Even When You Win...

by Dave Balcom

  I sat back in my chair, and I’m sure I had a look of pure disbelief on my face. ‘“Them’?”

  “That’s the point of every story in the history of the Flynts – it’s always us against ‘them.’

  “Ed and Rita came into town from up north; he was a fair-haired boy hired by the Fiskes to count the money they hauled in on the sweat of the Flynts.

  “It didn’t matter to the Flynts that he and Rita were members of a church, took those two Parker boys out of the clutches of a madman and raised them as their own, served on the school board, brought more jobs and more money for the Flynts through his hard work – he was ‘them.’

  “Then ‘they’ moved out and left ol’ Ed high and dry, and some of the Flynts even started talking about Ed as if he was a real person, but then what happens? Wham; a new ‘they’ show up and prove his place among ‘them’ with that Sweepstakes money. Not only will he never have a worry, but he gets to anoint another generation of the Sweets into the ranks of ‘them.’”

  I stood up and walked to the railing of the porch. I felt dizzy almost. I turned and looked at Patty, “Really? Is that really what’s going on here?”

  She nodded and I could see a tear in her eye, “We embrace some of the most miserable people on earth in this valley, Mr. Stanton, just because they share the same last name.”

  She turned her head away as she said that, and then reached out to Ben’s arm. Her hand looked long, the bones and blue veins and the liver-colored blotches combined so it didn’t look as much like a hand or claw as it did the end of an angel’s wing, touching him in the hopes of saving him. “Ben, please honey, tell him what he needs to know.”

  Ben got up and walked off the porch. He started down the path towards his own home, but after about twenty yards he stopped and turned back to look at us. In the stark midday sun deep shadows fell where his eyes were, and turned his chin and throat black as if he had a long beard.

  I saw his head start a bit, and knew he was looking past us. I turned and saw Chance and his troopers, sweat marking their shirts, walking into the yard.

  Ben turned back and walked on towards his house.

  I looked at Patty Flynt, sitting in her rocker, watching her nephew recede into the distance and I saw that tear trickling down her powdered cheek. “He’ll do the right thing yet, you wait ‘n’ see. You just wait.”

  Chapter 60

  I explained the conversation to Chance as he and the troopers drank water out of the pump in the side yard.

  “God, that’s good water; cold enough to hurt your teeth,” one of the troopers muttered. “I wonder how deep that well is?”

  Chance listened to my account with a stunned look on his face. “You got all that out of him?”

  “I thought I was going to get more, maybe even the rest, but then you guys showed up and he froze. I certainly want another crack at him.”

  “Let’s go,” he said, ready to rock and roll.

  “Let’s give him a few minutes to get home. You guys look a sight, too. Take a break. Come sit with Mrs. Flynt; you’ll like her.”

  He gave me a cocked eyebrow at that, refilled his water bottle, and followed me to the porch.

  “You boys want some lunch?”

  “That sounds real nice, ma’am,” Chance said as he sat in the chair Ben had been using. “But I think I’m going to have to get those two troopers back to their squad before I can take a lunch break.”

  “I don’t really have much to share, but I’d be willing,” she said. “Not all the Flynts are...” She let that drift off, so I took a shot.

  “Mrs. Flynt, I keep thinking about what Ben told me. I understand you and he are direct descendants of Caleb, but who would be the direct descendant of Micah?”

  “Oh, that’s Reggie and that bunch over in the big house. That was Micah’s doing, and his eldest son passed it on to his eldest son and then it was Reggie’s turn. That whole part of the family has always been wild. Drinkin’, gamblin’, and what all I don’t know; I won’t have nothin’ to do with any of ’em.”

  “I met Cheryl Flynt this morning, and I thought she seemed nice enough.”

  “That what you thought?”

  “Should I think something else?”

  “You should, maybe, get to know her a bit better is all I’m sayin’. They all make a pretty good first impression, but there’s somethin’ dark in all of ’em; mark my word there is.”

  “Well,” Chance interrupted, “Mrs. Flynt, thank you for your hospitality. I’m sure you won’t find any damage to your house or property and I hope you understand the necessity of it.”

  She looked at him and I got another glimpse of what she must have been like as a younger woman when she smiled and said, “Y’all might get a bit warmer welcome next time if you’d call ahead first.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind, ma’am.”

  We drove back down the track and as we approached Ben’s home, I asked Chance to drop me off.

  “I’m not sure I’m excited about having you on the loose out here, Jim. We can come back after we return the guys to their squad, you know?”

  “I want to talk with him alone if I can; you can come right back, what can happen in just a few minutes?”

  He cocked that eyebrow at me again, “You been out of the field that long?”

  “Come on, Bill.”

  He stopped and I got out. He sped off, and I knew he’d be back in a matter of minutes. I walked up the drive to Ben’s house, and he met me at the door.

  “I figured I’d be seein’ you again soon,” he said as he turned and walked into the relative cool of his kitchen, “Come on in.”

  We sat at a kitchen table with a Formica top, aluminum bands around the table held it together. The chairs were aluminum with red plastic seats and backs. It looked like it had come straight from a 1950s cafe or maybe a malt shop of that era.

  He caught me looking at it, running my hand along the edge of the table. “My grandpa brought it home after Cooper’s Drugs in Elliotsville remodeled their store and took the soda fountain out. It’s been here ever since...”

  I went straight to work, “What can you tell me about my wife, Ben?”

  “She’s in this valley somewhere.”

  A jolt like electricity went through me, and I immediately went to work on my pulse and breathing. “Who took her?”

  “I’d tell you if I could. Hell, I’m just sick that I didn’t call the police when I first heard ... I just ... damn, I can’t explain it. When you say it out loud it makes no sense. I feel... dirty.”

  “Have you seen her?”

  “No. In fact, I can’t really say she’s still here. I know they brought her here. I heard she was at Reggie’s for several days...”

  “Would they hurt her?” I had asked before I thought it through.

  “I pray they haven’t, but I don’t know. I’m not part of that, really. They don’t confide in me.”

  “Who’s ‘they’ this time?”

  “Reggie had a brother and two sisters. His brother, Norman, moved away as soon as he could. Good guy; went to college, made a life outside the valley. He never comes back.”

  “What about Grayson? Is he part of this ‘they’”

  “No, he’s not part of it, but he’s weak. He knows, but he’d never give up his family in a case like this; no matter what...”

  “Now, he’s Cheryl’s dad?”

  “She’s more like his ward, really.”

  “Where does Cheryl fit in all this?”

  “You met her?”

  “This morning; she said she’d just got home from UCLA. Do you believe she’s part of this?”

  He looked over my shoulder, and at first I thought someone had come to the door, but then I realized he was staring into some other memory; then he muttered, “I’d not be surprised. She always felt more at home with Reggie than with her folks.”

  “How should I go about finding my wife, Ben?”

  “I don’t know; really I don�
�t. You guys are searching everywhere I can think of, so you’ll find her or she’s been moved or... I’m sorry, Jim, that’s not a thought I meant to share with you.”

  I knew my pain was apparent in my eyes, but I said nothing. We both sat silent, and then I wondered where Chance had gone.

  “Ben, you got a car? Can you give me a ride over to Reggie’s place? Chance was supposed to come right back, but it shouldn’t have taken this long.”

  “I’ll get you close, but I don’t want them to see you and me together.”

  “Hell, let me take the car and you can tell them I stole it.”

  “It’s a truck.”

  “No matter, you got the keys?”

  “They’re in it. It’s in the first shed.”

  I had just opened the shed door and was walking back to get into the truck when another, more modern pickup careened into the yard and slid to a stop in a cloud of yellow dust.

  All four doors opened and four men jumped out, all were carrying weapons, and when they saw me, they opened fire.

  I leaped into the cab of the truck, my hip on the bench seat, my shoulders and head cramped into the passenger floor board. As I tried to get a grip to right myself, my hand felt the barrel of a Remington pump gun. I could hear them coming across the yard, talking. I pushed myself up to where I was on my back, leaning against the passenger door, my knees bent and feet on the driver’s seat.

  I cracked the pump action a bit and found a shell in the chamber. I turned the weapon over and saw brass so I knew I had at least two shots. I held the Wingmaster in the port arms position, my right hand on the trigger, my left hand on the pump action. The barrel was pointed up and at the open door. I snapped the safety off and waited.

  I could see a shadow approaching the open door, and heard a voice out of sight say, “I think I hit him; he’s probably bleedin’ out already.”

  As the bill of his hat cleared the head rest on the driver’s seat, I pointed the barrel where his face would appear. He took another step and I pulled the trigger.

  The roar was deafening in the closed confines of the truck cab. I didn’t wait to find out what happened. As I racked another round into the pump, I kipped myself out around the steering wheel and got my feet on the dirt floor of the shed. I heard another man coming around the back of the truck at a dead run. I leaned out of the truck and as he appeared I met him with another charge from the shotgun.

  He went down and I cycled another shell into the chamber and stepped over the mess on the floor next to the door. I reached down and took a heavy handgun from his lifeless hand.

  I checked the weapon, a Colt revolver, and put it in my belt, and then resumed my creep toward the back of the truck.

  Another man stepped around the edge of the door and fired wildly into the relative darkness of the shed. I pulled the pump’s trigger again and he spun out of my sight. I saw a huge red smear on the door and knew he was at least wounded. I cycled the pump again, and heard that it was empty. I put it down quietly, pulled the Colt out of my belt, and checked the cylinder; there were four live rounds remaining.

  I continued my creep towards the back of the truck when I heard Ben’s voice from outside the shed. “Jim, you can come out now if you’re able. There’s nobody out here who’ll hurt you.”

  I stayed silent, moved another half step. Ben stepped into sight, some twenty feet from the doorway. Both his hands were up, holding a weapon over his head. A younger man dressed in a tee and shorts, was in front of him. “This is the fourth man from the truck, Jim. I disarmed him.”

  “Put the weapon on the ground and step away from it, please.”

  He did as I said, I walked out of the shed, and then stepped around the half-open door and found my third attacker stretched out on the ground, bleeding to death from the looks of things.

  I turned my attention back to Ben and the other guy. “We need to get to the phone, Ben.”

  He turned and started that way. The young man, a look of terror and shock on his face, just stood there. I waved the gun for him to follow Ben, but he didn’t move.

  “Ben?”

  The older man stopped halfway to the house, and took in the situation. “Gregory,” he said in a command voice, “Mr. Stanton’s not going to shoot you standing there. Come with us.”

  Still the young man didn’t move, and Ben finally shrugged, and walked back to Gregory’s side. He took the man by the elbow. “You can put your hands down now. You’re safe; just do what you’re told. Okay?”

  The kid couldn’t take his eyes off me or my gun, but he let Ben lead him to the house. There was an old metal lawn chair next to the steps. Ben put the young man in it. “You stay right here, Greg.”

  Ben turned to me, “I’ll bring the phone to you if you want to keep an eye on him. But this threat is over.”

  “I’ll use mine,” I said, coming out of the daydream-like sense that for me always followed lethal action. “I kinda forgot I had one.”

  “Then let’s take Greg over to the shade. You want anything?”

  “Water?”

  “Of course.” He disappeared back into the kitchen, and came out with a pitcher and two glasses. We walked to the picnic table. He put Greg on one side, and sat next to him. I opened my phone and punched in nine-eleven.

  For the third time that morning, I became aware of the silence of this valley. I checked my center, and felt it was empty. I had an overwhelming feeling of loss wash over me in that few seconds before the operator answered.

  Chapter 61

  The emergency operator was having a tough morning, and after I’d told her what I needed, she was the epitome of professionalism, “Sir, you stand by there. Every law enforcement officer in Adair County is either at that valley or en route.”

  “We have three down here, one was still alive the last time I saw him, but he was injured badly.”

  “First aid?”

  “I’ll try, but he got hit with a shotgun blast at close range.”

  “Do what you can; I’ll pass on the information to the commander on scene, but last I heard he was pinned down in a fire fight.”

  “No kidding? Is that the state police commander or the sheriff?”

  “Both of them, and there’s an FBI contingent involved as well.”

  “We’ll just wait, then.”

  “Good plan.”

  I disconnected and related that information to Ben. He bowed his head, and I could hear him praying as I left the room.

  I went to the guy down by the door, but when I got there it was obvious no first aid was going to help. I picked up his weapon using a stick, and then went to the second guy, and got his handgun the same way.

  I was taking them back to the house when my phone went off. I walked into the kitchen, put the weapons on the drain board of the sink, and answered my phone. “Stanton here.”

  “Jack Nelson here. What are you up to?”

  I was stricken speechless for a few seconds by the lack of cohesion between my current experience and a phone call from a concerned friend – I couldn’t help but wonder at this epitome of the Twenty-First Century. Would Wyatt Earp have gotten this call if he’d had a cell phone at the OK Corral? I shook my head to rid myself of the feeling of total disconnect.

  “A bit busy a minute ago,” I finally answered, “but things have quieted down a bit for me right now. Anything special you need?”

  “Just wanted to hear the latest on Jan, and to remind you that there are people back here in Oregon who care about you.”

  I took a quick check on my center, felt the loss diminish a bit. “Thanks, Jack. This is very strange, but ten minutes ago I was in a shooting fight for my life.”

  “Didja call nine-one-one? Is help on the way?”

  “Not right away; help’s pinned down in a firefight of its own a couple miles away. We got three dead guys, one uninjured would-be bad guy, and an innocent bystander here.” I looked over at Ben and saw him trying to figure out who I was talking to, or maybe he was
trying to figure out who the innocent bystander might be.

  “God, Jim; I’m so sorry. Are you all right?”

  “Not a scratch on the outside; as usual, I’m pretty messed up inside, but I’ll come out of it. I’m worried now about the police over a ways, and thinking about going over there to see if I can help.”

  “If it’s a wild and woolly shoot-out, I’d be careful about showing up without a uniform, you might be taken as a red neck.”

  “Good thought. My host, a Mr. Ben Flynt, is just shaking his head. We’re here in his kitchen, and this is the first he’s heard about what’s apparently hitting the fan as we speak.” I pulled the phone away from my mouth; “This is a neighbor back home; the fight’s over at Reggie’s.”

  He nodded in a resigned way. I was telling Jack something when I heard tires crunching gravel outside. “Jack? Gotta go. I’ll call when I can.”

  I closed the phone and walked to the screen door. I saw Bill Chance getting out of his cruiser. He looked old and weary. His Stetson was worse for wear, his shirt was ripped up the back to the shoulder and his jeans were mud-stained.

  “Jim? It’s Chance!”

  I stepped outside. “It’s all clear here, Sheriff.”

  “So I heard from my dispatcher. Three down; one in custody?”

  I pointed to Greg, still sitting at the picnic table lost in a thousand-yard stare. “His name’s Greg, I expect a Flynt; came with the guys I shot. Ben took his gun away from him, but from the looks of things, he got his first up-close-and-personal look at a shooting and didn’t like it.”

  “Happens,” was all he had to say. I watched as he approached Greg, put cuffs on him, and read him his Miranda warning. The young man never said a word I could hear. Chance gently led him to his cruiser, and put him in the back seat.

  “Want some cold water?” I asked.

  “I want a whole bunch of bourbon; that’s what I want, but that’s going to wait. I need you to come with me. We’ve got a bunch of work to do over at Reggie’s place.”

  “Can I help?” Ben asked.

  “No, sir. There’s nothing for you there. There are a bunch of medical people there from the hospital and fire department. Everyone’s being treated, but we have about a dozen men in custody, and we need to take statements right now.