Clay brooded, then smirked. “So what are you gonna do, Stuey, go to the police? You’ve got no proof. This doesn’t come back to me. The only witness is dead.”
“I know. Perfect crime, eh? If we were in court, you’d be right, for a change. But we’re not.”
Stu reached inside his own tattered coat and removed the shiny new hatchet he’d purchased at the Great Beyond.
Clay’s dark eyes went wide. He dropped the empty gun with a heavy clunk and put his hands up. “Wait a minute. You can’t—”
“It looks like we’re at a bit of an impasse here. I don’t really have a choice. You called me a pussy in front of everyone. You tried to kill me. Then you took my woman. What kind of man would I be if I let those insults stand?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Did you stick your dick in my wife, or didn’t you?”
“I thought you were dead!”
“I’m sure you did.”
“This isn’t you, Stuart. You’re a rational, reasonable, law-abiding guy.”
“I’m not the same goddamned guy.”
“But you’re not a killer.”
“I killed a bear.”
“You did?”
“And a pilot.”
“Ivan—”
“I see you knew him.” Stu thumbed the blade on the hatchet. “Do you know how to field dress a deer? I do.”
“Don’t! They’ll catch you.”
“How? I’m dead. Besides, I have a feeling your new friends will handle the cleanup. They won’t leave a mess in their warehouse. I’m guessing they’ll take you for a little trip on the Iron Maiden.”
Clay’s eyes darkened again. “Fine. You try to kill me. But know this: you’re not man enough to take me without an unfair advantage.” He pointed at the hatchet.
Stu frowned. Even in the end, his manhood was being challenged. He could kill his rival, but it wasn’t enough. He needed to defeat him in a head-on fight. No tricks. No traps. No tools. Just claws and teeth. Like wolves. Stu turned and hurled the hatchet into a nearby post. Clay stared, his eyebrows arching.
And then Stu was on him.
They slammed together with their arms outstretched, snarling in the pale light of the torchiere lamp. Then they went to the ground, struggling, groping for throats and kneeing groins. Without any formal training, it was grunting, sweaty work. Clay gouged one of Stu’s eyes so that he couldn’t see out of it, and Stu bent Clay’s little finger until it folded backward with a muffled snap.
It was also exhausting and, after wrestling desperately for minutes that seemed like hours, Stu began to sense Clay getting tired. Stu’s shovel-hardened shoulders flexed, and his sturdy hiking legs found leverage. He forced Clay back and, inexorably, began to impose his will, shoving his partner up against a post where he might be able to pound his head against the rough wood.
Then suddenly they separated.
It was a move born of desperation; Clay knew he was losing. He was out of shape. Soft. He kicked free and scrambled to his feet, pulling himself up on the post, where the hatchet hung waiting. Clay yanked it free and raised it over his head, his pinky dangling at a grotesque angle.
Stu glanced about, but the only thing within reach was the unloaded pistol. He scooped it up and held it out like a cross to ward off evil. Unfortunately, he’d made certain it was unloaded; he’d even poured several layers of super glue over the firing pin to help ensure it would be useless to Clay. He hadn’t considered that he might have to use it himself. He turned the piece over in his hand, his heart still hammering in his chest from the battle he’d finally faced head-on, and lost.
Hammering …
Clay coughed up a laugh. “This is classic,” he said, panting. “We’re lawyers. We’re hired guns. But you’re out of bullets, buddy. You’re shootin’ blanks. You’re an empty gun, Stu. And I’ve had you pegged since—”
The .357 struck Clay in the side of the head so hard that he rocked backward and had to pinwheel his arms in the air for balance. Stu grabbed him by the shirt and broke his nose with the butt of the pistol on his next blow.
The hatchet came down, but Clay was unsteady and Stu ducked inside the swing, twisting so that the blade struck him behind the shoulder instead of in the head. He felt it bite and carve a chunk of his flesh from his scapula, but the gambit had been worth the price. Clay’s wild attack brought him close and exposed his throat. Stu didn’t hesitate; he clamped his teeth onto Clay’s neck, crushing his windpipe and tearing his flesh, bathing both their chests in blood.
Stu clung to his partner, pinning his arms with a bear hug to prevent further hatchet mischief while Clay fought for air. His own injured shoulder screamed, but he’d known pain and survived it for months; he could damn well brave it for a few more seconds now.
There was an awkward silence between them as they stood in the bloody embrace. It felt odd hugging. Clay struggled to get loose, but Stu found he was the stronger animal. He felt Clay weakening. And then, finally, the struggle ceased. Stu held on for a moment longer to ensure it was over, then let Clay fall to the ground, limp, and stood over his carcass.
EPILOGUE
The courtroom in Eugene, Oregon, was nearly empty; just a few pro se defendants in street clothes waiting to enter pleas to minor charges.
The judge squinted at Stu. “You’ve indicated that you’re from Portland, Mr.”—he checked the pleadings—“Stuart.”
“Yes,” Stu lied; he’d gotten better at it. “And I studied at U of O right here in town. Go, Ducks.”
“Fine. What’s your business down here in Lane County?”
“I have an affidavit from my client’s former wife,” Stu reported, cutting through the preliminaries; the tired-looking judge was near the end of his workday and obviously eager to move things along. “The case is almost seven years old, and she’s agreed that the no-contact order can be dropped.”
“What about the other victim, the professor with the broken nose?”
A young assistant district attorney in tan slacks and navy sport coat cut in. “That witness couldn’t be located.”
Stu continued. “He was removed by the university for misconduct with multiple female students, which was the motive for my client’s admittedly inexcusable assault here.” He nudged Blake, who stood beside him freshly shaved and wearing a collared shirt Stu had loaned him.
“I know I shouldn’t have hit him,” Blake said on cue. “I was mad. And I’m sorry.”
The judge nodded and turned back to Stu. “Anything to add, counsel?”
“The man standing before you screwed up a long time ago. He’s come back to Oregon for a second chance.” When the judge didn’t blink, Stu added one last comment. “He also saved my life.”
The judge’s eyebrows arched slightly, the most emotion he’d shown in the hour Stu had been waiting for Blake’s case to be called. “And you haven’t seen your daughter for seven years, sir?”
“No, sir,” Blake said.
“Your honor,” Stu said, “I’ve arranged to have her waiting outside the door. They can be reunited right now if you sign that order.”
Five minutes later, in the hallway outside, Stu stepped away to give Blake private time with his daughter. He pulled out a prepaid cell phone. There were two missed calls.
The first was from his favorite Massachusetts attorney, who had just passed the bar. He smiled. The message was an answer to his cross-country invitation to visit Oregon for a week to celebrate. An enthusiastic Yes!
Good karma.
The second call also had a Massachusetts area code, but no message. Stu called that number back.
“Rusty. You called?”
“Something’s happened to your partner. No one has seen him for a week, and the PD is searching warehouses owned by some serious assholes. Doesn’t sound good. I thought you should know.”
Stu waited an appropriate amount of time to appear surprised. “So now we’ve both disappeared?”
“Yep.
Tell me it’s not related, pal.”
“I can’t. All the more reason for me to stay dead. Thanks for keeping your ear to the ground for me.”
“Sure. And those vultures from America’s Unsolved are back. They’re all over Malloy about Clay’s connection to this Roff guy out of Providence. Apparently, they got a tip about exchanges of favors while Clay was still at the DA’s office.”
“Really? I’m curious.”
“They’ve made a public disclosure request for all documents related to plea bargains and bail amounts given to Roff’s known associates for the last twelve years. Malloy is scrambling to distance himself, but he either admits he knew and looks like he covered it up by letting Clay quietly resign, or he says he didn’t know and comes across as ignorant of corruption in his own office. It’s a potential election-loser for him either way. Now Malloy will have to go after Roff. In the meantime, America’s Unsolved is ruining his career.
“Crazy stuff, man.”
“Yeah. Glad I’m off the job these days; there’s a lot of shit going down here all of a sudden. By the way, they found the original exterior platform from the transom of the Iron Maiden stored in one of those warehouses.”
“The Iron Maiden? Whoa, that takes me back. But that boat didn’t have a platform as far as I remember.”
“Apparently, it did. I heard they took it to the lab.”
“What does that mean?”
“You’re the one who told me they just need a scintilla of corroborative evidence to refile the case. Hell, you had to tell me what the word scintilla meant.”
“Huh. Well, Malloy will have to try that one without me this time. And that’s too bad about Clay.”
“You don’t sound sad.”
Stu detected a hint of suspicion in the retired officer’s voice. The man was wise and still a detective at heart.
“I’m sad that he chose his friends poorly. Sounds like he messed with the wrong guy. Do they have any evidence to identify a suspect?”
“Nah. Clay is just flat-out missing. Could be a no-body homicide.”
“Yeah, those are tough.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ROYCE SCOTT BUCKINGHAM is an American author with a degree in English from Whitman College and a Juris Doctor in Law from the University of Oregon. Buckingham is the international bestselling author of Demonkeeper. His first young adult thriller for the U.S., The Terminals, was published in the fall of 2014. Buckingham lives with his wife and their two sons in Bellingham, Washington, where he works at the Prosecuting Attorney’s Office. Sign up for email updates here.
Also by Royce Scott Buckingham
The Terminals
The Dead Boys
The Goblin Problem
Demonkeeper
Die Karte der Welt
Der Wille des Konigs
Damliche Damonen
Murrische Monster
Fiese Finsterlinge
Garstige Gnome
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by Royce Scott Buckingham
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
THOMAS DUNNE BOOKS.
An imprint of St. Martin’s Press.
IMPASSE. Copyright © 2015 by St. Martin’s Press LLC. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.thomasdunnebooks.com
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Cover design by Young Jin Lim
Cover photograph of mountains © Tim Daniels/Arcangel Images
Cover photograph of man running in snow © Shutterstock.com
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The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:
Buckingham, Royce
Impasse: a novel / Royce Scott Buckingham.—First edition.
pages; cm
ISBN 978-1-250-01154-1 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-250-02106-9 (e-book)
1. Wilderness areas—Alaska—Fiction. 2. Wilderness survival—Fiction. 3. Revenge—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3602.U2644I47 2015
813'.6—dc23
2014037067
e-ISBN 9781250021069
First Edition: March 2015
Impasse Page 28
