Shooter Galloway

by Roy F. Chandler

  She turned to her slippery-looking attorney. “We will have to go up to The Notch and see for ourselves, LeRoy.”

  Grouse swore to himself, but responded smoothly.

  “That would certainly be the best thing to do, Mrs. Cuthbert.” He shook his head in apparent exasperation. “We will have to hope that Gabriel will be at home. His promise to be there cannot be counted on, and Mrs. Showalter can only do her best to control him.”

  Grouse examined his appointment book. “Of course, your visit should be in my presence.” He made himself appear embarrassed. “Agreed, counselor?”

  Leroy Bowman was not so sure. “Mrs. Cuthbert is the boy’s mother, Mister Grouse. There are no decisions barring her from seeing her son at any time.”

  Grouse loved it. “Oh, I am not concerned in a legal sense, counselor. I am concerned about the boy’s actions. He is not a steady youth, and—well, he at least knows me, and . . .” Grouse held his palms up in expressive resignation.

  Grouse again glanced at his day’s schedule. “Perhaps we could meet at the Galloway place say at, one o’clock this afternoon? I can be there by then, and you would not be delayed in deciding your next step.” He smiled disarmingly.

  There was agreement, and the New Yorkers departed. Grouse sighed in relief, but did not waste time. He speed-dialed the Galloway number.

  “Mrs. Showalter? Dan Grouse here. Is Shooter handy? I need to speak with you both right away. It is very important, Emma.”

  He waited while the old lady called for the boy. Damn, this would be hard to pull off. It would all be up to Shooter, the eleven year old. Grouse groaned to himself.

  “Shooter, do you have a second phone in the house? I need to speak to both of you at once.” Grouse waited for one or the other to reach a bedroom phone.

  Both on, Grouse began. “Shooter, your mother is here. She will be heading your way and could arrive within the next hour and a half.”

  Grouse cleared his throat. “Now Gabriel, I have to know, for absolute certain, whether or not you want to go to New York with your mother. Tell me now and do not be doubtful. Yes, or no?” Grouse held his breath.

  Shooter said, “I do not want to go with my mother anywhere, Mister Grouse. I want to go out west with my Uncle Mop, and I really want to go to military school starting in September.”

  The boy’s voice allowed no doubt, and Grouse felt his hopes rise. Shooter was steady and maybe, just maybe, he could pull it off.

  Emma Showalter said, “He should not go with Gloria, Mister Grouse. She will never be a good mother, and Gabriel should be allowed to grow as his Daddy planned.”

  Grouse said, “Alright, we are agreed, then.”

  The lawyer again gathered his thoughts. “If Gloria wishes to have her son with her, the law will allow it no matter what we say, so we have to practice some very clever maneuvering.

  “What you have to do, Shooter, is convince your mother that the last thing she wants is to have a rotten kid like you underfoot for the next dozen years or so.”

  The lawyer listened to Emma Showalter’s vociferous exceptions to his description. When she ran down, he continued.

  “I agree with all of those good things you say about Gabriel, Emma, which is why you must not be anywhere around Mrs. Gloria Cuthbert.

  “Your job will be to help Shooter get ready to be the worst you can imagine but not linger more than the next thirty minutes. Then you must go to your own home and not return until either Shooter or I call you.

  “That is important, Emma. Shooter has to do this on his own, and there must be no confusion or misplaced claiming about what a good boy Gabriel is. We’ve got to create a rotten kid within the next hour, and it had better be believable or Gloria will drag Gabriel off to New York, and there won’t be any Uncle Mop or Carson Long.”

  Grouse hoped they both got the message. He explained what each was to do and both had ideas that put useful meat on his scheme.

  Grouse hung up wondering how his colleagues would look upon his deceptions. They would fry him in court and among themselves. Dan Grouse didn’t care. His intended actions could be reviled on legal principles as well as being just plain not his business, but Dan knew why Bob Galloway had come to him and why they had worked hard to seal all of the loopholes. Grouse had a job to do, and that task was to have Gabriel Galloway live as his father had wished. What was a bit of deception compared to that calling?

  Grouse headed for his car. He knew the short ways, and he would reach the valley before Bowman and Gloria, but he would let them pass, and he would not arrive at the house until Shooter had time to establish his worst impression. Not too far behind, though. Shooter’s planning could not be deep, and Attorney Bowman might have an especially suspicious mind.

  Grouse thought about that as he drove. On the other hand, about the last thing Bowman would desire would be a bratty kid accompanying them to New York.

  Grouse smiled to himself, and if he were right in his speculations, Bowman might really hate the idea of an eleven-year-old delinquent landing smack in the middle of whatever personal relationship he had with Gloria Cuthbert. Grouse grinned to himself. It could be that Bowman might be his best ally.

  Attorney Leroy Bowman said, “You had better think real hard about bringing that boy home, Gloria.” Bowman could be clear when expressing his thoughts.

  “Even if he was the best kid in town you’d find him a lot of extra work and one hell of an expense. You got any idea what it costs to raise kids these days? Why . . .”

  “I know Leroy. I just want to make sure.” She considered silently for a minute. “There are a few things I would like to have, if they are still around that house.”

  Bowman sounded disgruntled. “Well, it better not be furniture. We’ve no room for packing an old desk or something, and you haven’t room for any more furniture in your apartment, anyway.

  “What you’ve got to keep in mind is that your ex-husband and that lawyer went to a lot of trouble getting ready for this. You wouldn’t believe all that is in that file.”

  “Like what, Leroy? I do not have a police record or anything else against my good name.”

  “Well, they gathered affidavits from people who knew you back then that say you were flighty and especially wasteful.”

  “A bunch of old hicks gossiping would make little difference, Leroy.”

  “True, but there is a lot of other stuff that didn’t just happen by. There are affidavits explaining what a sterling character the uncle is, and . . .”

  “So what? He will have no standing, will he?”

  “No, he won’t, but I am just pointing out that they prepared as solid a case as was possible, and I can’t see any way that you can ever get a cent of what Bob Galloway left.

  “What I am trying to get across is that you will raise a kid for the next fifteen years, maybe longer, but you won’t get a penny back—ever. I think you ought to give that a lot of thought.”

  Reaching The Notch required a pleasant hour’s drive through a number of small villages and past the slanting fields bordered by thickly wooded ridges. Although the larger timber was long gone to the sawmills, the hills were as handsome as ever with younger third and fourth growth forests. The valley narrowed and seemed about to run out before Gloria pointed them into dirt parking before a worn down old house. She said, “This is it.”

  Bowman was again clear, “What a dump!” There was a boy sitting on the front porch. “That Gabriel?”

  Gloria was not sure. “Has to be.”

  The place was a dump. They clumped up the gravel drive, and a heel turned on the rough going. Bowman kicked an empty beer bottle off the lowest porch step, and Gloria’s heels clacked on the worn porch flooring.

  Gabriel, she guessed it must be him, tossed a cigarette into the yard and belched loudly. His voice was petulant.

  “So, who’re you people? The murder was back down the road a half-mile. Seems like nobody can find the place.”

  Gloria put her best face
on it. “Why Gabriel, I’m your mother, and I have come to see you.” Then she waited.

  The boy was also a mess. He wore dirty socks with holes in them. A pair of battered sneakers was tossed nearby, and as her eyes roamed, she realized that her son’s fly was gaping and he was holding a half-full beer bottle.

  Gabriel scratched at his ribs and turned cold eyes on the man.

  “And who are you, the salesman?”

  God, Bowman wanted to slap him. “No, I am Mrs. Cuthbert’s attorney.”

  There was a short, uncomfortable silence before the boy said, “So, what do you want here?”

  Gloria made her sigh exasperated. “There is no need to be unpleasant, Gabriel. We are here to make sure that you are going to be all right. We’ve talked with your attorney, and . . .”

  “Yeah, Grouse called. Said he was coming up. Told the old lady helping out that he was coming, but didn’t say why.” The cold and blank eyes met Gloria’s. “So, what do you want?” The boy took a swallow from the beer bottle.

  Bowman said, “Your mother is simply making sure that you are being taken care of. Your father . . . “

  The boy stood up, stretched and, carrying his beer, walked into the house leaving them standing on the porch.

  Bowman snarled, “Damn it,” and they followed into the living room.

  It was worse inside. Newspapers were strewn about, and there were more empty beer bottles. Gabriel settled into a worn overstuffed chair, but Gloria walked on through. She had come to see and perhaps to acquire, if what she knew about was still in place.

  The sink was filled with dirty dishes, and a tray of ice cubes was melting on the kitchen table. The bedrooms were worse with unmade beds and clothing dumped in corners. The single bathroom was unspeakable smelling of urine with the toilet seat up and used paper in the bowl.

  She heard Bowman talking to Gabriel and wasted no time. She heaved on the corner of the movable sideboard exposing Bob Galloway’s bunker, but the hollow was empty. There were no guns, no boxes of junk—nothing.

  She twisted a divider in the crudely carpentered loading bench and it came away in her hand. Nothing! Simply nothing. Bob had inherited a bag of gold coins. There were dozens of old coins, and the odds were that some of them would be quite valuable.

  Gabriel’s voice came almost in her ear, and she could smell the beer on his breath. “Nothin’ left in there. Dad got rid of everything more than a year ago.”

  Gloria was sure she heard laughter in his voice as he said, “I expect you’re looking for the gold, but it went along with everything else. If it hadn’t, I’d of spent it myself a long time ago.”

  Through her frustration, Gloria heard tires grind outside, and the boy walked toward the front door.

  Bowman intercepted her. “Well?” Gloria irritably waved him silent.

  Grouse stepped onto the porch. “Hello, Gabriel.”

  “Look, I’m out of everything around here. You bring any money? We’ve got to eat, you know.” Gabriel’s voice was annoyingly whiny and even knowing it was an act, the lawyer felt his hackles rise.

  “I brought money. Where is Mrs. Showalter?”

  “She went up to her place. I’ll give it to her.”

  “Not likely, Gabriel. I can see where the money is going.” His gesture took in the empty beer bottles.

  “It’s my money, Grouse, not yours.” Gabriel’s thoughts seemed to turn.

  “When’s Mop getting here, anyway? I’m sick of waiting. He coming to the funeral tomorrow? Any of you coming to the funeral?” His upper lip curled, and Dan Grouse suspected the boy’s feelings at this instant were genuine.

  Gloria said, “Well, I can see that we are not welcome here.” She turned to Grouse. “If Gabriel is in need, you have my address.” Almost defiantly, she turned to her son. “Good bye, Gabriel. I hope everything turns out well for you.”

  The boy raised a limp hand. “Yeah, I’ll be in touch.” Bowman took her arm, and they headed for their car.

  Grouse hurried for a final handshake and defining words. Gabriel resumed his porch seat and swigged from his bottle.

  Gloria’s decision was obvious, and Grouse was congratulating himself as she got seated and her safety belt fastened. Then, Sheriff Sonny Brunner’s car swung in and pulled alongside. Damn it!

  Sheriff Brunner slid from behind the wheel and adjusted his gun belt. He stuck out a hand for shaking by Grouse and immediately recognized Gloria . . . whatever her name was now. Brunner touched his cap brim and said, “Gloria.”

  Gabriel’s mother said, “Sonny,” and introduced her attorney who fidgeted behind the wheel. Brunner judged that both were anxious to get away, but Gloria asked, “What brings you out here, Sonny?”

  Brunner said, “There was a killing down at Ferdy’s the same day Bob died. I’m doing a little investigating.” He turned to Gabriel who had moved to the porch edge.

  “Shooter.” His eyes turned hard as he saw the beer in the boy’s hand.

  Gabriel nodded and turned away. Brunner thought he sort of staggered into the house. Damnation.

  Shooter Galloway thought he was going to be sick. The sheriff suspected him. Why else would he mention Box Elder’s killing and glare at him that way. Gabriel felt his knees buckle, and his guts went into a knot. He got off the porch fast before he gave himself away.

  Moments later, his mother was gone, and Dan Grouse and the sheriff came in. The lawyer was hugely pleased, but Sheriff Brunner was scowling. Shooter Galloway braced himself to deny, deny, deny. He had been in bed, asleep, and that was that.

  Grouse said, “Damn, Shooter, that was perfect. You did it. She won’t be back.”

  Brunner asked, “What?”

  Grouse was in a bragging mood. “Shooter was convincing his mother that she should not take him to New York to live, and he really made his point.” Grouse was elated. “Look at this place. And the beer, that was perfect, Shooter.” He laughed again. “Zip up your fly. You were so obnoxious you were making me mad.”

  Gabriel complied, “Do you think they are gone for good, Mister Grouse?”

  “They won’t even be looking back, Gabriel.”

  Brunner said, “That’s why you had that beer bottle?”

  Gabriel said, “Yep, and I even drank some of it.”

  “You going to drink more?”

  “Not me, sheriff. The stuff tastes awful.”

  Brunner smiled. “Well, you had me going for a minute or two there, Shooter. I thought maybe I would have to arrest you for underage drinking, but I guess this was a special case.”

  A huge load left Shooter’s shoulders. The beer had set the sheriff off, not a suspicion of murder. Shooter guessed there was something to learn there, and it might be not to jump to conclusions too quickly. He could see how a guilty conscience could make a man do that.

  He and Mrs. Showalter had really messed the place up. He had dug every beer bottle out of their recycling bin, and he had managed to pee twice in the toilet spraying a little wildly around the bowl edges. The cigarette was a tossed-away butt he found in the yard. There were a lot of them left by the crowd that appeared the morning after his dad went off the mountain. He lit the half-smoked butt with a kitchen match they used for the fireplace just as his mother had wheeled in, and he just let it hang from the corner of his mouth until he was sure she had seen it. Shooter thought the flick into the yard was a nice move.

  Lugging everything from the bunker and hiding it in the woods had taken the longest. Shooter hoped his dad had seen his mother going for the gold bag and was laughing as hard as he had.

  Shooter hoped nobody else knew about the bunker. Dan Grouse didn’t know, and he had been around about as much as anyone. Shooter planned on leaving everything in there until he got some bigger and a lot more ready. Then he would have use for the stuff that might be hard to get later on.

  As they crossed the mountain, Bowman said, “My God, Gloria, do you suppose that boy is involved in a murder on top of everything else?”

/>   Gloria Cuthbert frowned. “That is practically what Sonny Brunner said, Leroy. Good God, you don’t suppose he killed someone, do you?”

  She thought for a moment. “Did you see his eyes, Leroy? Gabriel has the coldest eyes I have ever seen. No feeling at all in them.” She shuddered a little.

  “I don’t suppose that I could be involved in any way?” Her words were a question, but Bowman let it ride. Let her worry, and she would be less likely to return to any of it.

  A mile later, Gloria said, “Well, there is no way I am going to invite Gabriel to come with us, not even for vacations. He will fit right in with that disgusting Mop Galloway.”