Bull Mountain

by Brian Panowich

  “Cricket, has Deputy Frasier been in this morning?”

  Static.

  “No, sir. I tried to call him a few hours ago, but he didn’t answer.”

  “Well, try to call him again. If you reach him, tell him I need to see him as soon as possible.”

  Static.

  “Yessir . . . Um, Sheriff. Permission to talk to you in person?”

  Clayton sat back and looked at the closed door of his office. “Um . . . of course, Cricket. Come on back.”

  Cricket tapped at the door lightly, then opened it and came into the room. She looked almost embarrassed—nervous. She stood twisting her hands together like she was trying to remove something sticky from her fingers.

  “What is it, Cricket?”

  “Is Choctaw caught up in this mess?”

  “What mess? This?” Clayton held up the file.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Clayton was confused. “Why would he be?”

  Now Cricket looked a little confused herself. “Because of his friend.” She pointed at the file. Clayton looked back down at the photo, and then again at Cricket.

  “Do you know this man?”

  “Sure, I’ve met him a few times when I was out with . . .” Her face flushed, and Clayton finally understood why.

  “Listen, Cricket. I don’t care what you and Choctaw do in your free time.”

  “But it says in the SOPs that county employees are not to fraternize.”

  Clayton stared at her blankly. “Huh?” he said, even more confused.

  “I really need this job, Sheriff. I don’t think I could go back to waitressing—”

  Clayton shook his head and held his hands up to cut her off. “Cricket, I really don’t care about any of that, and I promise you no one is going to lose their job, but I need you to tell me right now how you know this man.”

  “He’s James’s . . . Choctaw’s friend. His army buddy. You’ve met him, I think. I thought he was a pretty nice guy until that whole wrecking-the-patrol-car thing.”

  Clayton sank into his chair. He held up the photo again and pictured the man in it with a full beard and longer hair. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said. “Chester?”

  “His name is Allen, but James calls him Chester because of the sex-offender thing that happened. I wasn’t supposed to tell you about any of that. Choctaw didn’t want you to disapprove.”

  Clayton almost laughed. “Chester the molester,” he said to himself, as if he were answering a riddle.

  “Yeah,” Cricket said. “Allen said he hated it, but if he let his buddies know, they would never stop calling him that. That’s how all those guys are. Always giving each other a hard time. I can’t believe he’s dead now. I just saw him two days ago.”

  “Where was the last time you saw him?”

  “Sunday night at James’s place. All the guys in his old army unit were coming into town for a get-together next weekend, and James asked me to help him plan it.”

  “Was that the last time you saw Choctaw, too?”

  “Yes, sir, and I haven’t seen him since. It’s not like him to break plans without telling me. That’s why I was so upset yesterday.”

  “Was anyone else at Choc’s place Sunday?”

  “Two of the guys from his unit had just come into town.”

  “So Choc, Chester, and two other guys?”

  “Yessir.”

  “Cricket, listen to me. I need you to find Choctaw as fast as you can and have him call me immediately. Do you understand?”

  “Do you think he has something to do with all this?” She looked on the verge of tears.

  “I don’t know. I hope not. Just find him for me, okay?”

  “Okay,” she said, and scurried out the door. Clayton sat dazed for a minute, letting the information sink in, and then picked up the phone.

  3.

  “Holly.”

  “Simon, it’s Clayton.”

  “Well, how you feeling, Sheriff?”

  “Like shit warmed over, but listen. I got information on your dead guy.”

  “Do tell . . .”

  “Allen Bankey is a guy I met once, going by the name of Chester. Turns out Chester was a nickname. That’s why I didn’t recognize the name you gave me. He’s an old army buddy of my deputy’s. I think he’s been bunking at his house.”

  “You’re shitting me.”

  “Negative.”

  “You got eyes on your deputy?”

  “No. He’s MIA at the moment, but I’m tracking him down right now.”

  “Do you think he’s involved?”

  “I don’t know. I want to say he’s not capable of something like this, but either way, he’s my deputy, and my friend, so I want to find him first before you go higher up with anything.”

  “Of course, Sheriff. Right now we’ll call him a person of interest and I’ll wait to hear from you before I call in the bloodhounds.”

  “Simon. He’s my friend.”

  “I understand that. You’re point on this. I’ll sit on it as long as I can.”

  “Thank you.”

  Holly hung up.

  Clayton’s head was throbbing. Dehydration and information overload were ripping his head to pieces. He chewed two more aspirin and tried to suppress the voice booming in his head telling him to search the cabinets for a forgotten stash of whiskey. He almost listened, too, but Cricket’s frantic voice on the intercom drowned it out.

  4.

  “Sheriff?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I think we have a problem.”

  “What now?”

  Static.

  “Cricket?”

  Static.

  Raised voices and a loud crash boomed from the lobby, followed by Cricket’s scream.

  5.

  Clayton nearly overturned his desk getting up and out the door. He prayed it wasn’t what he thought it was, but he knew what was happening on the other side of that door before he opened it. His brother, Halford, stood in front of the double glass doors leading out to the street, dangling Cricket by her hair like a fresh-caught fish on a line. The computer, phone, and picture frames from her desk were busted and scattered all over the floor from when Halford had pulled her up and over it. She was screaming and crying, scratching at Halford’s hand, but he only twisted it tighter in her hair. Clayton was horrified as he took in the scene, focused not on the petite, squirming young woman balancing on her tiptoes but on the double-barreled shotgun Halford had jammed up under her chin. Clayton drew his gun on instinct and trained it with both hands on his older brother.

  6.

  “Let her go, Hal. Now!”

  Halford lifted Cricket higher onto the tips of her toes. She screamed louder. “Tell this bitch to shut up, Clayton, so we can get this done. Tell her before I paint the walls.”

  “Let her go, Hal, or I swear to God, I’ll shoot you down where you stand.”

  “Tell her, Clayton. Tell her right now.”

  “You’re going to be okay, Cricket. I promise.” Cricket looked at Clayton, wide-eyed and terrified. “You’re going to be okay. He won’t shoot.” Her screams dialed down into choked sobs. “Now let her go, Halford. I’m right here. Say what you came here to say, but leave her alone.”

  Halford laughed. “You think I came here to talk? We’re beyond talking. You only get to stay in this valley, pretending to be sheriff, because I let you. You’re only still alive because I let you. You think you got power? You think you can fuck with me? You have no idea what you’re fucking with, little brother.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Halford, but if you don’t put her down, it’s not going to matter.”

  “You think I don’t know it was you? You come up on the mountain talking about cops taking my money, talking about W
ilcombe like you know him, while you send your own boys in to rob me. You think I’m stupid? I want my money.”

  “What money?”

  “Did you really think I would just lay down and let you take what I earned?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Halford, but I’m serious. I’m not going to tell you again. Let the girl go, and drop the shotgun, or I will put you down.”

  Halford didn’t laugh this time. His eyes went as cold and dark as Clayton had ever seen them. “You’re a fuckin’ disappointment, Clayton, through and through. Deddy called a spade a spade with you before you could shave.”

  “Deddy’s dead. His death is on you. Just like yours is going to be on me, if you don’t let . . . her . . . go.”

  Cricket had gone quiet. She wasn’t scratching or even struggling. Her eyes were closed and her lips were moving, but there was no sound. Clayton assumed she was praying.

  Good girl, he thought. Stay still.

  “Last warning, Halford. If you want to talk this out, I’ll listen. No one needs to die. But if you keep pointing that gun at Cricket, somebody will, and it won’t be her.” Clayton thumbed the hammer back on his Colt and held it steady.

  “I believe you’re right about that,” Halford said, and swung the shotgun toward Clayton. Thunder filled the small office as Halford fired. Buckshot sprayed the ceiling and walls to Clayton’s left, but the sheriff’s aim was true and he put three bullets through Halford’s chest. His huge body bucked and went limp as he fell backward through the plate-glass window behind him and into the street.

  7.

  Clayton stood frozen in place, still aiming his gun at where his brother had been standing. There was no keeping his hands from shaking now. He dropped the gun to the floor as if it were suddenly a venomous snake. Cricket was balled up against the wall, pulling and holding her knees to her chest. The clamor of the shots in this tight environment had temporarily stolen her hearing, but otherwise she was okay—at least physically. Halford’s body was lying on the sidewalk in a growing pool of sticky red, surrounded by thick broken glass that made everything sparkle in the hot afternoon sun. Clayton fell to his knees. All of his will to stand dissipated like smoke.

  8.

  “Sheriff?” The voice was right next to him but sounded miles away.

  Agent Holly knelt down beside Clayton. People were in the room now, EMTs, state police; Darby was there in uniform, and the deputy coroner was tending to Halford’s body. The edges of Clayton’s vision were blurred, but he could see his brother’s muddy work boots sticking out from underneath the white sheet the medics had laid over him. A stocky female EMT shined a penlight into one of Clayton’s eyes, and then the other. “Sheriff? Can you hear me? His pupils are reactive and I don’t see any outward trauma. I think he’s okay, but he’s most likely in shock.”

  “Talk to me, Clayton,” Holly said. He was coming in clearer now.

  “I . . .” Clayton tried to speak, but it felt like his mouth was packed with sawdust.

  “It’s okay, Sheriff. You did good here.” Holly shooed the medic away and got right up in Clayton’s face. “He came here to kill you, Clayton. You have to understand you had no choice.”

  “No, he . . .”

  “Yes, he did,” Holly said. “He would have killed you, and that little girl you got working for you as a bonus. You know in your gut that’s the truth. He’d have killed you both, left you to rot, and whistled his way back up that mountain. You saved your life and hers.” Holly took Clayton by the chin and lifted his head to give him a view of Cricket through the shattered window. She was wrapped up in another one of the medic’s sheets, sitting on the bumper of the McFalls County ambulance. Mascara streaked down her face and she shivered regardless of the blazing afternoon sun. She would go home today. And that was good.

  Holly stood and reached out a hand. Clayton, feeling his strength returning, took it and let Holly help him to his feet. Once he was up, Clayton leaned down and picked up his hat and gun. He put them both back where they belonged.

  9.

  Holly stepped over the twisted metal and broken glass and onto the street. Clayton followed. Both men squatted down at Halford’s covered body, sprawled lifeless on the sidewalk. Holly gripped the edge of the sheet to pull it back, but waited for the sheriff’s approval. Clayton nodded. Halford’s eyes were no different in death than they’d been in life. No colder. No blacker. No more absent of a soul than a man who could rest easy while another man burned alive, or a man who could hold a sawed-off scattergun to the head of an innocent girl. Clayton could hear the hornets screaming. He fought back the sudden rush of anxiety that peppered his peripheral vision with sunspots, and squeezed his eyes shut until the feeling of nausea began to fade. He thumbed his brother’s eyelids shut and put his gun hand on the dead man’s chest—a few inches above the three holes in his shirt—and offered an unspoken good-bye. Holly said nothing. Instead, he stood, offered his hand, and helped Clayton to his feet for a second time.

  Cricket thought she was all out of tears until Clayton and Holly approached the ambulance. The paramedics backed off when they saw the men coming and began to repack unused supplies into their jump bag. The sheriff sat down next to Cricket on the bumper. She grabbed his arm through the sheet she was wrapped in and cried gently on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Sheriff. I didn’t know what to do. He came in so fast. I didn’t think he was . . . he was . . .”

  “It’s okay, Cricket, you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m the one who should be sorry for dragging you into my family drama. It’s my fault. I almost got you killed.”

  Cricket backed her face off his shoulder and caught his eyes. “You saved my life, Sheriff.”

  “You’re damn right he did,” Holly chimed in. He had his cell phone to his ear and was holding one finger in the air as a signal to Clayton that he would be right back, and then he stepped off to the side of the ambulance to focus on his call.

  “You did,” Cricket continued. “I know doing what you did must’ve been hard for you. Probably the hardest thing ever, but you did it and I’m alive because of it. I owe you my life.”

  “You don’t owe me anything.”

  Cricket said something else, but Clayton didn’t hear it. Instead, he caught a familiar voice through the crowded street and focused on it. It was the voice of the one person he really needed to see.

  “Kate,” he said, and stood to wave her over. She was standing behind the yellow caution tape, her face ghost-white. A couple of state police were giving her some resistance about entering the scene, but once she caught her husband’s eye, she barreled through them like a freight train.

  “Let her in, she’s my—”

  Kate knocked the words and the wind out of him with a crushing hug that pushed him back against the ambulance hard enough to rock it. A paramedic turned and opened his mouth with the intention of saying something but thought better of it once he saw Kate’s face. Clayton winced but hugged her back. She let him go and looked him over from head to toe to head again. “Oh my God, Clayton. Are you okay? What happened?”

  “I’m fine. Who called you?”

  “No one called me. I was on my way here to meet you for my doctor’s appointment, and I saw all this. What the hell happened?”

  “Halford’s dead.” He motioned to his brother’s enormous corpse. Darby, two paramedics, and the deputy coroner were all trying to help load it into a second ambulance. She looked to the men, then back to her husband, and all the remaining color in her face faded with the realization. “Did . . . you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, baby. Oh, baby, I’m so sorry.”

  “He saved my life,” Cricket said.

  “He saved both their lives,” Holly said, rounding the ambulance, tucking his phone in his pocket. Kate went from pale and sympathetic to flushed red and angry on a dime.

 
“This is your fault.” She shoved an accusatory index finger into Holly’s chest. “You brought all this down on us.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I know you feel that way.”

  “Are you happy now? Are you?”

  “No, ma’am,” Holly said.

  “Fuck you, and your ‘yes, ma’am/no, ma’am’ shit.”

  “Kate, calm down.” Clayton took his wife’s arm, but she pulled it free.

  “No, I won’t calm down. Three days ago we lived in a quiet little valley far removed from all this, and now look around.” Kate lifted both her arms and spun back toward Holly. “Dead people and chaos for us mountain folk, and a plane ticket home for this asshole. Right, asshole?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Holly said.

  Kate drew back to deck him, but Clayton grabbed her arm again, and this time didn’t let go. “Simon didn’t make Halford come into my office toting a shotgun, Kate, and he certainly didn’t make him press it to Cricket’s head. That was all Halford. If anything, I’m to blame for provoking him and I’m the one who has to live with what happened here.”

  “That’s not entirely true, Clayton. We both have to live with this. We all do,” she said, and pushed a strand of Cricket’s hair back behind her ear.

  Clayton pulled her into his chest. “You’re not helping things, woman. Let me talk to the staties over there and give a statement. The sooner I can sort out what needs sorting, the sooner we can go home.”

  She wanted to scream, but she bottled it down to a single compressed syllable. “Fine.”