by Robin Gideon
A minute later, a pickup truck with its emergency flashers blinking roared by David, headed for the Circle-Square-Circle and its burning barn. The pickup was traveling very fast, so David only had a glance into the cab, but it looked like there were four big men piled into the cab.
You missed the fire engine, but you’ll be just in time to watch the barn burn to the ground, you idiots! You’ll stay busy, though. Yes, you’ll stay busy running around like chickens with your heads cut off fighting that fire. That’ll be long enough for me to do what I came here to do.
If ever he’d had any doubts as to his own intellectual superiority over everyone in North Dakota, it vanished as the pickup’s taillights disappeared in his rearview mirror. Setting fire to the barn had been an act of pure, unfettered genius.
* * * *
Katie glanced at the clock, and her brow furrowed briefly. The Mountain View Saloon was completely empty of customers. A half hour earlier, the four customers that had been playing seemingly endless games of team eight-ball had suddenly tossed two twenty-dollar bills on the bar, half of them shouting something about having to leave right away. The twenties not only covered the beers, they also amounted to about a one hundred percent tip on their tab.
Had one of the cowboys suddenly remembered a promise to a wife to be home before eleven? Had one forgotten a girlfriend’s birthday? Whatever it was, Katie figured some girl or woman was going to get flowers in the morning.
Leave it to a cowboy to forget a girl’s birthday! she thought with amusement, certain that the four McGowan brothers she loved would never forget hers.
She felt a warm flush go through her. It was a common reaction whenever the reality of being in love with four men at the same time came, colliding like freight trains going in opposite directions on the same track. A sane, intelligent, sober woman like Katie simply didn’t put herself in the lurid and socially unacceptable position of being the lover of four gorgeous brothers. Right?
The bell attached to a thin ribbon of metal over the front doors tinkled, signaling the arrival of late-night patrons. It wasn’t unusual for a couple cowboys to show up for “one last one” before closing time.
Except this time, when Katie saw who had stepped into her saloon, her heart seized in her chest, and, for just a moment, she wasn’t altogether certain she wouldn’t get sick.
“Hello, Katie. It’s good to see you again,” David said, holding a five-gallon gasoline can in his left hand and a very large kitchen carving knife in his right. “I can’t really say that I’ve missed you, though I can say that I’ve been thinking of you almost constantly since our separation.”
Just for a moment, for a time span no more than a second or two, Katie was afraid that she was going to faint.
No, no, no! the fiercely independent voice of self-preservation screamed. Fight this bastard. Don’t give up without a fight!
“What’s the matter?” David asked, his voice a little high-pitched, almost whiney. “Cat got your tongue?”
When Katie looked into his eyes, she saw his pupils, and they appeared to be no larger than pinpricks. She knew right then that he was high on cocaine. How high? And for how long had he been high? Katie hated hard drugs, and she especially hated the way David got whenever he used them. Whenever he snorted coke, he said he was going on a “power run,” which, Katie knew with dreadful experience, might mean a three-hour power run, or a three-day power run. The longer they went on, the weirder and more psychotic David’s mood swings were.
“Well? Answer me, damn it,” David said when the silence ticked on. “Or maybe you’ve finally put in one of those tongue studs? You know, the kind that I asked you to put in so it would feel good on my cock while you were sucking me.”
He’s such a sick bastard.
She had come to the conclusion before, but now she meant it literally, both in the psychological sense and in the physical sense. His skin looked pasty, and though there was an intensity in his eyes that suggested a man vividly alive, they were red-rimmed and rheumy. Did the right side of his mouth have a twitch to it that she hadn’t noticed before?
Don’t make him angry. He’s over the edge now. This is different from all the other times he’s gone postal. This time he’s brought a knife and a gasoline can, and there’s no telling at all how many days he’s been awake without sleep.
Katie shook her head. “No, David, I never did get my tongue pierced. I know you wanted me to, but it just seemed so icky to me, I guess. Was that a big disappointment to you?”
She saw his eyes narrow as he looked at her, studying her. Clearly, he hadn’t expected her to respond in such a calm, lucid fashion. After a couple seconds, he cocked his head slightly to the side, as a dog might who has suddenly heard a sound he couldn’t recognize.
“Can I get you a drink?” Katie asked. “How about if I make you a Manhattan? Are those still your favorite?”
She watched as his eyes narrowed again. His suspicion of her, of her suddenly friendly behavior, had caught him off guard. She tried to smile but wasn’t sure if anything more than her lips curled in something resembling a smile. Maybe it just looked like a grimace. Lord knew, she felt like grimacing. She felt like screaming at the top of her lungs and running from the Mountain View Saloon like an Olympian sprinter.
But David was there, and he was staying between her and the doors, with a gasoline can in one hand and a nasty-looking knife with an eight-inch blade in the other.
“Well?” Katie prodded, hoping her smile didn’t look as phony as she suspected.
The seconds ticked by, and Katie felt beads of perspiration form at her temples. She had been frightened of David before, of course. How could she not have been frightened of him when he was beating on her? But then he’d been at least rational in his irrationality. He’d been furious with her and blaming her for things, but he hadn’t been this…odd. Quietly, intensely, unblinkingly odd—and high on coke. She hated cocaine maybe even more than she hated David.
“Sure. I guess,” David said at last. “We’ve got time for a quiet drink, I suppose.”
Katie almost breathed a deep sigh of relief. She was still doing everything she could to pretend that she wasn’t scared to the marrow of her bones. She was shaking in her Nikes, but if she let David know how frightened she was, then he would go on the offensive. David was the kind of man who just couldn’t resist kicking someone who was scared, someone defenseless.
In a mixing glass, she combined the vermouth and bitters then opted for Wild Turkey hundred-and-one-proof bourbon whiskey instead of the regular eighty-proof bar bourbon. Maybe getting him drunk would be a help to her, especially with him being strung out on cocaine, which she was now certain he was. She mixed it carefully with the ice cubes, aware that he was watching her intently as he moved closer to the bar.
“You can’t shake it too vigorously,” Katie said companionably as she gave the mixing glass a shake, “or you bruise the spirits and cloud the drink.”
“That’s right,” David said, his voice lower, softer than it had been. “It’s nice that you’re taking the time to do it right. I like it when you try to please me.”
“I try to please all of my customers,” Katie said, straining the cocktail in a martini glass.
Instantly, she was aware of her error. She heard David’s immediate intake of air, and she wished to God and anyone else in Heaven who might help her that she hadn’t said a single word to the unstable lunatic now in her saloon.
“Like those shit-stinking cowboys you’ve been fucking? I’m sure you try real hard to please them, don’t you?”
Katie set the cocktail before David, placing down a paper napkin first. She noticed that her hands were shaking and that she’d spilled some of the cocktail. Every second of being alone with David heightened her terror. His sudden use of foul language was almost better than the feigned polite conversation they’d been having earlier.
Maybe not, now that she thought about it. The look in his eyes had turned murder
ous.
“I…I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
David lifted the gasoline can up onto the bar. There was a challenge in his gaze, like he was expecting Katie to complain about putting the can there, maybe even hoping she would say something about it. But she didn’t say a word about the gasoline can and did everything she could to ignore the can so completely that she didn’t even look at it or acknowledge its presence in any way.
“Sure you do. You know everything you’ve done with those manure-smelling cowboys, and everything you’ve done to me.” He smiled, and a shiver went up Katie’s spine. “You remember what you’ve done, and believe me, I remember. I remember like you wouldn’t fucking believe. I remember ev…reee…thing.”
He spaced the syllables in the last word out as though issuing to Katie some utterly taboo obscenity that she should be frightened of. And she was. Right down to her socks.
Despite her personal pledge to say nothing more than necessary, Katie heard herself ask, “What do you want, David? Why are you here?”
He smiled and replied, “For justice. I’m a lawyer, and I like seeing justice done. The innocent shall have their names purged from the system, and the guilty will suffer for their crimes. That’s the way it’s supposed to be, isn’t it, Katie? Don’t you agree that the guilty should suffer for their wrongdoing?”
“I…um…what do you think?”
Katie realized, with dreaded certainty, that this confrontation was different from those in the past. This time David wasn’t going to be content with blackening her eye or bruising her ribs and thighs, where the injuries were hidden by clothes.
“When did you become such a milquetoast? What happened to that vaunted Katie confidence?”
She heard the hatred laced through the words, like a single poisonous thread in a weaver’s tapestry.
“I’ve still got it,” she said, but the quaver in her voice said otherwise.
David shook his head and made a strange, swirling motion with the knife in his hand. “No you don’t. You used to, but you don’t now. What do you think? Do you think I beat the uppity cunt out of you? You don’t seem to have much uppity cunt left in you. That’s the way I see it, anyway.” With theatrical concern, like a journalist who really doesn’t like the person he’s interviewed, he inhaled, cocked his head to the side, exhaled, and asked, “Am I wrong here? Can you tell me where I’m wrong?” He waved the enormous knife casually, as though it wasn’t a lethal threat. “Of course you can’t. You know I’m right. I’m always right, and that’s part of the reason why you’ve behaved so badly. You couldn’t stand me always being right.” His eyes narrowed and hardened. “Admit it, Katie. Admit to me now that you’ve known all along that I was right and you were wrong. Admit to me that you’ve done some very terrible things to me, and, for that, you should be punished.”
Katie inhaled and held her breath for a moment, struggling desperately to find an answer that wouldn’t incite David’s violence.
“Well?” he prodded. “You used to be a lot quicker on your feet than this.”
That’s because you’ve never before had a weapon in your hand while you were demeaning me.
David looked around the saloon, smiling. He sipped his cocktail, set it down, and then picked up the gasoline can.
“Nice place you’ve got here. You keep it nice and clean, but it’s still got that stench of bullshit in here. I suppose that’s from all those redneck cowboys traipsing in and out.”
With a circular move much like a dance move, David grabbed the gasoline can and swung it out away from his body. Gasoline sluiced through the spout onto the slat wood floor and over the pool table. He turned to face Katie again, and the smile on his face was pure venom. He gave the red gasoline can a second swing, sending the flammable liquid splashing on the floor all the way to the front door. Then he walked back toward Katie and, while looking at her, splashed gasoline on four of the padded stools lined along the bar.
“There, that should help mask the cow-shit smell on cowboy boots, shouldn’t it?”
Katie said nothing. When she looked into David’s eyes, she saw that his pupils were no larger than pinpricks. What did she have behind the bar that she could use as a weapon to defend herself? Katie realized now that she had always led a very sheltered life. The only violence she’d ever known was what had been foisted on her by David. She’d never had to fight anyone, not physically, anyway. Sure, she’d had a few professional battles along the way, but that was different, completely different from what she was facing now. Being fired or getting overlooked for a promotion was one thing. Getting killed by a psychotic ex-lover was something else entirely.
“What are you doing?” Katie asked. Though she had tried to sound casual, her voice quavered, and she swallowed drily. “What are you going to do?”
She had tried to hold the words back, but she couldn’t. Even as she was speaking, she knew she was making a mistake.
“What am I doing? Evening a score. Making sure that karma is balanced.” David smiled, and it was a dreadful thing to see. “You should appreciate that. Weren’t you the one who taught me about karma? How all things have to balance out in nature?” He picked up his Manhattan and took a sip, sighing afterward with pleasure. “You’re part of the servant class, Katie. Why did you forget that? You make an excellent Manhattan. I’ll grant you that. But that’s only to be expected of the servant class. Isn’t that right?”
Fear blossomed in her breast, but so did disgust at this monster’s self-appointed superiority.
“Yes,” Katie heard herself say, her better judgment taking control of her words, at least temporarily. “That’s to be expected of the”—she choked on the words before blurting out—“the servant class.”
“Then you agree that you’ve made some terrible mistakes and that you should be punished for them?” He picked up the gasoline can in both hands. “What do you say we just call this perfume? It should disguise the stench of all that cowboy cum on you.”
Chapter Thirteen
The fire hose had been deployed, but it had already been decided by general agreement among the McGowans and the volunteers that the barn was a total loss. Nearby was a shed for grain, as well as two different machine sheds. All the buildings were made of wood and were the better part of a century old. They could be saved, provided they were watered down enough so that the dry, old wood would take to flame by sparks.
Aaron watched as his neighbors and brothers scurried about, some in their protective asbestos jackets and rubber boots, others arriving in such a hurry that they were in their civilian clothes.
Arson. No doubt this is arson.
The barn had been built by his father and his grandfather back in the days when there were no power tools to make the work easier. It was all done with brute hand labor, with saws and hammers and sweat, and built to last for generations. And it had lasted and would have continued to serve its purpose if not for an arsonist.
Aaron was thinking about how different it would be to have an aluminum barn, new and shiny and efficient, with all the doors in perfect alignment. But he already knew that every day he looked at the new pole barn that would be erected in just a couple days, he’d remember the old barn and how there was magic and memories in what was old.
And then another thought crept into Aaron’s consciousness, and it made his insides clench and his heart suddenly accelerate. For a moment he closed his eyes, looking inside himself, searching for an alternate reason why someone would want to burn his barn.
“Oh, God,” he said aloud, “Katie’s all alone at the saloon.” He looked at the volunteers as they manned the fire hose, spraying water onto the side of his grain shed. All the good men in the territory were here at the Circle-Square-Circle Ranch. If not for the fire, then several of them would surely be enjoying a late-night beer at the Mountain View Saloon. “Blair! Garrett! Flynn! We’ve got to get the hell out of here! Come on!” His brothers all turned toward him, each looking at him incredu
lously. “Katie’s all alone at the saloon! This was set to get everyone here and keep us here!”
He turned and started running for his pickup truck, running faster than he’d ever run in his life.
* * * *
“Wait…wait a minute. Please?” Katie asked, feeling trapped behind the bar. She smoothed her hands down her sides. Her palms were clammy, and she couldn’t seem to dry them, even when she wiped them on her jeans. David held the gasoline can in both hands. He had slipped the big knife inside his belt at the small of his back. There was a feral smile on his lips, and the brightness in his eyes was more intense than she could ever remember seeing. “Please, can’t we just talk a minute?”
“What’s to say? That you’re a cunt? Fine.” He gave the gasoline can a shake, and the flammable liquid sluiced from the nozzle. Katie put up her hands defensively. The gasoline splashed over her forearms and chest. Her blouse was soaked through, and she could feel the liquid seeping into her brassiere. “Say it! Say you’re a cunt! I want to hear you say it!”
“I’m a cunt! Okay! Now put the can down.” The smell of the gasoline was powerful, filling Katie’s nostrils. She knew the danger she was in. She did everything she could to pretend that she hadn’t been doused. “Don’t do this, David.” In a softer voice, she added, “You don’t want to do this.”
“Ever think that maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do?” He chuckled malevolently. “You never were as smart as me. Never. I’m a lawyer. At least I was until you fucked me over.”
Katie felt the gasoline saturating her brassiere, now cool and itchy against her skin. She looked down and saw the wide stain of wetness on her blouse.
“No, I was never as smart as you,” Katie said. She picked up a washcloth, the one she used to wipe down the tables with, and started wiping the gasoline off her hands and forearms. “When you break it all down, I’m just a glorified waitress who—”
