Frames Per Second

by Bill Eidson

  McGuire threw Andi against the sliding glass door as soon as they stepped out and screamed out into the darkness. “Right now, Kurt! Get down here right now!”

  Ben started to move and Paulie cocked his gun. “Stay still.”

  “Come on!” McGuire screamed. “I’ll spread her brains and then I’ll do the kids.”

  “Boy’s a nut,” Paulie said. “He’ll do her, too.”

  “Mom!” Lainnie cried.

  “Shut up,” Teri said. Her voice was cold and flat. “Shut your goddamn mouth.”

  Sarah moved up the stairs and put her arms around both kids.

  “Mom!” Lainnie screamed again at the top of her lungs.

  Ben saw McGuire lift the gun and put it right to Andi’s ear.

  Ben made it to his feet before Paulie regained control. He deflected Ben’s grab for the gun with his left arm, stepped in, and cracked Ben behind the ear with the gun butt. Ben fell to his knees.

  Paulie slung him back against the wall and placed his foot on Ben’s chest.

  “Sit still,” Paulie said. “Jimbo’s got a plan. You’ll see.”

  Paulie cocked his head toward the deck, a half smile on his face. “There we go,” he said, abruptly. “Your boy is down.”

  Paulie took his foot off Ben and leaned back against the doorjamb, laughing. “That Reynolds. Guy’s the size of a frigging moose, but he’s a ninja when he wants to be.”

  Ben looked out onto the deck.

  Standing beside Kurt was the big guy with the Hawaiian shirt who had been handling security for McGuire.

  “Fucking Reynolds,” Paulie said. “Fucking Reynolds to the rescue. Jimbo had him waiting up there in the woods to watch out for cops before you ever showed up. Taking out old Kurt was just a phone call away.”

  Kurt was standing there, the notebook computer open in his hands. Reynolds gestured for him to stand beside Andi. He took the computer from Kurt, looked at it briefly, and then smashed it on the deck. He kicked it against the side of the house, and then stomped on it repeatedly, reducing it to a mass of flattened metal and splintered plastic.

  “Oops,” said Paulie. “There goes your picture.”

  Then McGuire went to work on Kurt.

  He was brutally efficient, whipping Kurt across the face with the gun with steady, powerful blows. Once, twice, and a third time.

  Ben saw Kurt’s knees buckle.

  Andi cried out, and tried to help him, but Reynolds grabbed her arm.

  McGuire shoved Kurt’s bloody face against the glass door with the flat of his hand and said, “I’ll know the truth when I hear it. Did you push that button? Did you send that picture?”

  Ben leaned forward. His own vision was clear now, and though his head ached, he was fairly certain he was all right. He stared at Kurt’s face. Trying to divine the truth by looking at him.

  And so when Kurt spoke, Ben slumped back against the stairway even as Paulie chuckled, even as McGuire looked over his shoulder at Reynolds and said, “All right. Well, all right.”

  “No,” Kurt said. “He got to me first.”

  Reynolds shoved Andi into the kitchen, and then pulled Kurt away from McGuire and shoved him in, too. The big man stepped into the hallway and took in all the people watching him.

  Reynolds shook his head. “Jesus Christ, Jimbo. Six people. What a goddamn mess.”

  “I’ve worked it out so far,” McGuire said. “You keep doing what I tell you, we’ll get off clean.”

  Reynolds rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Yeah? This I’ve got to hear.” He took McGuire by the arm and gestured toward the library. “There any more people in there that I need to know about?”

  “No.”

  “Good. Then how about we go in there and you tell me this plan. Your uncle called and said I was supposed to get you out of the shit one last time, but I’m damned if I know how I’m gonna pull it off.”

  CHAPTER 46

  JAKE HAD TO PEE.

  It was crazy, with all that was happening, but there it was. Now that his mom was back sitting beside him, he didn’t want to move. He just wanted to stay with his arms around her.

  But his leg was jiggling.

  When the new guy they called Reynolds came out of the library, he was wearing glasses. He had something in his hand, and it looked familiar. Jake looked at it, his curiosity running parallel to the urge to run up to the bathroom and relieve himself.

  It was his mom’s appointment book.

  Reynolds tipped down his glasses on his nose to read it. Somehow, this made him look nicer, but Jake knew that wasn’t true.

  “I see you have a cleaning lady coming in tomorrow morning, is that right?” he said to Jake’s mom.

  She hesitated, then nodded.

  He made a face.

  “I tell you, right there,” McGuire said, pointing to the picture of Lainnie standing in front of the fireplace with their dad up in Maine. “They’ve got a place up there. Sounds like it’s private. No other cabins within a mile.”

  “Says who?”

  “Says her,” McGuire said, pointing to Lainnie. He grinned. “Back when she was saying that her dad was going to bury me up there once he showed up.” McGuire looked at Jake’s dad, and there was a little smile on his face. He said to Reynolds, “I tell you, it’ll work.’’

  “Huh.” Reynolds looked at the photo closely. He too looked at Jake’s father, and then at Lainnie and Jake. His eyes narrowed. Jake pulled back against the wall, trying to escape his gaze. It was as if the breath was sucked right out of him, being stared at by those cold gray eyes. Still, Jake’s leg jiggled.

  “You got to pee, son?” Reynolds said.

  Jake looked at his mom.

  She nodded.

  “Yeah,” he said.

  “All right,” Reynolds said, sighing. He looked at Jake’s dad again. He didn’t seem to be angry like before. More like he was just thinking.

  “All right,” he repeated. “I can see it. Paulie, take the kid upstairs, and watch him while he takes a piss. Then follow him into his room, see that he packs one bag, and takes the stuff you’d usually take on a vacation. Underwear, socks, shorts, bathing suit, toothbrush, all that shit.” He jerked his chin at Teri. “You do the same with the little girl. You think you can handle her without a weapon?”

  Teri said to McGuire, “Who’s running this, you or him?”

  McGuire said, “He’s just implementing my plan. Do what he tells you. Reynolds’s great at logistics.”

  Reynolds seemed to laugh, like it was to himself. “That’s me,” he said.

  Jake’s bladder felt like it was going to burst. He stood up. “Can I go?”

  “Paulie,” Reynolds said, waving his hand.

  As Jake hurried up the stairs, Reynolds’s voice drifted up: “Lady, show me where the keys are to your van, then go pack for you and hubby. You better hit the head too, because from what I hear, it’s a long drive to your place and we’re not stopping once we get started.”

  * * *

  Jake filled a soft canvas bag. “You heard the man,” Paulie said. “Hurry up. Vacation stuff.”

  Jake felt that he might puke. Now that his bladder wasn’t full, that’s what occupied him next. Would he blow lunch right in his room?

  His mind kept seeing Kurt’s face.

  Jake felt like he should be doing something. Something heroic like the kids he saw in movies. Fighting the guy, or tricking him by locking the door and climbing out the window, running for help.

  But then he would come back to Kurt. The way he was sitting downstairs on the hallway floor, his head down. He was a grown-up and they handled him like he was nothing.

  And then Jake saw the Buck knife his dad had given him the year before last. It was sitting on top of his dresser right behind his digital camera.

  Without giving himself time to think, he swept both into his bag.

  “You about ready there?” Paulie said.

  “Uh-huh.” Jake slung the bag over his shoulder and the
man followed him down the hall to the stairway. Everyone looked up at him as he came down. His mom, his dad. Kurt. Those two men. All looking at him, just a kid, not knowing that he now had a weapon.

  CHAPTER 47

  THE RAIN HAD STOPPED AND THE STARS WERE OUT. PAULIE HAD backed Andi’s van out of the garage, and faced it outward beside McGuire’s car.

  “OK, you take the wife, hubby, and kiddies,” McGuire said to Reynolds. “I’ll take Harris and Ms. Taylor.”

  “You sure?” Reynolds said, as he cut lengths of clothesline with a pocket knife.

  “Yeah.” McGuire stood close to Ben. “Harris knows if he tries something I’ll have you waste his family.”

  “You shouldn’t be using your own car,” Reynolds said.

  McGuire shrugged. “Nobody’s looking for us.”

  “Even so, we stop before we get on One-twenty-eight and pick up a couple new plates for both vehicles. And don’t speed.”

  “Yeah, sure.” McGuire snorted impatiently as Lainnie tore away from Paulie’s hand and ran to Ben, hugging him about the waist. McGuire raised his voice. “Paulie, what is this? Can’t you even control a little girl?”

  “Get over here, kid,” Paulie said, coming up behind Lainnie.

  Ben hugged her back and then said, “Go on, honey. Go to Mommy.”

  “C’mon, C’mon,” McGuire said.

  But Lainnie wouldn’t let go.

  Jake came up alongside. “Daddy,” he said, his voice breaking.

  He threw himself onto Ben, standing just over Lainnie. He hugged Ben with all his might. Ben whispered in his son’s ear, “I’m going to find a way. Just look after your sister.”

  “I will,” Jake said, his voice muffled.

  “I love you so much, buddy.” As Ben said it, he felt his son slide something into his back pocket. He stiffened slightly and Jake held him even tighter, stopping him from reacting further. “I love you,” Jake whispered.

  McGuire pulled both kids away and shoved them to Paulie. “Tie their hands. I’ll take care of Harris.” McGuire spun Ben around and shoved him against his own car and began tying his hands behind his back.

  When he was done, he let Ben turn around.

  Ben looked him in the eye. “What did Reynolds mean in there, ‘I can see it.’ “

  McGuire said, “Nothing.”

  Ben stared at him. And he saw that even McGuire looked a little uncomfortable, and then it came to him. Ben’s voice was a hoarse whisper. “You’re going to make it look like me.”

  McGuire looked at him and then shrugged. “Hey, it makes sense. Ludlow told us about the restraining order they were talking about slapping on you. It’s in the paper all the time, some guy goes nuts. Kills his ex-wife and kids, then offs himself. Only difference is you’ve got your girlfriend along, and they get killed more often than wives.”

  Ben’s knees almost buckled.

  Framed for killing my own family.

  The hell of it was he could see it playing. Had seen it, had come in behind the police to find the bodies splayed about the room like bloody rag dolls.

  Divorced man. An earlier violent incident reported to the police. A restraining order considered, and then dropped. Recently fired then rehired by the new husband.

  Ben saw those women in prison.

  He sagged against the car door.

  McGuire watched the other two men finish tying up Andi and the children. Perhaps some impact of what Ben was feeling sunk into McGuire, enough so that he lifted his shoulders slightly and said, “Hey, you didn’t leave me any choice, following us like that.” He turned away, not waiting for an answer.

  Ben looked over at Kurt. Looking for help, somewhere. Ben’s breath was rushing fast and he thought he might be sick.

  But Kurt’s hands were already bound, and he was looking down at them dully, blood dripping down his face onto his shirt. He looked dazed, out of it. Possibly concussed.

  “Get them in the van.” Reynolds pushed Andi toward the open door. “Get them in and tell them I don’t want to hear a peep the whole way up.”

  Andi looked over at her former husband. “Damn it, Ben,” she said, and then Reynolds pushed her head down, and forced her into the van.

  Ben’s arm swelled and he strained against the rope until it bit deeply into his wrists.

  “Women,” McGuire said, coming back to him. “Always bitching about something, huh?”

  “I’m going to find a way.” Ben stared at McGuire. “I’m going to find a way to get to you.” As he said this, Ben slipped his fingers into his back pocket.

  “Sure you are,” McGuire said. “That’ll provide some entertainment on the long drive up.”

  Ben could feel it then. He kept the exultation from his face, the sudden awareness that a window had opened, if only a crack.

  Jack had slipped him his Buck knife.

  McGuire positioned them inside the big Chrysler: Sarah at the wheel and Ben beside her. McGuire and Teri got in the back.

  “OK, kids,” McGuire said. “We snug up tight. Teri, put your gun behind her ear like this …”

  He showed her on Ben, purposely scraping the sight against the back of Ben’s head. Ben involuntarily pulled away and McGuire swung his arm around his neck and pulled tight. “Like this, nice and close.”

  He said to Sarah, “If you try driving too fast, or screwing with me, I just call the boys sitting outside your house and tell them to go visit your sitter and kid.”

  Sarah took off slowly down the driveway and turned left. “You’ll leave her alone after, right?” she said. “You’ve got no reason.”

  McGuire shrugged. “You don’t give me one, I don’t. She’s just a kid, knows nothing.”

  Ben saw Sarah nod slightly, as if to herself. She drove carefully, following the van.

  They came to the first intersection and turned right. The asphalt gleamed in the headlights, still slick from the rain before. The digital clock on the dashboard showed it to be just after midnight.

  Just before the highway entrance ramp, they came upon a restaurant in a big white colonial building. They followed the van to the back of the lot, and parked near the Dumpster. Reynolds got out and quickly took plates off a black Toyota and a van. He quickly screwed them on to his and McGuire’s vehicles.

  McGuire slid his window down as Reynolds finished.

  “You get the directions from him yet?” Reynolds said.

  “Just follow me north. I’ll get it out of him as we go. I may have to give you a call, prove I mean what I say if he gives me trouble.”

  “You want me to put one of the kids in with you now?” Reynolds reached in and chucked Ben on the back of the head. “What do you think? I gotta put one of them through that?”

  “I’ll tell you,” Ben said. In his mind’s eye, he could see the inside of the cabin. Three steps across the small living area to the master bedroom. Two big steps to the rear closet in the bedroom.

  His shotgun was propped up inside. It had been on display over the mantelpiece for years. But after Jake continued to show interest in shooting it, Ben had put it away.

  It wasn’t loaded. Deer slugs were on the top shelf, God knows how old. But he could see the box, knew it was there.

  Somehow, he’d have to get in there alone, load the shells.

  He said, “Go Route Ninety-five north for about three hours. I’ll show you after that.”

  “That’s it,” Reynolds said, and straightened.

  “Let’s go,” McGuire said.

  Sarah took them onto the highway. Ben tried to turn his vision off, to let the monotony of the rushing yellow stripes, of the lit green signs, quell the fear he felt for his family, for Sarah, for himself. Instead, he focused upon that bedroom and the shotgun.

  Get in.

  Load the gun.

  Problem was it was a double-barreled shotgun. Only two shots before he had to reload. And he had three people that needed shooting. Four, if he had to do Teri Wheeler. But he was fairly certain she wasn’t ar
med.

  Ben opened his eyes. Looked at the dashboard clock.

  He couldn’t see an answer to the reloading problem. Or to the larger question, of whether or not he could actually kill three people, even with all that was at stake.

  He closed his eyes, visualizing the cabin. He told himself that he knew every inch, every board. That he had seen a lifetime of horror and cruelty through his camera lens and surely he had learned something about violence besides despising it.

  He told himself that his father would have found a way.

  As they reached the New Hampshire border, McGuire nudged Ben with the gun. “Hey. Got a question for you. How much did you clip off of Cheever blackmailing him?”

  “Nothing.”

  McGuire shoved the gun at him again. “C’mon, how much?”

  “That wasn’t me.”

  McGuire snorted. “Yeah, bullshit. Bet you didn’t get a dime. Guy was a stubborn bastard, wasn’t he? All the time we were in bed, he put his hands over his ass once he knew who was really putting it to him. Like it made a difference if it was me or if it was Goodhue telling him to sign Stockard up.”

  Ben cleared his throat and said, “Your uncle must’ve been proud. The hoops you made Cheever go through.”

  He waited until McGuire answered before he shifted around as if to hear better. Ben slipped the knife out of his pocket and clasped it in his palm. He closed his eyes and McGuire’s words washed over him. In a sequence of harsh, black-and-white still frames, Ben saw how it had all played out: Jimbo McGuire and Teri Wheeler, playing the high-stake sophisticates—and making brutal mistakes along the way. Ben remembered the cop, Brace’s, words as they sped through the night: Never said they were smart.

  “Sands was working for you?” Sarah asked.

  “Not me,” McGuire said. To Teri, he said, “How about you? Want to tell them?”

  “I want you to shut up,” she said.

  He laughed. “She’s embarrassed,” he said, as if his girlfriend had been inexplicably rude at a cocktail party. “She whipped up Sands. She’s always telling me how connected she is—well, Sands was one of the boys you call to get something done if you’re tied in with the Free America movement.”