting for me to kill her. I ran off and figured, well, that’s the end of me. I killed my way to the end. I never spoke to her in my life again, not even when she sued me for spilling hog shit into her creek. I did go back to the boathouse later that night, when I calmed down. I started thinking, her word against mine. I’ll deny everything, except I left the axe with my fingerprints on it, and I needed to get that and wipe it off. The axe was gone, so I took an axe out of my truck, dipped it in the blood, and threw it off the dock. Wearing gloves. And they did find it and draw conclusions. I saw footprints in the blood and on the dock, which I thought was Germaine. But it was Leo. When they arrested him, I thought, fuck it, I’m a free man. When my dad bought this place, first thing I did was start a lantern fire in that boathouse and burn it to the ground. On to the present day. Detective Seb Creek, you have been accurate in your conclusions. It was DeWitt with the mustache that alerted me to the fact that Leo Sackler, ex-con, newly released, was digging out a well on his property. I drew conclusions, which was, Germaine left a note telling him where the axe was and probably told him everything else to boot. So I took the van, and there he was, coming up with a bucket of dirt. I gave the ladder a shake, and you could hear the bone crack when he fell. He was dangling upside down in bad agony. I told him who I was, and I know it was like hell had opened up on him. Can’t you imagine his state of mind? Out of jail, set for life, digging for the truth, and he stirs up the devil himself, gazing down without mercy. I made a lasso and told him to put it around his waist, and I’d pull him up. He started fumbling with it, and I snagged him. I hauled him up on his tiptoes and pulled the ladder up. I made him tell me the story, which he did. He told me everything, including where the letter was, in that metal box. I’ll tell you a peculiar trait of the human mind. I wanted that letter halfway to protect myself, but a good deal just to see what she said about me. Just when you read it, I suffered again. Her entire remark about me was that she quickly lost interest. I took all those papers and photos in there too, just in case. I burned those, but that letter, I wired that motherfucker to a rebar and threw it in the hog shit along with his phone. Of course, when you think of it, she let that man go to jail for the sake of her reputation. So probably she wasn’t worth much, which I take some consolation there. When I got back to the well, he was dead. On his way anyway. I hauled him up and tied him off. Jorge was dead exactly then. That was a had-to-happen. That fairly much soured me on killing. If it hadn’t, I might have looked around for his kin. Leo swore he hadn’t sent a copy on, but I knew he might have. What else?”

  “How’d you kill Jorge?”

  “The way you guessed. I turned on the gas, then borrowed his phone and tossed it in the ditch. I said, Jorge, I dropped your phone. And down he went like a good chap, which he was. Now answer this, Seb. Why do you want me? Revenge don’t pay no bills. Why seize me up and throw me in jail, maybe execute me? I’m done killing. Don’t say it’s your job, or I’ll fucking shoot you.”

  “I don’t know, Squint. I guess if I knew what justice was, I would know something.”

  Squint said, “Cut the recorder.”

  Seb closed the recording app.

  Squint said, “Cody’s free?”

  “I’m not going to catch him. They might.”

  “You took a chance.”

  “I did.”

  “Thank you for that.”

  Squint stood, offered his hand, and pulled Seb to his feet. He said, “Tell Cody I thought of him. Tell Charlene too.”

  He held Seb’s hand for a long moment. He said, “God’s at the bottom, says Seb Creek. We’ll see.”

  He went to the edge of the trench, sat down, and dropped in.

  Justice, If There Is Any

  The minister was black clad and tall and stood alone in the white chancel like an exclamation mark. He had read briefly from a text, and now lay the book on the pulpit, folded his hands, then let them fall, a gesture, Seb thought, expressing both reverence and relief. There were no pallbearers. The minister removed his reading glasses, glanced to the side, and made a faint nod. Two men in
white shirts and ties emerged and wheeled the coffin into a side room. Cody and Charlene stood and made their way down the chapel aisle.

  Seb, who had seated himself in the rearmost pew, rose to greet them. He took Charlene’s offered hand.

  She said, “You saw he didn’t mention heaven.”

  Seb said, “I guess he didn’t.”

  “I don’t mind. It’s nobody’s business anyway.”

  Seb offered his hand to Cody who took it, looked away, then looked directly into Seb’s eyes. “Hi, Mr. Creek.”

  “Good morning, Cody.”

  Charlene said, “Did you bring them?”

  “They’re in my car.”

  She said, “They’re bringing the coffin out to the gravesite. We’ll meet you there.”

  Seb said, “Okay. Cody, take a walk with me, will you?”

  Cody said, “Sure.”

  Charlene said, “The grave’s way over to the right.”

  Seb said, “There’s half a dozen photographers out there. I told them to stay back, but they brought their football lenses.”

  “I could care less.”

  Seb, with Cody a half step behind, started along the sidewalk that led to the parking lot. Seb slowed, and Cody came alongside. Seb said, “They pick you up?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “How did you do?”

  “Pretty good, I guess. Here I am.”

  “How long did they keep you?”

  “Just an hour about. Looked like they had a bunch of guys they were talking to. They had a whole waiting room full.”

  “They might call you back.”

  “I’ll just tell them what I told them. I don’t do flytraps anymore.”

  They had reached Seb’s Honda. Seb opened the back door and removed the tin Phineas Brothers tobacco box. They started back toward the cemetery.

  When they reached the cemetery entrance, Seb stopped. He said, “You know, when you think about it, you owe me big-time.”