Dead On

by Robert W. Walker

  “There’s Millie, our youngest recruit, Jasper Wilson, and Sheriff Rennebow, and then there’s me, but at the moment two of us are out sick. For any more fire power, you gotta call in the State Pa-troopers.” Tim laughed lightly and explained to Kat, “I just like to fun those guys and call’em Pa-troopers.

  Kat, extending his lemonade, politely laughed back.

  “So you’re all just up here from Atlanta and Marietta on holiday, heh?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Must’ve been one of those kids foolin’ round on the phone then, huh?”

  “That’d be my guess,” put in Carl a bit too quickly.

  “You know how kids can be,” added Nora. “My own kids, they don’t get their way, they’re going to call in CPS.”

  “CPS, ma’am?”

  “We call it Child Protective Services in Atlanta, Tim,” explained Marcus.

  “Oh, yeah, I see. Well from the look of those two playin’ in the lake, I sure don’t see any need to worry about their well being, do I, Marc…not with you here.”

  “Too true,” said Kat, toasting with her glass of lemonade. “Marc is the man.”

  “Marc, even as a kid, he’d get so damned steamed whenever he thought anyone of us was getting the shaft or short-changed or just plain being made the victim. Hot headed. Hated an injustice.”

  “He’s not changed a bit then,” said Kat, smiling wide.

  “I’m going to be unpopular,” piped up Nora, climbing from her chair and looking at her watch, “but I think those kids’ve been in the water long enough. Carl, come help me fetch ’em, will you?”

  “Awl’right,” muttered Carl, following her off the deck and down to the water’s edge.

  “Marcus, you would tell me if there was something unusual going on, wouldn’t you? Seem to recall last time I heard your name it was in connection with that renegade spree killer, Iden Cantu. You got something new on him, maybe? Be a hell of a case to crack, to bring that bastard to heel. You don’t think for a moment he’s in these woods, do you?”

  “Not for a moment, and Tim, I’ve tried now for years to put that all behind me.”

  “Sorry…sure, I can see why you’d wanna do that.”

  Marcus knew at that instant that he’d not put anything over on the country deputy. He sat silent.

  Tim added, “Heard the APD failed to stand back of you.”

  “Afraid that particular rumor’s true.”

  “Got that one from the Atlanta Constitution, my friend.”

  “Don’t you believe everything you read in the papers?”

  Tim laughed. “Me…I’m the sort who doesn’t just see Scooter Libby’s face on the front page, but what’s behind that smugness.”

  Marcus nodded. “He does look like the cat that swallowed the canary.”

  “A smile that says he knows where the bodies lie.”

  “And the smoking gun.”

  “The fix was in from the start on that one.”

  You two going to talk politics? I wanna hear more about Lil’ Marcus here, not Lil’ Bush.”

  Marcus waved her down. “No one wants to trip down that path.”

  “Thought about looking you up a hundred times after all that crap they printed about you in the papers, Marcus. I always knew better.”

  “Coulda used your support—back then, Tim.”

  Their eyes locked. “But it’s old history now, eh?”

  “Very old,” he lied. “In fact, during the entire episode, I was reminded of every other country western song—how friends desert you and hurt you. Not you, Tim. You weren’t in the picture.”

  “I know how others will distance themselves from you. Painful.”

  “Most people don’t have the first clue how to deal with illness,” Kat apologetically said.

  “Seems especially so if you suffer any form of depression,” Marcus managed to say.

  “Even a lot of medical professionals prefer dealing with a physical illness over a mental one,” Kat assured him. “Sad thing is the biases that are only fueled by the practices of insurance companies and MO’s.”

  “I shoulda found you, looked you up,” said Tim.

  “Nahhh, you hate Atlanta.”

  “Hate big cities,” Grimes agreed. “They give me the hives! Besides, you know how short-handed we are here, and how a body gets in a rut.”

  “’Specially Georgians, hey, Tim?” Marcus made light of it while thinking, Absolutely could’ve used a friend; they’re still hard to find.”

  “Maybe I can make it up to you this weekend,” suggested Grimes.

  “This weekend? Make it up? No…I mean, no need.”

  “Come on, Marc. Be like old times! We’ll hunt up a blue streak in these woods.”

  They’d been in junior high when each had first taken up hunting.

  “Did enough of the woodsy thing in the marines, buddy.”

  “Why didn’t we enlist together, Marc?”

  “You wanted the damn navy, remember?”

  “No, you waned the damn marines.”

  Again their laughter came easy. Katrina had not heard Marcus laugh so freely before. She felt glad for him at this moment.

  Tim turned to her. “You’ve done wonders with this serious and grave character.”

  “I’ve tried.” She went along with the ruse of being Marcus’s ‘squeeze’.

  Both she and Marcus realized that their personal plans for Cantu could one: land them in jail, and two: be completely foiled by interference from proper authorities.

  “Well, man, it’s been a pleasure to see you, Marc. Never forget all the times you pulled my bacon outta the fire.” Tim had emptied his glass, placed it aside, and had gotten up, heaving with the effort. It was hard to imagine him actually going on a hunt.

  “Great seeing you, too, Tim.”

  “Why don’t you stay for dinner?” asked Kat when Tim took the first stair.

  “Ohhh, nahhh…too many things hanging fire back at the office and home. Founders Day celebration down to town’s gonna keep us hoppin’ till Sunday, but this weekend, for sure, I’ll be back with my lucky shotgun. You got a hunting gun inside yet, Marc?”

  “Right where it’s always been.”

  “Then it’s a date. Sunday at the crack of dawn?”

  Five days off. “Sure…sure thing, Tim.”

  Grimes made a lot of noise when he moved first down the steps, his weight threatening to snap each one, and then on the dry forest bed. He commented as the twigs snapped below him, “Dry as a bone here for too long. Watch yourselves.”

  “Fire department’s all volunteers, I know,” Marcus shouted back. “And it’s hell to pay to get the truck out this far.”

  Tim, now grinding gravel and rock underfoot, laughing, added, “Saw old Smokey at the sign coming up. Fire alert is set at high.”

  “One more thing to worry about,” Marcus muttered close to Kat’s ear, putting an arm around her and waving to Grimes as he backed about in a tight area for the three-point turn, his park-ranger styled hat on his head. Grimes peeled away, seemingly satisfied for now.

  “Why the hell’d you make a hunting date with him?” Kat turned on him, her eyes blinking in consternation. “That means he’ll be back for sure.”

  “He’s coming back to check on us; he may have appeared satisfied, but he’s as sly as he is big.”

  “So what’s he think is going on?”

  “My guess is he thinks we’ve had sightings of Cantu in the region.”

  “Hell, there’ve been sightings all over the state since Terry was murdered.”

  “He’s a shrewd guy, Tim.”

  “He doesn’t look shrewd.”

  “Georgia shrewd. Back country shrewd.”

  “So you don’t think he bought your story, that we’re all just on holiday here?”

  He shrugged. “Doubt it.”

  “Does he actually think we’d jeopardize kids in the bargain?” she asked as Nora and Carl rushed their kids, bundled in towel
s, passed them and inside.

  “Looks like a storm coming up!” Nora shouted back at the two conspirators.

  Kat and Marcus looked out across the lake, and in the distance lightning strikes crackled and streaked across the sky. It seemed a good ways off. Ugly clouds in the distance.

  “Momma Mierksy’s just being overly concerned,” Marcus muttered.

  “Where’s Paco?” she asked.

  “Who knows?”

  “We can’t leave him out in a storm.”

  “I have more on my mind than that stray.”

  “Hey, that stray loves you, Marcus.”

  “You think so?” As he said it, more thunder rolled through the valley and up the plateau and through the pine forests, and more lightening was hurled from the ever blackening, roiling clouds that appeared now bent on one target—Marcus’s country cabin home.

  “One of those sudden one-hour late afternoon downpours,” he assured Kat. “You live in Georgia, remember? Still, best tie things down.” He rushed to the end of the pier where a small boat port awaited him.

  She began gathering up the deck furniture, slipping the chairs inside. He returned with nylon rope taken from the boat; with this, he lashed down the deck table. Together, they carried in the huge umbrella, laying it across the confiscated chairs. Finally, Paco showed up anew, slipping through the sliding double doors just before Marcus locked them.

  In the time it took to do this, the forests had become a disturbing creature, a hellion bent on self-destruction. The jack and white pine surrounding the lake, docile as castle spires all this time, had become like angry, villainous, splintering lances wishing to snap and come crashing down at them. All this as a morbid blackness had claimed the skies overhead where a devil wind blew amid clouds whirled and swirled as in a cauldron. From the darkness rained ping-pong ball sized hail that battered the windows and the deck and the wooden porch. It clattered the tiled roof and made a deafening noise against the skylights.

  The children huddled with Paco, terrified of the clattering noise, reassured by their mother that it was “Just a storm.”

  N I N E T E E N

  The children had abandoned Paco for their mother instead; Nora hugged her little ones to her where they huddled at the center of the living room. Meanwhile, Carl Schramick had found a separate place on the easy chair, looking like a man alone who wanted to ball up in the fetal position. Kat had gone about the house with Paco and Marcus in search of matches, candles, flashlights, and a radio. TV reception had already been knocked out, and they feared the electricity would be next.

  The winds whipped about the forest home as if a thousand banshees had descended to find their way in, a crack here, a crevice there, a chimney to rattle down, a pipe to pummel. It sounded for all the world like the cacophony of banshees trying to find the tune. The screaming of screeching metal against enamel heard inside the head created by the drill and suction at the height of a tooth extraction. The storm had picked up dirt, sand, twigs, leaves, branches, and in tornado fashion thrusts it all against them. At times, the howling of nature just beyond the window panes sounded animal-like, as if a gathering of bears were on the lawn. In the end, for Marcus, a veteran of battle, the storm’s howl sounded like the voice of war itself.

  “How long can it go on like this?” Kat shouted over the den to Marcus.

  “As long as it wants, I suppose. Kinda like a freight train. All you can do is wait for it to pass.”

  “You said an hour!” she said it as if he’d broken a promise.

  “My mistake. I didn’t count on tornado force winds. This is like Bogey and BaCall in Key Largo.”

  “And Edward G. Robinson? You expect him to show up with a rod?”

  “Hey, you know the players!”

  “Marc, have you ever seen the like this storm here before?”

  “Couple of times, yes, but this one’s packing a tornado somewhere out there.”

  “Are we safe here?”

  They’d gathered up all the light sources and the radio. “Yes, no…do I look like a prophet?”

  “You mean we may not be,” she countered, frowning.

  Marcus rushed back to the others, Kat following. Paco ran for the basement rooms. “The dog’s smarter than all of us together,” Marcus shouted, pointing at Paco’s sunken tail before it disappeared. “Follow Paco! Everyone, downstairs.”

  Nora and the kids needed no second telling, but Carl sat frozen, not budging. Everyone else made for the downstairs and safety.

  “Go ahead with the others,” Marcus told Kat. “I’ll see to Carl.”

  Katrina hesitated at the top of the stairs, looking back.

  “Marcus put a hand out to Carl. “Come with us downstairs, Carl…Deacon.”

  He looked up at Marcus. “We’re all going to die here, aren’t we?”

  “What? Not on your life.”

  “One way or another…if I stay here, I die.”

  “That’s nonsense. When the storm clears, tomorrow morning, we’re moving you and your family out, remember?”

  “Not if we don’t make it through the night.”

  “Carl, you’re awful-liizng,” shouted Kat at the man.

  Carl’s forehead scrunched in confusion. “Awful hat?”

  “You’re predicting only a dire future when you don’t know.”

  “Why not? The circumstances we find ourselves in…this is awful.” The frail man was literally shaking. “God’s wrath is what this is.”

  “Sir, where’s your faith?” asked Kat in a genuine tone.

  Carl smugly replied, “I am informed by my faith; it is with me at all times, even now, He is with me.”

  But not your children and your wife, Marcus thought but did not say.

  “You can’t predict your own death this way, Carl,” she continued with what little psychology she could muster. She moved in on him, and she could see with each step closer to Carl, that he incrementally retreated within, cloaking himself in his own determination. “It’s unhealthy, Mr. Schramick…and it can cause you to make faulty decisions and clumsy errors in judgment.”

  “Just leave me alone, will you? Both of you!”

  “Come down with the rest of us.” Marcus took hold of his arm.

  “I’m staying put.” Schramick snatched away.

  “You’re sure?”

  “I have enough to do living with Nora and her brats; I’m not taking orders from some failed cop turned gumshoe, Mr. Rydell. I know what you do for a living; you take photographs of people fornicating so that you can win divorce settlements. Sorry, but I’ll put my faith in God instead, if you don’t mind.”

  “Come on, Kat,” Marcus said, turning away and giving up on the other man.

  “Not Nora, not you, not anyone’s telling me what to do.”

  Marcus considered turning back, punching his lights out, and carrying him downstairs, but he decided instead to leave the man be. He grabbed Kat instead, entwining her arm in his, forcing her back toward the stairs leading to the basement. “Thought I told you to get downstairs?”

  “You did but—” The windows rattled so violently now that they feared an implosion. “You can’t just leave him up here alone. What about knocking him unconscious. Wouldn’t Bogey do that in Key Largo?”

  “He’s adamant and he’s a man,” Marcus mimicked Bogart’s voice. “Not anything either of us can say or do is going to get him off his ass.”

  “Give me one more chance to reason with him.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I can.”

  “Reason with him? Persuaded him? Show him a little cleavage, you mean. I’ve seen the way he’s been googling you.”

  “You mean ogling, don’t you? And if it takes that.” She wrangled free of Marcus and returned to kneel beside Carl Schramick, utilizing her only remaining arguments, and seeing that he was tempted immediately from the widened irises focused in on her cleavage. Marcus had called it. “We all of us, Carl, me included, we want you with us downstairs. Won’
t you come? For me?”

  Marcus felt a huge need for a cigarette as he listened to her plea.

  “Please, just leave me be!” he shouted, spit dribbling onto her. Kat retreated like a cat, done with him.

  Returning to Marcus, she said, “You’re right. He’s beyond help.”

  “You think so?” He guided her back to the stairs.

  “Gone into some sort of altered state.”

  “Must be a real zombie state if you couldn’t convince him,” suggested Marcus when suddenly, the front door sounded as if it would be ripped from its hinges. “Come on downstairs, Kat! Now!” he again ordered. “When things start shattering around him, the Deacon and God will join us, I assure you.”

  “I suppose you’re right.”

  “They’ll come a-running.”

  “You think so, huh? Mr. Weatherman who predicted an hour-long downpour.”

  “All I know is I’ve seen his kind before. Even interrogated a few.”

  “I didn’t take you for the sort who lumped people into categories, Marc.”

  “Kat, if I have one bias it’s toward assholes and idiots…and maybe the rich.”

  “I’ll remember that when I win the lottery.”

  “Don’t be naïve, Kat. The Deacon in the other room has one thing on his little mind, and it’s an asshole’s thought.”

  “What? You read minds now?”

  “All right mock me, but also mark my word.”

  “All right, what’s he thinking then?” she challenged him.

  “To save himself at all costs.”

  “Doesn’t believe in women and children first?”

  “Believes in number one first?”

  “Before the kids?”

  “Yes, the kids, the wife, the dog, you, and me.”

  She looked back at the forlorn man and could not find scorn for him so much as pity. “God, how lonely.”

  “Download that for me sometime, will you Kat? So I can learn to be more understanding and sympathetic to the pathetic. But for now, I want you down loaded into the basement. Now!”

  She did as instructed with him on her heels just as a bookcase began to rain down books, several of which followed them down the stairwell. One book was War of the Worlds, another Jekyll & Hyde, but the third one was E.B. White’s Charlotte’s Web. Marcus lifted it off the bottom stair and handed it to Kat. “Here, read it to the kids. It’ll keep your mind and theirs off the storm.”