Quietly, “Nobody.”
“I don’t believe you. Dougie, come over here and give this man another taste of your boot.”
Up above them, nearing the door, I could hear the kick.
Lawrence said, “Unnhhh.”
“Now let me ask you again. Are you out here alone, or is there someone with you?”
As it turned out, Lawrence didn’t really need to answer the question. I answered it for them when, as I slipped out the door, my foot pressed down on a twig and snapped it.
It wasn’t a loud sound. It was hardly anything at all. But it must have been enough to prick someone’s ears.
“Up there,” Charlene Wickens said. “Someone’s up there!”
“Wendell!” Timmy shouted. “Dougie! Go! Go!”
I now embarked on the “run like hell” part of my plan. My legs started pumping, carrying me back in the direction I’d come from, along the inside of the fence, looking for the place where I’d hopped over, because I knew the terrain back down toward the cabins from there pretty well.
I glanced back briefly, and when I saw the shadows of the two brothers appear in the light of the barn door, I dropped to the ground, flattening myself to it. Each of them was armed with a shotgun, and as soon as they were standing outside the barn, they stopped momentarily, reminding me of the pit bulls when they stopped to determine where the smell of fish was coming from. They hadn’t seen me, didn’t know where I might be, and were wondering which way to go. There were a lot of choices, standing under that starry sky.
One of them, I couldn’t tell which, pointed and said to the other, “You go that way!” That one disappeared behind the far side of the barn. The one I could still see, and it was beginning to look to me now like it was Wendell, started off, slowly, in my direction.
As long as I pressed myself to the ground, I felt he couldn’t see me. Unless of course, he happened to come right toward me.
Charlene Wickens came out of the barn, an empty tray in her hand, and walked briskly back to the farmhouse.
Don’t let the dogs out, I thought. Please, please, please do not let those dogs out. Wendell might not be able to see me in the dark, but I had every confidence in the dogs’ collective ability to sniff me out.
She went into the house, let the door slam shut behind her. Upstairs, a light went on.
Wendell was moving my way.
I felt a small rock under my right hand, gripped it. I rolled over onto my back and threw it, as best I could from that position, back toward the barn. It hit the ground, and just as I’d hoped, Wendell stopped and turned. He was holding his breath same as I was, I suspected, listening for any sound. He decided the noise was worth investigating, and went slowly in that direction.
I got to my knees, almost in a sprinter’s starting position, and then bolted, trying to keep low. I got to the spot where I’d hopped the fence, grabbed hold of it, and the metal wire twanged softly as I got my feet into the openings and threw myself over.
Once my feet were planted on the other side, I looked back, and saw that Wendell was running my way now. Running hard, the barrel of the shotgun wavering back and forth in front of him as he ran toward me.
I ran into the woods wildly, not as sure of my bearings as I’d thought I would be. And even had I known exactly where I was, I couldn’t decide where to go, or what to do. I could run back to Dad’s cabin, but he wasn’t going to be able to protect me from a guy with a shotgun. We could put in a frantic call to Orville, but how long would it take him to get out here? And once he’d arrived, how much help would he be? Hadn’t the Wickenses intimidated him more than once before? Could you expect your life to be saved by a guy who couldn’t even hang on to his hat? Or his gun? If Timmy Wickens told him to take a walk again, wasn’t there a good chance he would?
And what could Betty or Hank Wrigley do, or Bob Spooner, who was—
Wait a minute.
Hadn’t Bob mentioned having a gun in his tackle box? Hadn’t be made a comment about a Smith & Wesson? Could I make it down to his boat before Wendell caught up with me? If I could get my hands on the gun, would I have a chance of being able to use it against him? And would it even be there? Wasn’t it likely Bob took his tackle box into the cabin at night? Well then, couldn’t I burst in there and get it from him?
And would I be able to get back to the barn before the rest of the Wickenses did any more damage to Lawrence Jones?
I kept running, branches armed with pine needles coming out of nowhere, slapping my face, disorienting me. I thought I could hear footsteps coming behind me. I reached into my pocket for the bear spray, and without even looking back, started shooting it over my shoulder, hoping that if Wendell was back there, some of the pepper would waft into his face somehow.
I came upon an opening and there, in front of me, was the open pit of fish guts, which Lawrence had refused to cover with the cottage shutter. I leapt over it at the last second, nearly falling in, started stumbling headlong, then regained my footing and kept going.
I was cutting left, then right, looking for the lights from the cabins, still spraying wildly over my shoulder, and somewhere behind me I heard, “Shit!”
It sounded a ways off, so I slowed, listened some more. “Fuck! What the fuck is this?”
Wendell, evidently, had not navigated the pit of guts as well as I had. I gave myself the luxury of a half-second smile, then kept on for the cabins, thinking of nothing else but getting my hand on Bob’s Smith & Wesson and—
“Hold it.”
My heart felt like it had been struck with a sledgehammer. There, in the darkness, was Dougie. Standing directly ahead of me, the shotgun raised and pointed straight at my forehead.
I stopped.
“Wendell!” he shouted. “I got him! Over here!”
The can of bear spray was still tucked into my hand. I slipped my index finger over the button at the top, kept it there.
Dougie stepped forward. He had a dopey grin on his face, and his dirty teeth glowed in the moonlight.
“You put your hands up,” he said.
I did as I was told. As my arm went up, I aimed the spray at Dougie’s face and hit the button.
The can went phisss briefly, and then died.
“What’s that?” Dougie asked.
I let the empty can drop to the ground. “My last hope,” I said.
33
“I FOUND HIM!” Dougie told his mother and Timmy after he and Wendell had marched me back to the barn.
“I sent him right to you,” Wendell said. “I flushed the fucker out.”
“Yeah, well, I’m the one that actually got him, that’s all I’m saying. I’m not saying you didn’t have anything to do with it.”
“Boys,” Charlene Wickens, who’d returned to the barn when she heard the commotion, said, “you’ve both done a very good job, and both deserve a lot of credit.”
The brothers smiled.
“Does anyone want ice cream?” she asked.
“Oh yeah, I’d love some ice cream,” Wendell said.
“Do we have chocolate sauce?” Dougie asked.
“I’m pretty sure we do,” Charlene said. “How about you, Timmy?”
Timmy, who had just closed the gate on a stall that contained me and Lawrence, said, “Maybe just a little. But no sauce. Just plain.”
Everyone was in a mood for celebrating. They had me, and they had Lawrence. And they had his gun, our cell phones for whatever they were worth out here, and our keys. After a minor setback, they were able to continue with their plans.
I was thinking of asking whether I could have a bowl of ice cream, but the fact was, I was just too scared shitless to crack wise.
Lawrence was sitting in the corner, his butt on the floor, his legs stretched out in front of him, his back against the wall. “So,” he said to me, “I presume you’re here to rescue me.” Evidently Lawrence was not having the same problem.
“How badly did they hurt you?” I asked.
Lawrence shrugged. “I couldn’t ride a horse right now, but I’m okay. I’ve had worse. Pride’s a bit bent out of shape.”
“What were you thinking? Going it alone?”
He closed his eyes, shook his head sadly. “There’s a huge fucking bomb in that van, Zack. I didn’t feel we could afford to wait to bring in the troops. If it hadn’t been for Bonnie Parker there—”
“I was thinking more along the lines of Ma Barker.”
“Yeah, even better. If it hadn’t been for her unexpected arrival, things might be a bit different now. How about you? You okay?”
I nodded.
“Man, you stink,” I heard Dougie say to Wendell.
“I fell in something fucking awful,” Wendell said.
Charlene said, “I’ll get the ice cream ready.” She left the barn.
Timmy stood on the other side of the gate that closed off our stall, which at some time must have been home to a horse or cow or two. It wasn’t like we were in a prison cell—the stall wasn’t locked and the gate would have taken a second to climb over. But it wasn’t the sort of thing you could do without being noticed.
“So,” Timmy said. “You boys put a bit of a wrinkle into things there for a while.”
I took a couple of steps his way, but once I was within three feet of him he waved the shotgun over the top of the gate. “You just stay there.”
I stayed there.
But from where I stood I could see into the back of the van. There were no seats in it but the two front ones, and a large blue plastic drum sat in the middle, on the floor. Atop it was a black plastic device, about the size of a shoebox, and some wires. Beside the van, on the barn floor, were several emptied fertilizer bags and three red plastic gas cans.
Timmy smiled. “I see you admiring my handiwork.”
I swallowed. “I don’t know a lot about explosives, but that looks big.”
“Well, not as huge as some. We’re not trying to bring down the Alfred P. Murrah, but it’ll do.”
Lawrence slowly got to his feet, came up alongside me. “Looks like you did a pretty good job of it,” he said. “Clean, simple.”
Timmy nodded. “Thanks.”
“How many people you figure you’ll end up killing?”
Timmy’s lips puckered while he thought about it. “Don’t really know. But that’s not important. What’s important is the message.”
“And what,” Lawrence asked, “would that message be?”
“That this country has to get back on the right track. That we have to stomp out immorality. That we have to put an end to state interference. That we have to keep this country pure, and good, and not turn it over to a bunch of special interests, that’s what the fucking message is, my friend.”
“Okay,” said Lawrence. “For a while there, I thought maybe you all were just a bunch of nuts. But now I understand.”
“Lawrence,” I whispered.
“I wouldn’t expect you to get it, anyway,” Timmy said to Lawrence. “You’re as much a part of the problem as anyone. I don’t know why you people don’t just hurry up and kill each other off, either with guns or with your addiction to drugs, and be done with it. If it wasn’t for good, decent folks getting caught in the crossfire, it wouldn’t matter so much, but sometimes you people take your battles outside your own neighborhoods and innocent people get killed.”
“Yeah,” said Lawrence. “We’re a bit thoughtless that way.”
“So blowing up a parade, that’ll get your message across,” I said.
“The parade, the town hall, and the faggot float,” Timmy said.
Lawrence grinned, and then the grin turned into a low-level chuckle.
“What?” Timmy asked. “What’s so funny?”
“You don’t even know, do you?” Lawrence asked.
“Know what?”
“Your so-called faggot float is a total joke. Four people carrying a banner. Three guys, one girl, and she’s not even lesbian. She’s faking it.”
Timmy looked dismayed. “Are you serious?”
“Yup. Hardly worth the trouble, when you think about it.”
“I’m sure you’re wrong about this,” he said. “I’m sure it’s going to be bigger than that. It said in the paper. It said at least a dozen.”
“Hey, you can’t believe what you read in the papers,” I said. I figured I should know better than anyone here.
Lawrence said, “We saw Lethbridge today. Stuart Lethbridge. He wanted the right to be in the parade, and he got it, but he ain’t got much to put in it.”
“What’s the problem, Timmy?” Dougie said, approaching.
“Never mind,” he said, dismissing him. “Well, shit, it doesn’t matter anyway. It doesn’t make any difference.”
“How’s that?” I asked.
“Because the thing is, the mayor gave them the go-ahead, and that’s the thing we’re making a statement about. Even if they pulled out altogether, it wouldn’t matter. And there’s all the other things, about her own lifestyle, marrying outside her race, letting people do whatever the hell they please. That’s what’s wrong with the world now, you know. Life’s just one big party. Do whatever you want, sleep with whoever you want, it doesn’t matter anymore.”
“So,” Lawrence said, “bombing whoever you want, that’s a solution?”
Timmy smiled at Lawrence, like the detective was a simple child. “You can’t change the world overnight, but every little bit helps. You bring awareness and enlightenment to people one person at a time.”
I said, “How about Morton Dewart? Did he like your brand of awareness and enlightenment?”
Timmy shook his head. “That was too bad.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“It was just too bad, that’s all.”
“There was no bear, was there, Timmy?” I said. “That was all bullshit, wasn’t it?”
Timmy chuckled. “I thought it was, until one of your dad’s guests got killed by one.”
“But Morton. He didn’t meet up with any bear, did he? He had a run-in with Gristle and Bone.”
“Hey, Timmy,” said Wendell, his voice tinged with caution. “I don’t know if Mom wants you talking about that.”
“It’s okay, Wendell,” Timmy said. “It’s not going to make any difference.”
I felt a chill.
“So it was the dogs,” I said. For a fleeting second, I felt some sense of satisfaction. Then I reminded myself of my current situation, and got over it.
“Morton,” Timmy began slowly, “had become a bit of a problem. The boys and I, we thought, when May brought him up here, that maybe he was kind of on the same wavelength with us, you know? And so, slowly, we started taking him into our confidence, letting him know what we planned to do, because he was a bright boy. He’d taken electronics at college, knew lots of helpful stuff we thought we could use.” Timmy paused. “But it didn’t work out.”
“Two for two, huh, Timmy?” Dougie said, and laughed.
“What’s that mean?” I asked.
Before Timmy could respond, Dougie said, “May has kind of bad luck with men.”
I cocked my head. “May had a boyfriend before, who died in an accident.”
Timmy said, “She told you about that, did she?”
“Yes,” I said.
Timmy said, “I felt, we felt, that it was best for May to come home. To be with her family. With me, and Charlene and the boys. It’s a nasty world out there, and home, well, that’s the best place to be.” Timmy paused. “We just had to establish the right conditions that made it conducive for May to return to the fold.”
I wasn’t sure I was really hearing what I thought I was hearing.
“I’m not sure I’m following, Timmy,” I said. “What do you mean, establish the right conditions?”
“I got to drive,” Dougie said, beaming.
“You guys should really shut up, you know,” Wendell said.
“You ran him down?” I said to Dougie. “You ran down Ma
y’s other boyfriend? A hit-and-run?”
“But Timmy and Mom made the phone calls,” Dougie said. “They’re better at that sort of thing. But you put me behind the wheel, and I know what to do.”
“You made anonymous calls to May’s employers,” I said. “So she’d lose her jobs, one after another, run out of money, and have to come back here and live with you.”
“It had to be done,” Timmy said. “I was thinking of the boy. Of Jeffrey. It’s not right, him growing up in a world like that. He’s much better off with us. He’s a wonderful young lad. So the odd call here, suggesting May might have stolen from a company, or that she was giving secrets to competing firms, in the long run, it was to help Jeffrey. And her, too.”
“Is sending Jeffrey to his room without dinner helping him?” I asked. “Striking him with a belt? Is that helping him? And how about when he sees his own mother take a whipping from you? You think that’s going to make him into the kind of man you want him to be?”
Timmy’s eyes were full of fury and they bore into mine. “That’s the whole problem with the world today. Everyone’s afraid to discipline anymore. Kids need a firm hand. They want a firm hand. And it doesn’t stop when they get older. As long as they’re your own, you have a right to set them straight. I’ll bet your father never took a hand to you. I’ll bet you never got so much as a little pat on the ass, did you? And that’s why now you’re nothing but a big pussy, has to call a nigger up here to help you out. Imagine being that weak.”
I never broke his stare. I said, “So maybe all I can hope then is that Jeffrey grows up big and strong so that someday, he can get justice for his mother by taking care of you.”
And then Timmy spat at me. His spittle shot over the top of the gate fast as a bullet, landing on my right cheek just under my eye. I blinked, looked away, and used my sleeve to wipe it off.
I turned away, clenching my fists so tightly my nails left marks on my palms.
Lawrence, either to defuse the situation or get more information, or both, asked, “But what about Morton? What happened there?”
“You could tell,” Timmy said. “There were signs. He wasn’t with us. He wasn’t prepared to do what was necessary. He was talking about going back to the city, just for a visit, see his family, but it was pretty obvious to me that he was going to talk. He was going to tell the authorities. He was going to tell them about our revolution.”
Lone Wolf Page 27
