Quiver

by Peter Leonard

  “Five…”

  Luke could feel his hands shake and could feel sweat drip down his face.

  “Six…”

  DeJuan was thirty feet away now, leveling the shotgun.

  “Seven…”

  He tried to pull the bowstring. It wouldn’t budge.

  “Eight…”

  He heard his dad like he was standing next to him: “You can do it. Lock your arms, use your shoulders. Shoot the son of a bitch.”

  It was as if he’d been in a trance, hypnotized, the sound of his dad’s voice snapping him out of it. He felt strong, raised the bow and put Teddy square in the red circle of the laser sight.

  Boom. He heard the shotgun roar and saw a limb blown off a foot away from him.

  “Nine…”

  He pulled back the string and locked it-in full draw now.

  “Ten…”

  It was like it happened in slow motion. He stopped digging the gun into her face and let go of her hair, the pain she felt was suddenly gone. Teddy staggered back. She heard the heavy sound of his pistol hitting the hard ground. She glanced over her shoulder and saw the broadhead in his chest-blood blotting his shirt-Teddy staggering like he was drunk, reaching for the arrow, hands grabbing the white bloodstained fletching, trying to pull it out. He looked like he was going to say something-blood bubbling out of his mouth-but didn’t or couldn’t. There was fear in his eyes, knowing he was going to die and knowing there was nothing he could do about it. His hands let go of the arrow and he fell over on his back. His eyes were open, looking up at her, but he was gone.

  Now she heard the heavy boom boom of DeJuan’s shotgun. DeJuan coming out of the woods now, racking and firing into the tree line, blowing off limbs. She picked up Teddy’s chrome-plated automatic and moved toward him.

  He turned and looked at her and grinned, pointing the shotgun. “Better drop it,” DeJuan said. “Mine’s bigger.”

  “There’s just one problem,” Kate said. “You’re empty.” He’d fired five times-she counted, knew the magazine capacity. Her dad had one just like it-a Remington Wingmaster twelve-gauge.

  “You wrong, you dead.”

  He racked it and pulled the trigger and she heard it click. He looked surprised, dropped the shotgun and said, “Whoa. Hang on now. We can work this out. I’m gonna take the money and let y’all be.”

  “You’re not taking anything,” Kate said.

  “Think you got the nerve to shoot another human being?” DeJuan said. “Take a life, nice God-fearing suburban momma like yourself?”

  Luke appeared now, coming out of the woods. She glanced over at him, took her eye off DeJuan for a second, and when she looked back, he was pulling a gun from under his gold warm-up. She raised the chrome-plate, aimed at his chest, fired and blew him off his feet. She walked over and checked to make sure he was dead. He was, eyes open, a look of surprise frozen on his face.

  Luke ran to her now and she put her arms around him and they stood there like that for a long time, not saying a word.

  THIRTY

  Johnny left his truck on national parkland, deciding to approach McCall’s place from that direction, figuring it was less than a mile. There was no easy way to get there unless you took their private road and he wasn’t about to do that, announce his arrival to whomever happened to be there, armed and dangerous.

  He had his great-granddad’s lever-action 1890 model Winchester. A hundred and eighteen years old and still as accurate as any rifle he’d ever fired. Carried it in the truck, wrapped in a blanket behind the seats. He thought it was more appropriate than a bow for what he might encounter. He took the rifle out and loaded it with. 30–30 cartridges. The sky was starting to cloud up and Johnny smelled rain. It was six thirty, getting dark, when he entered the woods. He had about eight-tenths of a mile to go and figured it would take him fifteen, twenty minutes. He just hoped he’d get there in time.

  When they went back in the lodge Kate expected to see Jack sitting there in his chains. She had DeJuan’s SigSauer in her hand as a precaution but assumed Celeste had taken the money and was long gone. She was wrong. The two shrink-wrapped bundles of money were stacked on the floor in the breakfast room. Now Celeste came up behind them and put the barrel of her gun against the back of Kate’s head.

  Celeste said, “I know what you’re thinking-if you move real fast you can turn and get me before I get you-the way people do in movies. Let me tell you, it ain’t going to happen.”

  Kate held the SigSauer at arm’s length, in her left hand. Luke was a couple feet to her right.

  Celeste said, “Anybody seen Jack? Must’ve slipped out the back. Got a new plan, Stan. What was the name of that song?”

  Kate said, “You got the money-what else do you want?”

  Celeste said to Luke, “You go over there, lay on the floor where I can keep an eye on you.”

  Luke looked at her and she said, “It’s okay. Everything’s going to be fine.”

  “Why’re you lying to him?” Celeste said.

  Kate said, “There’s no reason to do this.” She glanced down and saw Celeste’s shoe behind her and to the left.

  Celeste said, “That’s where we disagree. Funny thing is, I feel like I owe you for getting rid of Teddy and DeJuan. I was going to do it myself, just didn’t know when or how.”

  Kate said, “Take the money, have a good life. Far as I’m concerned, you were never here.”

  “I’d probably say something like that too if I was in your situation. But we both know it’s bullshit, don’t we?”

  It was quiet for a few seconds. Kate could hear the ticking of the grandfather clock in the front hall.

  Johnny heard a shotgun blast in the distance. He levered a cartridge in the chamber of the Winchester and started to run. He remembered this stretch of woods from the day they went looking for the boy. He’d already crossed the stream, running uphill, over a ridgetop and then down through stands of birch and pine when heard the shotgun go off again-four more times, then a pistol shot. It was quiet after that and Johnny was sure he was too late. He picked it up, ran as fast as could now, and through a clearing in the trees, he saw the roofline of McCall’s cabin.

  “On second thought,” Celeste said, “I guess I could tie you up, call the sheriff’s department in a day or so, tell them where you’re at. Drop the gun, I’ll think about it.”

  Kate knew she was lying. She looked over and saw someone in the breakfast room window. At first she thought it was Jack but now recognized the Indian, Johnny Crow, aiming a rifle.

  Kate heard the click as Celeste cocked the hammer on her pistol, and she swung the SigSauer back and squeezed the trigger and shot Celeste in the foot-put one through her black Franco Sarto pump, the sound deafening, like an explosion. Celeste screamed, the shock and pain throwing her off balance and Johnny did the rest, fired through the side window and blew her off her feet.

  Kate looked back and saw Celeste sprawled on the floor, blood pooling under her. Luke was curled up in a ball, hands covering his ears. She helped him to his feet. His face was white and he looked like he was going to be sick. She took him in the kitchen, and he threw up in the sink. She poured cold water on a towel and wiped his face and hugged him and said, “It’s over. They’re never going to hurt you again.”

  Johnny came in the back door of the lodge, their eyes met, but neither of them said anything. There was nothing to say. Johnny got down on a knee and touched Celeste’s neck with his finger, checking for a pulse. He shook his head.

  Kate said, “I’ll be right back.”

  She took Luke upstairs and helped him take off his muddy clothes. She tucked him in bed and kissed his forehead and whispered, “It’s going to be okay now.” Luke closed his eyes and she pulled the covers up to his chin, Leon snuggling next to him, his pink tongue hanging out, tail moving back and forth as always.

  Jack walked in the front door of the cabin, saw the money stacked in the breakfast room, saw Celeste dead on the rug. He’d seen Te
ddy and DeJuan out in the yard and was thinking things couldn’t have worked out better. Then he saw the Indian. Where’d he come from? Jack looked at him. “Who’re you?”

  Guy didn’t say anything, just stood there.

  “Where’s Mrs. McCall? I’m a friend of hers.”

  He didn’t answer.

  Jack saw DeJuan’s Sig on an end table next to one of the couches. He wandered into the main room, trying not to make it too obvious. He glanced back at the Indian. “How about Luke, is he okay?”

  No answer.

  Jack picked up the Sig, thinking, you dumbass. He turned and the Indian had a rifle pointed at him, stock against his shoulder, ready to fire.

  The Indian said, “Put it down or you’re dead.”

  Jack believed him, Jack thinking, who is this guy? He was so close.

  Kate saw Jack drop the gun on the floor and it was almost like she expected to see him, expected him to be there. She was on the second-floor landing. She walked down the stairs and glanced at Johnny and said, “You should have shot him.”

  “He said he was a friend of yours,” Johnny said.

  “He’s not a friend,” Kate said. “I don’t know what he is.” She looked at Jack. “Back for the money, huh? You couldn’t leave two million and just walk away, could you? Decided to wait till it all played out so you wouldn’t have to get your hands dirty.”

  Jack came across the room toward her.

  “That’s not it,” he said. “A few miles down the highway I started thinking about you and felt guilty. I came back to make sure nothing happened to you.”

  She couldn’t listen to any more of his bullshit. “Don’t say anything else, okay?”

  “You tell Luke about me?” Jack said. “Tell him who his real dad is?”

  No, she hadn’t and wondered if she ever would. “The way I see it,” Kate said, “you’ve got two choices. You can keep talking till the sheriff gets here, or you can get in your car and take your chances. Just give me my key.”

  He took it out of his pocket and threw it to her.

  Kate and Johnny stood on the slate porch and watched the Lexus pull out of the garage and head across the gravel drive, picking up speed.

  Johnny said, “He’s not going to get too far in that car. They’re looking for it.”

  “I hope he doesn’t,” Kate said.

  “Why’d you let him go?” Johnny said.

  Kate had asked herself the same question and decided she was paying him back for getting her out of Guatemala. That’s how she justified it, anyway. Now they were even. She glanced at Johnny and said, “It’s a long story.”

  “I’ll bet it is,” he said.

  It started to rain.

  They went inside. Kate offered Johnny a beer and they sat at the breakfast room table, drinking their beers, waiting for the sheriff to get there.

  Johnny told her about Bill Wink and she felt terrible. Then he surprised her and brought up Joe Lamborne, the deputy who liked to feel up his prisoners.

  Johnny said, “That was you, wasn’t it?”

  He smiled.

  She was thinking that was the first time she’d seen him relax, let his guard down. He had a nice smile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kate said and grinned.

  Johnny said, “I know him. And I’ll bet he deserved what he got.”

  “Under the circumstances,” Kate said, “I think he got off easy.”

  Johnny said, “How’s your boy?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “He’ll be all right,” Johnny said. “Kids are tough.”

  Kate hoped he was right.

  She heard sirens in the distance and got up from the table and went to the front door and watched the police cars drive in-four of them-and two EMS vans, lights flashing.

  She thought about Luke. They’d get in the car in the morning, drive home and start over-just the two of them.

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