A look of resignation had come over Timmy’s face. What chance did we have, I thought, if he was already considering the possibility of killing his own daughter and grandson?
“That was a stupid, stupid thing to do, telling her those things,” he said to me.
“She should know,” I said. “She should know just what kind of loving father she has.”
Timmy simmered, the air whistling in and out of nostrils.
“It’ll be easier when Wendell gets back here with the others,” he said, as much to himself as to me. “Then we can do everybody at once.”
35
I WANDERED TOWARD THE BACK CORNER of the stall, leaned my head in close to Lawrence’s.
“Wendell’s going to be back here any minute with Bob and Betty and Hank,” I said. “Then he’s going to kill the whole lot of us.”
“Yeah,” said Lawrence. “I’ve been following.”
“What if we hop the gate, rush Timmy, maybe one of us gets to a gun before Dougie does?”
Lawrence thought. “What about your bear spray?”
“Used up,” I said. “All gone.”
He sighed. “Rushing Timmy may be our only option. But I don’t think we’ll all survive it. He’ll get at least one of us before the other two can take him. And that’s only if Dougie’s slow off the mark.”
“I’ll go first,” said Dad, who had edged close enough to hear what we were talking about.
“No, Dad,” I said.
“Look, I’m the old guy, I’ve had a good run. Let me go first, and while he’s dealing with me, you two grab him.”
The thing was, even if I liked the idea, which I didn’t, it would take Dad, in his condition, so much longer to hop the gate that there wouldn’t be the slightest element of surprise.
“Something you’d like to share with the class?” Timmy said. We broke apart. “A little less chatter, okay?”
We said nothing. Timmy called Dougie over to the back of the van.
“Okay,” Timmy said. “I know the parade’s not till morning, but I want you in position early, before the sun comes up. You got to be somewhere that’s close to the parade route, and close to the town hall, because I want both of them taken out. You understand?”
“Sure, Timmy.”
“Good. Before you go, I’ll set the bomb so it’s ready to receive the signal from the remote detonator, so you won’t have to worry about doing that.”
“Okay. That’s good, because you’re better at that stuff than me.”
“No kidding,” Timmy said. Dougie’s brow furrowed, like maybe he was picking something up on his sarcasm detector.
“Now this,” Timmy said, holding up what looked like a walkie-talkie, with a short stubby antenna and a number of buttons on front, “is your remote detonator. It couldn’t be simpler. See this red button here?”
Dougie examined it. “Yes.”
“You press it, the bomb goes off.”
“I can do that.” He held the device in his hand. “But I won’t press it now.”
“It wouldn’t matter if you did, because the bomb’s not turned on. But once it is on, you have to be careful.”
“What if I drop it or something?”
“Remember I mentioned the box?” Timmy led him over to the nearby workbench and showed Dougie a small plastic case, about the size a soldering gun comes in. He opened it up, and it was filled with spongy foam, the same kind of stuff that held the surveillance gear in Lawrence’s equipment case. A recess, cut the same shape as the detonator, was cut into the foam.
“You carry the detonator in here, and take it out when you need it. That way, even if you dropped this case, or smashed it up against a wall, the red button can’t go down.”
“Whew,” said Dougie, grinning. “That’s a relief.”
“You’re sure you can handle all this?”
“Oh yeah, no problem.”
“Because, and I have to be honest with you here, Dougie, I’d normally do this myself, or trust it to Wendell, but your mother thinks it’s time you were given more responsibility. And she wants you to take on something big, like this.”
“I know. It’s for my self-esteem. I think it’s already starting to feel bigger.”
“That’s really terrific,” Timmy said.
Lawrence was watching Dougie and Timmy, and I knew he was doing mental calculations. Distance and time. Time and distance.
“We gonna put it in there now?” Dougie asked, pointing to the detonator and the foam-filled box on the workbench.
“Soon enough,” Timmy said. “Soon enough.”
“I’m back!”
It was Wendell’s voice, but it wasn’t Wendell who made the first entrance. Bob Spooner stepped in, wearing a pair of boxers, a jacket, and a pair of work-boots without socks. Betty and Hank hadn’t been given any time to get dressed either. She was in a long blue flannel nightgown and slippers, and Hank was in blue pajamas and bare feet. Wendell came in last, the shotgun leveled at their backs.
“Oh man,” Lawrence whispered.
“Over this way, folks!” Timmy said, greeting them with a wave of the hand and directing them to the stall. “Welcome!” He unlatched the gate and swung it wide enough to admit the new prisoners. Hank’s face was wild with fear. Betty looked scared, too, but at the same time there was a calmness about her. And Bob looked dazed, as if this were all some sort of dream, that he’d wake up a few hours later and none of this would have happened.
I hardly knew what to say to them as Timmy closed the gate.
“Things are starting to come together,” he said.
“So,” said Wendell. “I got ’em. Good, huh?”
“Yeah. You done good.”
He reached into his pocket, pulled out several sets of car keys. “And I got everybody’s keys, in case anyone thought of trying to get away, they wouldn’t get very far. And I even yanked out the phone line in the first cabin. It was the only cabin with one, I checked.”
Timmy nodded happily. “Wendell, that was good thinking. Really good thinking. I hadn’t thought of that.”
Wendell blushed. “It was no big deal.”
“I’d have thought of that,” Dougie said. “If you’d told me.”
Timmy, his back to Dougie, looked at Wendell and rolled his eyes. He pulled Wendell to one side, close enough to the gate that I could hear their discussion.
“I’m a little worried about Dougie,” Timmy said. “You think he can do this?”
“I guess,” Wendell said.
“I was thinking, what might make sense would be, you drive into town a little later after Dougie goes, stick with him till the sun comes up, in case he gets nervous or anything, and then after he blows up the van, you can give him a lift back out here.”
“Yeah, I can do that. But it might make Mom mad. She wants him to do this alone.”
“Okay, fine. I’ve also got another little problem.”
“What’s that?”
Timmy’s voice got even quieter. “I’m gonna need a place to put all these bodies.”
“How many?”
Timmy took a few steps back, his face appearing around the corner of the stall. He was counting us. Then he disappeared from view. He whispered to Wendell, “At least six.” He paused. “Maybe a couple more. I don’t know. I gotta sort that out later.”
“Gee, where we gonna do that? I don’t have to dig a hole, do I? I mean, if it was just a couple, that would be okay, but that many? That’ll take forever.”
I knew something about the frustrations associated with getting your kids to do chores, but this was a bit beyond my realm of experience.
“Any other ideas?” Timmy asked.
“What if I put them in the lake? Like, we put their bodies in a boat and sink the boat?”
“I don’t know. Won’t they just float back up?”
“What if it’s a boat with a deck, and we stuff them under the deck?”
“Any boats like that down at Walker’s place?”
>
“I don’t know. I never looked.”
“Why don’t you go check it out. See if any other ideas present themselves to you.”
“Okay.”
“Oh, and wish Dougie good luck. He might be gone before you get back.”
Wendell went over to his brother, patted him on the back, said, “Good luck, man. I’ll see you later, okay?”
Dougie gave him a thumbs-up, and then Wendell slipped away.
“Did you hear any of that?” Bob Spooner whispered to me.
“All of it,” I said.
“They’re talking about how to get rid of our bodies!”
“Shhh!” I said. “I know. I know.”
“Dougie!” Timmy said. “I’m getting a bit tired, watching our guests all the time. And you’re going to be heading off soon, so I wonder if you could do me a favor before you go.”
“Yeah, Timmy?”
“Why don’t you get the dogs and bring them over?”
“Sure thing,” Dougie said. As if things weren’t already bad enough, we were about to get Gristle and Bone as babysitters.
“Do you believe in luck?” Lawrence whispered.
“Why?” I said.
“Because we sure could use some now.”
36
TIMMY PICKED UP A SHOTGUN and kept it trained on all of us, the barrel aimed through the boards of the gate, while Dougie left to get the pups.
There were six of us. And one of him.
Lawrence shot me a look. I had a pretty good idea what he was thinking. This might be our only chance alone with Timmy. Our last chance to do anything before the others came back. Before the dogs arrived.
We knew now, as if there had ever been any doubt, what the dogs were capable of.
Lawrence stood at the back of the pen. From there, if he took a run at the gate, given the kind of shape he was in, he could put his hands on top of it, pitch his legs up to one side, and vault over in one smooth motion. But Timmy would see him coming, no matter how quickly, and be able to get off a shot.
What if two of us tried it, at the same time? Well, the stall was only about six feet across, and if two of us tried to vault over the gate at the same time, we might present a more complicated target for Timmy, but we’d also get our legs tangled together at the same time.
Okay, what if—
“You cocksucking bastard!” Hank Wrigley charged the gate, hooking his bare foot on the bottom board, trying to get his other leg over. But Hank was no Lawrence. He was probably my father’s age, and there was no way he was going to leap over that gate in a hurry.
“Hank!” Betty screamed. “Hank!”
It was almost leisurely, the way Timmy tipped his shotgun up, pumped it, and pulled the trigger. The blast was deafening.
Hank came flying off the gate toward us, and Lawrence tried to break his fall. Hank fell into his arms, and once he had him, Lawrence laid him down on the floor, gently. His left pajama sleeve was torn and bloody.
“My God, Hank!” Betty said, dropping to her knees to see how badly he was hurt. “You stupid son of a bitch!”
I thought she might have thrown her arms around him, but Betty, even as shocked as she had to be, was all business. It hadn’t been that long since she’d retired from nursing, and I was guessing she hadn’t forgotten a thing. She started tearing away his sleeve.
“Ohhhh,” Hank said. “Ohhhh.”
I looked at Timmy, who shrugged. “What’s he been smokin’?” he said.
Bob said, “How is he? Is he going to be okay?”
“It’s his arm,” Betty said, already ripping Hank’s sleeve right off and turning it into a tourniquet. “If we can get him to a hospital,” she said, breathlessly, “he’ll be okay.”
“Ohhhh,” Hank said again. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I just wanted to…”
“Stupid old man,” Betty said.
“We need to get this guy to a hospital,” I said to Timmy.
He looked at me, grinned, shook his head. “That’s a good one.”
“Timmy,” I said, “can I ask you something?” He shrugged. “What’s going to happen to May? And Jeffrey?” He was silent. “You going to kill them, too?”
“Shut up,” he said.
“If you don’t, I’m sure Charlene will. May and Jeffrey aren’t her blood, you know. What’s it to her if they die?”
Timmy frowned, took a step closer to the gate. “Don’t you think you’ve got enough to worry about without worrying about my family problems?”
There was the sound of snarling and growling outside, and then the dogs made their entrance. Gristle and Bone dashed around the barn, running here and there, bumping into each other, sticking their snouts into mounds of hay, under the van, over by the workbench, then the gate.
When they got to us, they shoved their jagged snouts between the boards and started acting like they were on crack. They barked and snarled incessantly, chewed the boards, broke off bits of wood with their large, viselike jaws.
“Settle down, settle down,” Timmy said.
The dogs ignored him. In the stall, Bob, Lawrence, Dad, and I moved to the far end. Betty held her spot, tending to her husband.
“Settle down!” Timmy shouted, and the dogs fell silent. “That’s better. Sit.”
The dogs sat.
“Stay.”
The dogs stayed. The two of them sat, side by side, panting lawn ornaments from hell, staring between the boards at us with their dark, pit bull eyes.
Timmy said, “Any of you folks move suddenly, and the dogs, they’re gonna go nuts. Understand?” Our collective silence was taken as a yes. “Good. I’ve got a couple things to do.” He crawled back into the van.
Dougie entered the barn. “They kind of got away from me,” he said.
From inside the van, Timmy said, “It’s okay. I got them on guard duty.”
For the next quarter of an hour or so, not much happened. We sat quietly in our pen while Timmy did some final tinkering with the van. He hopped out the back and closed the tailgate, pulling on the handle once to satisfy himself that it was shut securely.
“I think we’re ready,” Timmy said. “The device is all ready to go. You push the button, it does its job.”
Dougie smiled. “I guess I’m a little nervous, if you want to know the truth.”
“That’s understandable. It’s like you’re going on a great mission. Actually, you are going on a great mission.”
Dougie, embarrassed, looked at the floor.
“You ready?” Timmy asked.
“Yeah.”
“You remember everything you have to do? You’ve got everything you need?”
“I do,” Dougie said. “I really do. Park the van near the town hall, along the parade route. Find a place on high ground where I have a good view. Meet up later with Wendell, he’ll give me a ride back.”
“And then we’re going to have to get out of here,” Timmy said. “We’re going to have to leave this place.”
Dougie nodded. “I’ll miss it. I’ve liked it here. It’s real pretty.” He called over in our direction. “Mr. Walker? Like, the older one?”
Dad said, “Yes?”
“Thanks for letting us rent your farmhouse. We’ve really liked it here.”
Dad looked at me, speechless.
“Okay,” said Timmy. “That’s it, then.”
“I really appreciate you letting me do this,” Dougie said, and he threw his arms around his stepfather and hugged him. Timmy patted the young man’s back a couple of times, with some reluctance it seemed, and pulled away.
Dougie opened the van door, got into the driver’s seat. He put on his seatbelt, turned the key in the ignition. The engine caught, and exhaust billowed out the tailpipe almost immediately, in the direction of the stall.
“Timmy? The door?”
Timmy Wickens ran around to the front of the van and pushed the barn door, which had only been wide enough to allow a person through, all the way open. For the first time, from
our spot in the pen, we could see the yard, the farmhouse off in the distance to the left, the gate to the driveway just beyond that to the right. I thought I could see, walking toward the barn, Wendell. Coming back from the cabins with some plan for getting rid of our dead bodies, no doubt.
Dougie put the van in drive and began to pull out just as Wendell was reaching the barn.
Timmy gave a small wave goodbye, in case Dougie might see him in his rear-view mirror. Timmy turned around as the van pulled away, and his eyes landed on the walkie-talkie-like detonator, still sitting atop its plastic carrying case, over on the workbench.
“For fuck’s sake,” he said. “Can’t that boy remember anything?”
He ran over to the workbench, just as Wendell was entering the barn. “Hey!” he said, cheerful. “So Dougie’s on his way!”
Gristle and Bone put their noses to the air.
Timmy Wickens turned, the detonator in his hand, and said, “The stupid idiot forgot this! Get this to him!”
Wendell ran over to the workbench and grabbed the detonator, still not in its box, from his father, then turned to run after the van.
What happened next happened very, very fast.
37
THE VAN, its rear red taillights coming on as Dougie tapped the brakes going across the bumpy yard, was nearing the house when Charlene stepped out to wave goodbye.
Then, as I strained to peer harder into the distance, I saw that she wasn’t just waving. She had something in her hand. A brown lunch bag.
Wendell took the detonator from his father’s hand like a relay runner grasping a baton. He pivoted, started running after his brother.
“Don’t hit the red button!” Timmy warned.
“Don’t worry!” Wendell shouted back. “I know how it works!”
The pit bulls, Gristle and Bone, raised their snouts again. Something had caught their attention and was distracting them from their task of guarding the prisoners. Their hindquarters lifted from the floor, and they turned about, attempting to track down the source of what was wafting up their nostrils.
They fixed their eyes on Wendell, and their heads turned with him as he ran from the barn.
I knew then what had sparked their interest. It was the scent of fish guts, smeared all over Wendell’s pants and the front of his shirt from his plunge into the pit.
Linwood Barclay Page 29
