He looked up just as I burst from the woods and into the clearing. I pointed my right hand to the left and just started firing. I kept my eye on Augie as I ran toward him. On his face was the look of bewildered surprise. My cover fire brought a brief end to the small-arms fire. It had to have been the surprise and the sound of the Colt firing that caused the cease-fire. I wasn’t aiming at a thing, so I knew it wasn’t the threat of being shot that stopped the men gathered somewhere off to my left.
Then the shooting began again, and I knew this time it was directed at me. I was halfway to Augie and moving fast. My eyes were fixed on him and his on me. When I was maybe six yards from him I tossed the chrome-plated Colt I held in my left hand toward him. It was an underhand throw, and I didn’t bother to see whether it was good or not. I turned my head to the left and saw three points of white light flashing in the darkness. I thought, Three shooters, close together. I aimed and kept squeezing off rounds, but I was still running with everything I had and had no hope of hitting anything.
I squeezed off three more rounds and then the Colt was empty. I looked toward Augie just as he caught the chrome-plated Colt. He gripped it with two hands and popped up from the ditch and peeked his head up from behind the fallen tree and lay down a covering fire for me.
I wasn’t sure if I was close enough, but being upright and out in the open was getting tired fast. I dropped and slid like a runner pushing for home plate. The distance was greater than I had expected, but I had built myself a good momentum and slid as if on ice. I dropped into a small, freshly dug ditch Augie had adopted as his foxhole. I landed hard on my back against the wall of the ditch and came to an abrupt stop.
I dropped the spent clip from the Colt, pulled out another one from my pocket, and slapped it in.
The instant I had cover, Augie dropped back down into the ditch. He lay on his back beside me, the back of his head resting against the fallen tree. I reached into the cargo pocket of the field jacket and removed the remaining two clips. I tossed both to Augie.
There was no time to waste, both Augie and I knew that. Everything was moving fast around us. It was almost as if we were suddenly aware of the Earth rotating at a thousand miles an hour upon its axis. The winds gusted often and caused the trees in the woods around us to twist and tap branches as if crossing swords. The trees hissed, offering covering noise, noise through which we could move.
I pointed to the shotgun that lay beside Augie. He looked at me and nodded. I switched on the safety and stuffed the Colt into my waistband. Augie held his in two hands and readied himself. I looked at him and nodded again. Then we rose up together and turned. Augie lay down suppressing fire and I grabbed the belt of the man laying over the tree. The sound of the .45 firing pounded my eardrums. I yanked the man down into the ditch. The body dropped to the bottom of it, and I dropped down for cover with it. Augie followed right after. He had fired five shots, expending the clip. He kicked it out and slapped another in. We were both even now, one clip apiece.
Very little fire had been returned. Maybe some of the shooters were on the move. The man at the bottom of the ditch was dead, I knew that by the way he fell when I dropped him, like he was just a sack of bones. I searched through his jacket pockets for shells and found only six. I pulled them out, then rolled the body away from us. All dead people looked the same, had the same stiff, surprised look, eyes half-closed. I looked away from the body and loaded as fast as I could five shells into the shotgun. It was a Mossberg with a shortened barrel. I pumped it once, sending a shell up into the chamber and making room for the sixth. I slid the sixth in and then lay the shotgun between us.
I pulled the .45 from my waistband and switched off the safety. Augie and I lay on our backs. I peeked out around the side of the log and saw a hundred feet away an abandoned 1970 Firebird. That was most likely their cover. Before I leaned back I caught a glimpse of Augie’s cane on the ground. Beside it were a shovel and pick. That would be like Frank, I thought, to make a man dig his own grave.
There was no time to wait. Maybe a minute had passed since I had slid into the ditch. The longer we lay there, entrenched, the more time they had to launch an assault, if they hadn’t launched one already. Augie and I had to mount one of our own, quickly. It was our only way out.
I looked at Augie and pointed to my chest, then pointed upward with my index finger and made several circling motions. I ended the round of charades by pointing south, toward the bay. Augie nodded and positioned himself, getting ready to spring up and lay down more cover. I handed him my .45. He looked at me a moment, then took it, stuffing it in the waistband of his jeans at he small of his back. I picked up the shotgun, slid the safety off with my thumb, and worked my way around Augie to the right side of the ditch, the southern side, nearest to the bay. I crouched, ready, then looked back over my shoulder at Augie. He smiled then. I smiled back. Then I nodded once, sharply, and he sprung up and began to click off rounds.
I rolled out of the ditch and down the bank toward the bay. When I was clear and had come to a stop, Augie dropped back down behind the tree. He had fired five rounds. He looked at me and nodded, as if to ask if I was okay. I nodded back, took one last look at him, and then crawled on my stomach till I was far enough down the bank that I was out of sight of the men behind the abandoned Firebird.
Once I was clear I got up and moved in a crouch along the edge of the bay. There was no cover here except for the bank, and I kept my eye on the ridge above and kept the shotgun ready. I expected at any minute to come face to face with one of Frank’s killers. I waited for it to the point where almost I wanted it to happen just to get it over with.
The way I saw it now was that I had no choice but to make my way in a hurried rush around Frank and his men, to flank them and catch them by surprise and kill them if I could. There was no choice at all, and it was this that made me feel the most like an animal.
I moved forward and kept my eye out for the any movement on the top of that ridge. Maybe two minutes had passed since I had caught up with Augie in his trench. All I could hear as I moved through the darkness was my short breathing. It and the lapping of the waves against the shore of the bay were the only sounds in the night. There was no gunfire now, there were no voices, no sounds of movement, nothing. Just the waves and my breathing, each out of sync with the other.
As I moved forward the top of the bank began to sink, and gradually the Firebird came into my sight again. I could see two men crouching by the vehicle’s nose, along the left fender. I looked to see if there was any cover that would allow me a clear line to approach, but there was none. I had come as far as I could go.
I turned and lay against what was left of the bank. My sweat soaked T-shirt sent a chill through my back. I laid the shotgun across my chest and waited. I closed my eyes. All I had wanted was to avoid bloodshed. Maybe two and a half minutes had passed since my arrival, and though I was lying on the bank to gather together what it would take, I could still feel the rushing of things around me, of the elements on the move over which I had no control. I knew nothing of what was going on behind that Firebird, and nothing of what was going on back in Augie’s ditch. I was alone out here. Alone with nothing but the thumping of my heart and a shotgun and the sound of a late November wind rushing past my ears.
I opened my eyes and started to roll onto my stomach. Something told me to look up then. I did, fast, and directly above me on the top of that short bank stood a the shape of a man, his right arm raised and outstretched toward me. In his hand something glinted. I rose onto my knees and leaned back, raising the shotgun. Before I could level it at him the gun in his hand snapped and flashed blue sparks and a crack slapped my ears like a pair of cupped hands. I lost my balance and fell backward. I heard a whizzing sound, like a zipper pulled up fast, and felt a small current of heat move by me. I felt a tug at the collar of my jacket, like it was caught on something. The bullet had missed my neck by less than an inch.
As I fell backward I kept the shot
gun level, and when my back hit the ground I ignored the jolt that rang through me and squeezed the trigger. The gun kicked hard and instantly the smell gunpowder was in my nose. But my aim was too high. The man ducked out of reflex but was still standing, the gun still held in his outstretched arm. Before he could regain his aim I pumped the slide fast and squeezed the trigger, this time taking aim. The gun kicked hard against my ribs and the man on the top of the bank folded and fell dead.
I scurried up to him and took the gun from his hand. I sensed confusion from the Firebird. I was about to climb back down for cover when I saw the man’s face.
I stopped and my mouth dropped open. I didn’t want to believe it. I looked closer to make sure but there was no mistake. It was the man with the limp. I remembered the last thing he had said to me. His words rang in my ears.
I slid to the bottom of the bank, stood, then checked the gun. Its clip was empty. I returned the clip to the weapon and flung it with an overhand though as far out into the bay as I could. The water swallowed it with a thump.
I pumped a new shell into the chamber, then pulled the body down to the bottom of the bank. I knelt by it and looked up at the bank, waiting for more. None came.
I removed as fast as I could the dead man’s coat. It was a Navy surplus pea coat. Every few seconds I would look to the top of the bank, waiting for someone else to show. Once his jacket was off, I removed mine and made my way into his.
I heard voices then, none that I recognized, calling from the Firebird.
“Len. Len. Len. You there?”
I took the shotgun by the grip and rested it over my shoulder like a victorious hunter with his trophy. I climbed up over the bank and limped as fast as I could toward the Firebird. My only real fear then was that Augie would shoot me. But he didn’t fire a shot. I don’t know if he recognized me or was under cover and hadn’t seen me or what. All was quiet except for the wind and the lapping of the waves against the shore. I kept my head down to hide my face and held the trophy up for them all to see. With each step I got closer to the Firebird, closer to them.
It was when I was five feet from them that my worries came alive in my stomach. I knew these men were looking at me. One was even telling me to hurry, calling Len’s name. Theirs were, I thought then, the voices of ordinary men; there was no quality of evil to them, nothing sinister or monstrous.
But they were killers, just like the man with a limp was, and I was wearing his coat and walking straight into their fold.
The minute I reached the front fender I lifted my head. I saw two men and two handguns but no faces. I stepped forward and lowered the shotgun and pressed it to the chest of the nearest man. He looked more surprised at my face than he did at the barrel pushing into his chest. I held the gun with one hand and pulled the trigger. The man crumbled. The shotgun kicked upward and I caught it in my left hand and pumped the slide, then aimed at the other man. He was raising his pistol with the same look of surprise. I pulled the trigger and the gun kicked and the deer slug crushed his chest.
I pumped a new round into the chamber and made a sweep of the area. There was no one else there.
I stood and raised my voice to call out to Augie, but another sound, the shrieking of a girl, filled the night. It sounded too familiar. I looked over the roof of the Firebird and saw that Augie was out of his ditch and standing by the opening to the path. That was why he hadn’t fired at me, I realized. He wasn’t even in the ditch when I made my walk to the Firebird. I heard male voices speaking but could not hear a word of what was being said. I looked into the woods to my right, searching out a route that might bring me around to the path so I could come up behind the man Augie was talking to. But before I could make out any real option I heard Augie’s voice calling my name. It filled the clearing.
“Mac. Mac, come out. Come out.”
I waited for a few seconds, then stepped out from behind the cover of the Firebird.
“Come here,” Augie said.
I waited a moment more, then, the shotgun still in hand, started across the clearing toward him.
The air still smelled of gunpowder. I could taste it, I could feel it on my skin. A blue cloud shifted just above the clearing, moving into the bare trees.
As I got closer to Augie I could see that someone was standing in the clearing, just fifty feet from the opening to the path. Augie was facing him, ten feet away. No one said anything. As I got closer still I began to realize that there was not one person across from Augie but two, one big, one smaller. Their shapes were all I needed to know who they were. The bigger one stood behind the smaller one, holding her, it seemed, by the scruff of her neck. I saw his outstretched hand and the .45 in it.
Frank Gannon had Tina.
Augie held his distance, telling Frank to let Tina go, to leave her out of this. When I was close enough to them I saw that one of Augie’s .45’s was on the ground between him and Frank. I looked at his back and saw the handle of the other .45 pressing against his jacket from the inside.
I looked back at Frank and Tina.
“Frank, what do you think you’re doing?” I said. Frank’s .45 had been aimed at Augie, but now he turned it on me.
“Not so close, MacManus. Stop right there and put the shotgun down.”
I waited, then tossed the gun aside. It landed two yards away from me, on my right hand side, near the woods. I was maybe twenty-five feet away from Frank, too far to rush him cold. Augie was to my left and ahead of me. We were maybe ten feet apart.
I looked at Tina and said, “You should have done what I told you.”
She opened her mouth to speak but Frank wouldn’t let her. He pulled her hair, jerking her head back. For the first time since I’ve known him, Frank looked frantic. His eyes were wide, his face almost white. The hand that held the .45 wasn’t all that steady.
“She came here to save her boyfriend,” Frank said. “You bring out such loyalty in people, MacManus. I’ll never understand why.” He kicked something with his foot. It slid across the ground and came to stop near Augie’s .45.
It was the .380 Ruger I had seen in Augie’s safe. Tina looked at me but didn’t try to say anything. There was nothing to say now. She couldn’t seem to make up her mind whether she was scared or angry. The gun Frank aimed in turn at her father and me frightened her, but Frank’s tugging on her hair was clearly making her mad.
Frank said, smiling, “How’s your shoulder doing, Mac? Healing up nice, I hope.”
I didn’t say anything for a moment. I looked at his eyes. I could see behind them nothing but fear. His smile did little to hide what was so obviously in his heart.
“If only you had the sense to die,” Frank said.
I remembered the smell of the man who had attacked me at Townsend’s cottage. I now knew where I had smelled it before.
“You really don’t want to wear such expensive cologne when you go out killing people,” I told him.
Augie took a step forward. “Let Tina go, Frank,” he said. “Let Mac go, too. This is between you and me. This is all about something that went down a long time ago.”
I looked at Augie for a moment, confused by this. He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, then looked back at Frank. I waited a moment more, then did the same.
“You know I can’t do that, Aug. You know I can’t let you go.”
“You’ve gone too far, Frank. You’ve crossed the line.”
“You got yourself into this, Augie.”
“You sent us there to witness a murder. What did you expect me to do?”
“I didn’t expect you to stick your nose in where it didn’t belong. You’ve always been like that, since we were kids. It always gets you into trouble, and you never learn. You never fucking learn. So don’t come bitching to me.”
“So you’re free of all blame here, Frank?”
“I’ve never been free of blame in my life.”
I took a step forward and said, “You know, somebody must have heard all the shots and
called it in by now, Frank. The cops are probably on their way now.”
Frank smiled and looked at me. He waved me back with his gun. I gave up the steps I had taken. Frank may have been losing his nerve for the first time in his life, but he was still Frank Gannon.
“I’ve taken care of that,” he said. “I’ve instructed them not to respond to any call of gunfire on the reservation. Of course, when I said that I was thinking of the two shots in the back of your head, not all this. But they won’t come, not right away, at least. We’ve got time to do what needs to be done.”
His demeanor said just the opposite. He was almost jittery, and his eyes darted back and forth between Augie and me.
“What did you give them, Frank?” I said. “How much did it take to buy the Chief’s boys? How much per man?”
“Not as much as you’d think. You’d be surprised at how cheaply most men will sell out. But, of course, you don’t know anything about that, do you? Just like your dear old dad.”
Before I could ask Frank what he meant by that, Augie said, “What do you want, Frank?”
“I want things nice and tidy. If I’m going to get out of this alive, I can’t be bothered worrying about certain loose ends.”
“Frank, I’ve known you my whole life. You’ve pulled more than your share of shit. But what did you expect us to do? She was a sixteen-year-old girl for Christ’s sake.”
“It was necessary.”
“She drowned in that pond,” Augie said. “Alone. The last thing she knew before she died was freezing cold and fear. She was trapped in a car, underwater. She must have been crazy with terror.”
Gin Palace 02 - The Bone Orchard Page 19
