The Keepers

by Jeffrey B. Burton

Kippy saw the reason her stealth activity had gone undetected. A young male, mid-twenties, with thick glasses and inch-long hair that stuck up like a paintbrush was shooting at winged dragons on an Xbox or PlayStation or whatever. He had headphones plugged into the computer game and was either jamming to tunes or to the slaying of computer-generated medieval beasts.

  Kippy exhaled and lowered her pistol. Just some nerd who’d rather dick around with his toy instead of visit with mother and Gladys at the lake home. But then two things happened in rapid succession. First, Kippy spotted a picture of herself sitting atop a file folder on the seat next to the young man. It was turned his way and looked like an eight-by-ten of her current driver’s license photo. The second thing that occurred—the young man turned her way.

  Kippy yanked open the door, Beretta in the gamer’s face. “Get your ass out of the goddamned car.”

  The kid’s mouth dropped to his navel. Suddenly, the afternoon calm shattered, dogs began to bark and howl. Several of them. Kippy had no time to mess around. She pulled the young guy by his shirt front until he dropped onto the ground, his Xbox and headphones falling to the dirt beside him.

  “How many?”

  No answer, so she kicked him in the chest. “How many?”

  “Two.”

  “Where?”

  The kid motioned in the direction of Feist’s cabin.

  “Who the hell are you?”

  “The computer guy.”

  She kicked him in the chest again.

  “Jesse Aarestad,” he said, spraying saliva. “They call me Jethro.”

  Mace’s dogs continued their wild rant, loud and fierce. Kippy wanted to scream. Instead she said, “You move, you die.”

  She whipped open the driver’s door. Turned off the sedan, popped the keys from the ignition, and dropped them in her pocket. Then she flipped the trunk latch.

  “Get your ass up.”

  Callum’s computer guy stood, his face white. The dogs continued howling. She felt ill.

  “Wallet and phone,” Kippy yelled. “On the ground.”

  Jesse “Jethro” Aarestad bumbled the objects from his pockets, and Kippy slapped them to the dirt. She took a second to frisk him; the computer guy was clean. There was no more need to gab, and Kippy shoved him to the rear bumper of the Continental. She thought for a moment, then grabbed his coke-bottle glasses and tossed them into the woods behind her before ramming him in the spine with a palm, knocking him into the luggage compartment, then slamming the trunk. If the kid was somehow able to Houdini himself out from the car, he’d be blind as a bat as he attempted his getaway.

  Besides, by that time this thing would be over … one way or another.

  Kippy turned but noticed something missing.

  The yowling had ceased.

  Kippy started to run.

  CHAPTER 46

  A hand grasped the back of my collar and belt buckle, and I was airborne again, dwarf-tossed across the yard, landing on the hard dirt of Feist’s lower driveway. I struggled to my knees, but Man-mountain grabbed me by the throat, lifting me like a rag doll, legs dangling, and marched me to the back side of the fishing shack. As we turned the corner, I caught a quick glance at the lake. No witnesses to my murder. And then the view was gone. I was thrown against the wood siding of Feist’s cabin.

  I bounced hard; fell to my knees in the spot where I’d nosedived to hide from that fishing boat only hours earlier. My girls were going insane, barking mad in the shack’s bedroom behind me. I looked up. Man-mountain stood where the CACC truck had been parked, a gun with some kind of bar on its end pointed at my face.

  “I like you, dog man,” Callum’s driver said. “You blew me away at Weeks’s office, you really did. And making us chase your ass out here of all places. Like I said before, you got spunk. Hell, I’m proud of you, kiddo, but all good things must come to an end … which may be more proverb than idiom.” He appeared lost in thought for a second before his attention returned to me. “Where’s the girl?”

  I looked up at the tower of a man. “We went our separate ways in Chicago.”

  Man-mountain struck in a flash. The tip of his cowboy boot smashed into my gut. Hard. I snapped backward into the wall again, and then dropped to my hands and knees, sucking air. The dogs barked louder. The man in the fancy brown suit—Feist’s fake neighbor and the figure formerly behind the door—strolled back down the driveway, a smirk on his face, with something glinting in his right hand … and I suddenly realized who he was.

  I’d seen some of his work in a burned-out warehouse in the Fulton River District last summer.

  A wave of nausea washed over me, and I began to throw up.

  CHAPTER 47

  “Don’t get puke on me or I’ll stab you in the fucking heart.”

  I leaned backward against the cabin wall at an awkward tilt, pinned by Cappelli Jr.’s forearm against my chest. Man-mountain stood yards away, where the ground jutted upward as the hill rose above the lake, his gun held at his side, pointed down. Cappelli Jr. twisted his special pair of brass knuckles in front of my face, showing me the sharpened center spike.

  “I call these fuckers Goldy because they’re gold-plated, except the spear tip is silver.”

  I gulped air, hoping the nausea would pass, hoping not to be sick again, wishing to be anywhere but here, any time but now. The chorus of barks and snarls continued uninterrupted.

  Cappelli’s face was inches from mine—so close as to be out of focus—but there was something off, something about his expression, his mouth. He caught me staring, his features grew dark … and he chopped at my chin with the bottom brass of his deadly knuckles.

  Shards of pain spiked through my skull. When it cleared, seconds later, he was still there, still inches away … smiling.

  “Now the big guy asked you a question, and a pretty important one considering our current circumstances, but you thought you’d be cute,” the young mobster said, a glint in his eye, and I realized how much he was enjoying himself. “So I’m going to ask the big guy’s question one more time, and the last thing you want to be with me is cute.” He stared at me. “Where’s the girl?”

  “She dropped me here to look for evidence, and then took off for Madison,” I said. It sounded plausible and, in my shaken state, it might come across as truth. “She knows an agent in the field office there.”

  Cappelli Jr. stared at me another second, uncertain of my admission. He pressed harder against my chest, pressed the tip of his knuckle-spike against my neck, and turned to look at Man-mountain.

  Man-mountain shook his head.

  Cappelli’s head snapped back, a broad grin on his face. “You dumb motherfucker,” he said. “Now I get me an eye.”

  I blinked uncontrollably as he brought the spike tip closer and closer to my left eye. When it came within a millimeter, I squeezed both eyes shut as though that could somehow save me. I felt the cutting begin. I opened my mouth to scream, but a hand cupped against it. The pressure against my chest released. I raised my arms, but Cappelli hit me, a hard left hook to my ear, and I sank back into the wall.

  “Don’t you fucking scream and don’t you fucking puke.” Cappelli Jr. was an inch from my face. “That was just a trial run, motherfucker.”

  My head rang. I blinked open my eyes, still had vision in both. Cappelli had cut me, all right, but a half-inch slash below my left socket. I felt the blood dripping down my face.

  “You may need a few stitches there, pal.” Cappelli Jr. turned toward Man-mountain for validation, and then turned back. “Last time, motherfucker. You going to be cute?”

  I shook my head.

  “Any more of your bullshit and I’ll pop your eyeball like a grape,” he said, his eyebrows raised. “Where’s the fucking girl?”

  “I came here to find evidence,” I said, half-heartedly. “Officer Gimm never left Chicago. She’s trying to connect with Special Agent Squires.”

  The words rang hollow. Not even the squirrels or rabbits or earthworms abou
t Peter Feist’s cabin believed me, but Cappelli Jr. twisted about to look at Callum’s driver.

  “Take his eyes,” Man-mountain said.

  CHAPTER 48

  Vira scampered from the bedroom, circled the main cabin room, and backed toward Feist’s old sofa. She stared at the kitchen’s open window above the linoleum countertop; the one Kippy had earlier slipped through. Vira dashed the short width of the cabin and threw herself into the air, landed on the linoleum counter, skidding, nails scratching metal as both front paws slid into the sink. She steadied herself, backed onto the countertop, and let go with a staccato of barks and yaps. It was then that Delta Dawn and Maggie May ran into the main room and stared up at her.

  Vira flew through the kitchen window.

  * * *

  “I’m in uncharted territory here, motherfucker,” Cappelli Jr. said, swirling the knuckle-spike in front of my eyes. “Let’s see, do I come in from the side or underneath.”

  He’d kicked my feet out from beneath me, dropped on my chest, his knees pinning my arms. My head lay in the dirt against the cabin wall. I tried wiggling, kneeing him in the back, but he slammed another left hook against my ear.

  “Has the patient any preference for his procedure today?” Cappelli Jr. asked. The man was insane, clearly enjoying this, savoring every last detail.

  “Cut the shit,” Man-mountain said. He’d moved toward the cabin corner, still near the incline, staring off at the water, gun still in his hand, still aimed at the ground. It didn’t appear he cared to witness my upcoming surgery. “Let’s get this fucker done.”

  Then Man-mountain’s demeanor changed—a jolt in expression as though he’d just seen Nessie emerge from Rock Lake. His gun began to rise. Immediately, Vira was between me and Cappelli, her paws dancing about my chest, her jaws clamping on Cappelli’s right wrist, the one holding his gold-plated brass knuckles.

  Cappelli Jr. screeched as though his face were on fire, leaped to his feet, nearly sixty pounds of Vira hanging off his wrist. He jerked his arm and Vira tumbled to the ground. Cappelli took off running—shrieking for all the world to hear—with Vira hot on his tail, nipping at his ass as they both disappeared into the woods. A second later Maggie May bounded over me, joining in on the hunt.

  I propped up on my elbows, and Delta Dawn was by my side, snarling at Man-mountain, baring her teeth. Man-mountain’s gun was back in play, this time aimed at Delta.

  “If that dog moves an inch, I’ll kill it.”

  I put a hand on my collie’s neck. “Easy, girl, easy.”

  “How ’bout Cappelli Junior?” Man-mountain said and began to laugh. He touched a knuckle to the corner of an eye as though wiping a tear. “Folded like limp foreskin. More Fredo Corleone than James Caan.”

  Unsure what to say, I pulled myself to my knees.

  “How bad is that going to be?” he asked, motioning where Cappelli Jr. and my dogs had bolted.

  “They’re protecting me from him,” I replied, “but they’re not killers.”

  “I’m going to let the dickbag think he needs rabies shots—the ones they give in the navel,” Man-mountain said. “Look, Reid, you never asked for any of this shit. It’s not your fault Cappelli’s pal fumbled the ball.”

  Cappelli’s pal?

  The big man continued, “You were just doing your job, a working stiff like the rest of us, and you happened to fall in the outhouse. But it’s blindfold and cigarette time. I’ll make this quick.”

  “You don’t care where Officer Gimm is?”

  “You already told me. By trying to send us away, it means she’s coming back, probably with a bucket of chicken,” he said. “And, who knows, we may not even get to her if I have to rush Boy Dillinger to the hospital.”

  I stared up at him. “Please don’t hurt my dogs. Delta here is fifteen and nearly blind. I have no idea how she made it through that window.”

  “Once you’re gone, frankly, I don’t give a shit about the golden. And your collies mean nothing to me,” he said as he leveled the gun my way. “You ready?”

  “Can I send her away?” I looked at Delta Dawn, who stood frozen next to me, growling softly at Callum’s driver.

  An imperceptible nod. “If I like someone, kiddo, I’ll give them a few seconds to get good with God. And since dog’s a reverse palindrome—you got five.”

  I burned a moment wondering what the hell that meant, and then sat on a foot and knee next to my farm collie.

  “Delta girl,” I said, choking up. I ran a forearm across my face. It came back covered with blood and snot. My collie looked sideways at me, still growling. “Delta honey.” I reached to touch the back of her neck but dove forward instead. “Sic!”

  CHAPTER 49

  The dogs barking frightened Kippy.

  The dogs no longer barking terrified her.

  Kippy’d heard no gunshots and she intuited they’d have to use guns on the dogs. She hoped the girls had given Mace enough warning to slam the windows and maybe upend the kitchen table against the front door. She hoped the dogs would throw Callum’s driver and the second attacker for a loop, giving her enough time to get back to the cabin.

  Kippy jogged through the woods, a swift pace, doing her best to keep quiet. A lot of good she’d be if Callum’s driver heard her coming and took her out before she even made it to Feist’s property.

  Then a scream stopped her in her tracks—an ungodly bloodcurdler she prayed didn’t belong to Mace. Kippy began sprinting, Beretta in both hands, scanning the forest path in front of her, hoping no unknowns waited in the brush. The scream didn’t stop, not right away, and suddenly it sounded closer. She ducked behind an evergreen. The shriek stopped, but now a commotion, someone was coming her way … someone bat-out-of-helling it back to the perceived safety of the Lincoln Continental. Kippy peeked from behind the tree. Some dark-haired male in a brown suit was flying toward her at an Olympic pace, abject terror smeared across his features, with Vira and Maggie hot on his heels.

  Kippy broke from her concealment, slanting downward to meet him. The man never saw her coming, not even as the side of the Beretta smashed into his mouth, shattering teeth and tissue. He dropped to the forest floor like a sack of cement.

  Kippy looked at Vira and swore the golden retriever read her mind. Vira veered on a dime, doubling back to the cabin, back to help Mace. Maggie May circled the prone figure, snarling. It was then that Kippy realized who lay at her feet.

  “Get it away,” Cappelli Jr. said through busted teeth and blood. “Get that thing the fuck away from me.”

  She kicked him in the ass. “Get your arms around that goddamned tree or she’ll chew your nuts off.”

  Kippy had never seen anyone move as fast as the young mobster; he bellied forward and wrapped his arms around the base of a cedar tree. His broken mouth seemed to be the least of his concerns. Kippy handcuffed Cappelli as Maggie sat growling nearby. She yanked the cuffs tight to make sure Cappelli Jr. wouldn’t be going anywhere, not caring that her action caused more blood to ooze from his dripping wrist.

  Kippy looked at Maggie May and said, “Mace.”

  Maggie lunged forward, bit Cappelli in the armpit, and then turned and followed in Vira’s footsteps back to Feist’s cabin.

  “Oh, god,” Cappelli Jr. sobbed, blood and saliva hanging from his mouth, tears streaming. “Oh, god—I’m bleeding. I’m bleeding.”

  Kippy held the Beretta against the back of his head. His whining ceased immediately.

  “If Mace is hurt,” Kippy said, “you’re a dead man.”

  Her finger lingered on the trigger, and then she pulled herself away from the impulse, turned, and headed toward Feist’s cabin.

  CHAPTER 50

  I was becoming an accomplished liar.

  Delta Dawn is not fifteen years old. She’s eight. And Delta is anything but blind; my farm collie has eyesight like an eagle. Delta had attended a thousand training sessions with me, was often my show dog … and she knew each and every command by heart.


  Delta blasted off the ground like a rocket ship, sinking her teeth into the flesh under Man-mountain’s thumb and the back of his gun hand, clamping down with a vise-like grip. I don’t care how big an ass-kicker you are, when a fifty-pound farm collie goes for you in attack mode, it’ll throw off your A game. Two shots from Man-mountain’s pistol spit into the dirt where Delta and I had been an instant before.

  I kept rolling and grabbed the bite-stick-slash-police-baton Kippy had dropped by the cabin corner after smashing in the kitchen windowpane. I twisted about, flicking up the baton, causing the two additional shafts to expand and lock in place. It was now twenty-six inches of high-carbon steel. Delta clung to Man-mountain’s hand, her legs in perpetual motion, claws whipping against the towering man’s long coat as he shook his arm in some frenzied tempo only he could hear.

  “Run!” I screamed, holding the baton above my head like a crazed samurai.

  Delta dropped to the ground, scrambled backward as Man-mountain whipped his head sideways at the new peril. With all my might I brought the baton down hard on his gun hand—on the backside of his palm. His pistol and silencer dropped to the dirt, his left hand cupping his injury. I drew back the baton, a batter at the plate, and swung for Man-mountain’s head, wanting to knock it into the bleachers. But the big man was lightning. He caught the top section in his left hand, wrenched it from my grip, brought it across his chest, and backhanded me in the temple.

  I was on my ass, against the cabin wall again; legs sprawled out in front of me, wondering how I’d gotten there. My ears rang. I felt like I should rise but had forgotten how. The only reason my skull hadn’t cracked open like Humpty Dumpty was that Man-mountain had let me have it with the baton’s foam handle … and I sat there staring up at him, oddly disengaged, as the circumstance was remedied. Man-mountain flipped the baton into the air, caught it by its foam grip, and stepped my way. My bell had been thoroughly rung and—like an injured player on the field watching as concerned faces rushed to help—I watched my impending extinction with a remote detachment. In some through-the-looking-glass manner, I fully understood how this was the part where I get beaten to death; but, like a bird crashing into a plate-glass window, I had a stunned lack of involvement, and my overriding reflection was I’ll be damned, he’s ambidextrous.