Time to vacate. His villa in Spain? No, not far enough. He owned a nice condo that overlooked Sydney Harbor in Australia. Yes. That would do.
The alarm chimed on the computer. He checked the display.
They were in the building. Theyd found him, and they would get him. The man with the voice had many talents, but he was not a soldier. So they would get him, and theyd ask many questions and it would not be pleasant.
He took a revolver from his desk drawer, put it in his mouth.
Well, it had been good while it lasted.
He pulled the trigger.
44
Mike drove, kept going. He didnt want to stop, no matter what. Let the pain burn his neck and back. He wanted to go home.
There is no home for men like us, Dannys voice said. You havent learned anything.
Mike said, Youre wrong. I made it home. I built it. Its mine. I dont owe you anything.
He drove, eating up the miles, the storm fading into memory behind him.
But he couldnt keep it up for long. His body ached, sleep dragging him down. He pulled into a rest area in central Louisiana, slumped in the front seat of the Caddy, and slept. When he awoke it was midday, the rain now a light drizzle, the sky the color of nickel. He kept driving, had to stop again at nightfall. This time he stretched out in the backseat, kicked off his shoes. The belly wound was sticky, probably needed cleaning. The leg needed fresh bandages. Mike didnt have the energy.
He put Texas behind him the next morning, and when he reached the Oklahoma line, he vowed to keep going until he made it.
* * *
Mikes face felt hot, body sore. But he was warm and dry, and he felt soft hands on his stomach. He opened his eyes. Bright sun, blue sky. Linda.
I didnt even try to take you inside. Youre too heavy, she said. She was doing something to his belly.
Mike remembered now. The long push for home, stopping only for gas, coffee, or a quick sandwich. Hed been exhausted, nearly delirious, when hed finally turned the Caddy onto the gravel road for home. His cabin lay in ruin, so hed come looking for Linda. She wasnt home, so Mike had collapsed into one of her lounge chairs on the back deck, where he lay now.
Linda had cleaned the knitting needle wound and was now applying a bandage. His pants had been cut open to the belt, fresh bandages on his leg. Lets get you inside, and Ill do something about the bandage on your eye. It looks nasty.
Mike supposed it did.
You could have let yourself in, Linda said. I wouldnt have minded.
Didnt want to intrude, he croaked. His mouth and throat were so dry.
You and that polite shit again.
He smiled weakly. Andrew?
They left.
They?
Its all in the note. You can read it later. Basically he and his girlfriend took off to live happily ever after.
A lot happened while I was away.
Understatement of the year. She grabbed him by the arm, helped him up. And you better believe I have some questions for you.
Ill come clean. Coffee first.
Right.
Together they stumbled into the kitchen, and she helped him into a chair. Soon she had coffee brewing. She set a copy of the Tulsa World in front of him. That might interest you.
Mike read the headline. National Guard Searches for Missing Helicopter. Mike pushed the paper away. It would all have to wait until after coffee.
Linda put a tentative hand on Mikes shoulder, squeezed. Mike, Ive been scared. Its too much. Dont lie to me. Is it over? Any more surprises?
Its over.
She searched his face another moment, then nodded, handed him a mug of coffee. Mike sipped, sighed relief.
Im taking my suitcase upstairs, Linda said. Dont do anything. Just sit there and take it easy, okay?
He nodded as she left, didnt bother to ask about the suitcase or where shed been. Later. It could all wait until later. Right now there was only coffee and Lindas familiar kitchen and the Okie sun streaming in through the window.
The next three days were good for Mike. He felt right at home, the belly wound scabbing nicely, aches and pains subsiding gradually. Hed been afraid the leg might get infected, but it would be okay too. He felt resurrected.
Linda nagged him to rest, but her heart wasnt in it. She could see how good it was for Mike to begin the long process of clearing away the ruined vines, exploring the blackened wreckage of the barn and cabin for anything salvageable. More than ever Mike was aware that he moved like an old man, but he liked hard work and there was enough to keep him busy the rest of his life.
Mike built a bonfire, tossed debris into the flames. He would clean the slate, start over.
He found his empty Thompson gun among a tangle of vines, held it numbly a moment before a pang of remorse struck him deeply. He tossed the gun onto the bonfire.
That night at Lindas he sipped a beer, listened to her rattle pots and pans in the kitchen. She was a good woman, patient, kind for letting him use the spare bedroom. She hadnt asked her questions yet, but he sensed they were coming soon. He wasnt quite sure what hed tell her about himself, about his past, but she deserved the truth.
A knock at the door.
Andrew!
His nephew had returned. Mike felt sure of it, and his face stretched into a wide grin. He got up from the kitchen table, hobbled to the front door. He realized hed be happy to see the kid. Perhaps they could have some kind of relationship, maybe eventually be like a real family. Mike liked the thought of that. Maybe Andrew would even stick around awhile, lend a hand rebuilding the vineyard.
Mike opened the door.
It took him a second to place the grim Indians face, deeply lined, skin like old sun-dried wood. Keones father. He loomed, towered over Mike like some inevitable force of nature. He didnt say a word but held a stubby pistol pointed at Mike.
Mike understood. The fantasy of family and rebuilding the vineyard was a lie. The Indians pistol was the truth. He didnt need Dannys voice in his head to tell him that. This is the way Mikes world would end. No comfortable old age for him. Hed traded that for a pink sock a long, long time ago.
Its okay. Mike didnt flinch.
Bang.
Epilogue
Jamaal 1-2-3 sat in his dingy apartment off Atlantic Avenue in Brooklyn and stripped wires for a detonator. Slowly, without drawing attention to himself, hed gathered the components he needed. The explosion would be spectacular.
What would be exploded remained to be seen.
His contacts assured him that target information would be coming through the network any day now. What would it be? The Empire State Building? Wall Street? Perhaps they would instruct him to rent a car, drive to Washington, DC.
For many months now, Jamaal had waited, put together the device, worked washing dishes at the saloon two blocks away to pay the rent on the squalid studio apartment. But he was persistent, faithful. His own comfort meant nothing. The cause was everything.
Someone knocked at his door.
Jamaal checked the peephole. Saw the UPS deliveryman. Perhaps this was it! The UPS man might be delivering his final instructions even now. He opened the door, held out a hand for the thick manila envelope in the UPS mans hand. Do you need my signature?
The UPS man said nothing, only stared at Jamaals face.
Jamaal frowned. Whats wrong? Do you need
The UPS man pulled his hand out of the manila envelope. He held a gun. Jamaal tried to shout, but it was too late. The UPS man pulled the trigger three times, the blasts filling the studio apartment. Jamaal dropped, eyes closed, instantly dead.
* * *
Lizzy waddled next to the UPS man, put a hand on his arm. Youre sure thats him?
Andrew took off the UPS hat, wiped his forehead, and nodded. Yes. I remember him coming
out of the cargo container. Ill never forget that face.
She nodded, rested her hands on her giant stomach. Lizzy was huge, the green maternity dress barely covering her belly. She noticed Andrews face. It looked blank or maybe a little confused. You okay?
I dont know, Andrew said.
Killing someone is hard. It changes everything.
Andrew said, It had to be finished.
I know, Lizzy said. Now lets hurry, like we planned. People heard the shots, and the cops will be coming.
Right. Yeah. He tossed the UPS hat and jacket into the apartment on top of the body. He wiped the pistol with a handkerchief and tossed it inside too.
Lizzy asked, Did you wipe the bullets?
Andrew nodded. Before I loaded the gun.
Good.
So it was finally ending. Lizzy sighed. Relief. So much had happened these last months. Andrew had insisted on using his mob contacts. They kept their eyes and ears open until they located the object of Andrews revenge.
And Andrew had had his revenge. It wasnt sitting well with him. Lizzy was glad. Let this be the end to blood. She rubbed her stomach again. There was too much in their future for them to build a life on blood and debts of revenge.
She hooked her arm through Andrews, led him downstairs and out of the building. Remember, walk slowly. Dont draw attention.
Right.
Will you go back to school now?
Andrew shook his head.
Its okay, Lizzy said. Well figure something out.
She was the last Cornwall, heir to a fallen house in a drowned city. They had no home, only freedom and possibilities. Andrew would bring his mandolin. Maybe they could head west. Shed always been curious about California.
Anyway, wherever they ended up, there would be love and family and music.
Oh! She stopped suddenly, eyes round with surprise.
What? Panic on Andrews face.
He kicked, Lizzy said. A really hard one. Maybe hell be a dancer.
Or a football player.
Lizzy frowned.
Tell you what, Andrew said. Well let him figure it out for himself.
About the Author
VICTOR GISCHLER lives in the wilds of Skiatook, Oklahoma a long, long way from a Starbucks. His wife, Jackie, thinks he is a silly individual. He drinks black, black coffee all day long and sleeps about seven minutes a night. Victors first novel, Gun Monkeys, was nominated for the Edgar Award.
Also by Victor Gischler
Gun Monkeys
The Pistol Poets
Suicide Squeeze
FB2 document info
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Document creation date: 20.5.2012
Created using: calibre 0.8.51, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6.6 software
Document authors :
Victor Gischler
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Shotgun Opera Page 24
