That Old Scoundrel Death

by Bill Crider

  “Could be,” Rhodes answered, keeping his voice down as well. “The two of us showing up might have worried her.”

  Pete came into the room then. He was wearing his camo outfit. Or maybe it was a different one. “What’s up, Sheriff?”

  Rhodes didn’t think there was anything to gain by mincing words. He said, “I’m here to arrest you for the murder of Lawrence Gates.”

  “Damn,” Pete said. “I didn’t kill anybody, so I don’t think you can arrest me.”

  “I have the warrant right here,” Rhodes said, reaching into his pocket.

  “Here, Pete,” Linda said from behind her husband. She tossed something to him.

  Rhodes knew immediately what it was from just a glimpse. It was not good news. It was a semiautomatic rifle.

  Pete caught the rifle and pointed it at Ruth and Rhodes, neither of whom had had time to draw a sidearm.

  “I think you two had better leave now,” Pete said. “I told you that you couldn’t arrest me, and I meant it. I told you I didn’t kill anybody. I meant that, too.”

  Rhodes didn’t care what Pete meant, but he didn’t like the rifle being pointed at him. He said, “Put the rifle down and we can talk about it.”

  “You must think I’m stupid, Sheriff,” Pete said. “If I put down my rifle, you’ll arrest me, right? Tell the truth now.”

  Rhodes didn’t say anything, which Pete took as a yes.

  “I thought so,” Pete said. “Linda, get their sidearms. Be careful. They’re tricky.”

  Rhodes wondered how Pete knew that. He was right, but he was probably just guessing.

  Linda circled around from behind her husband and approached Ruth. As soon as she got close enough, Ruth proved Pete’s point by jumping for Linda, grabbing her shirt, and pulling her to the floor.

  As soon as Ruth moved, Rhodes moved as well, falling to the floor and clawing behind his back for his pistol.

  Pete didn’t wait around to see what would happen to his wife. He turned to the right and fired three quick bursts from his rifle while running toward the sliding door. The glass in the door shattered and fell in shards, and Pete ran through and out onto the patio.

  Rhodes stood up, pistol in hand, just in time to see Ruth give Linda a healthy clout to the jaw. Linda’s eyes rolled up in her head and Ruth pushed herself to her feet with one hand on the couch and drew her sidearm. She ran after Pete, and Rhodes was right behind her.

  He wasn’t right behind her for long, however. It had been a good number of years since Rhodes had been known briefly as Will-o’-the-Wisp Dan Rhodes, a nickname he got because he’d made a long kickoff return for a touchdown when he’d played for the Clearview Catamounts. He could still run, but he was no match for a younger person like Ruth. She was already across the patio when Rhodes came through the opening where the door had been. Pete wasn’t exactly young, but he was fit, and he was nearing the water-filled rock pit. He skirted the edge and ran into the woods behind it.

  Ruth didn’t slow down, so Rhodes yelled at her. “Stop at the trees. He knows where he’s going, and we don’t.”

  Ruth stopped, but even at a distance Rhodes could tell she wasn’t happy about it. When he reached her, trying his best not to pant and succeeding about as well as could be expected, she said, “He has on camo, so he’ll be invisible, right?”

  “Your jokes are as bad as mine,” Rhodes told her.

  Ruth smiled. “I wouldn’t say that. What do we do?”

  Rhodes wasn’t sure what to tell her. “We have to think about what Pete can do. He can try to circle back and get away in his Suburban. He can go on running. He can stop and give himself up. Or he can hope that we’ll come in after him and he’ll try to get rid of us. The rock pit would be a good place to dispose of a couple of bodies. I think there’s likely to be a car in there already.”

  “You don’t have much faith in most any of those, do you?” Ruth asked.

  “No,” Rhodes said. “I don’t. Which do you think is the one he’ll pick?”

  “If I were him, I’d wait in there and try to pick us off.” She looked at the rock pit. “I don’t think there’s room for two more cars in there, though. Just bodies.”

  “Good point,” Rhodes said. “He’d find somewhere else for the cars, though. I wonder how far these woods go.”

  “Could be a long way,” Ruth said. “He might have changed direction once he got in there, too. Are you a good tracker?”

  “I’m okay. How about you?”

  “Why don’t we find out?”

  “Might as well,” Rhodes said. “We have to do something, and going after him is as good a choice as any. Let’s not waste any more time.”

  They went into the trees, which were thick with underbrush. It was hot outside the woods, and the shade of the trees didn’t make things any better. For some reason Rhodes thought of a poem he’d had to study in high school, something about a woods that was lovely and dark. That woods was seen in a winter snowfall, much different weather from what Rhodes was experiencing. The Hunley woods weren’t dark, as shafts of light from the sun got through everywhere. They were lovely in their way, thick with dead leaves on the ground and stuck in the underbrush, but they were hot and airless because there was no breeze to give the slightest motion to the leaves still on the trees.

  It was quiet in the woods, and Rhodes thought it had probably been quiet in the woods in the poem. The man in the poem didn’t have to go into them after someone with a semiautomatic rifle. That made a difference.

  Pete wasn’t hard to track. Broken twigs and mangled underbrush made it clear which way he’d gone. Rhodes wasn’t sure that was a good thing. He stopped and whispered, “He wants us to follow him.”

  “I think so, too,” Ruth said. “It would be a good idea for us not to be too close together.”

  Rhodes had been going to say the same thing, but he’d been a little slower than Ruth, who was ahead of him in both running and thinking, which made him wonder again about running for reelection. The county didn’t need somebody who was getting slow in any way at all.

  “Somebody has to stay with the trail,” Rhodes said. “I’ll do that. You move over a few yards.”

  “Are you just sticking with the trail because I’m a woman?” Ruth asked.

  “No,” Rhodes told her. “I’m doing it because I’m the sheriff and it’s my job to take the lead.”

  “Okay,” Ruth said. “I was just checking.”

  She moved away from Rhodes, who started along the path Pete had made for him, wondering just what Pete had planned. Was there someplace in the woods where he could hole up or was there a spot that would be ideal for an ambush? Pete would know. Rhodes would just have to hope he could figure something out as he went along.

  One thing Rhodes had learned in his law enforcement career was that you couldn’t just keep your eyes on the ground when you were chasing someone in the woods. You had to look up, because trees made convenient hiding places.

  Every now and then Rhodes stopped to listen. The woods were still quiet. The birds and squirrels had all moved on somewhere else when the humans had entered, or if they hadn’t, they weren’t making any noise. Neither was Pete, and that had Rhodes a little worried. He knew that he and Ruth were making noise. Why wasn’t Pete?

  The logical answer was that he’d stopped somewhere. But where? Rhodes saw some mashed vines just ahead, so Pete had passed that way. Could he have turned back to the house?

  Rhodes walked a little farther into the woods, and through the trees ahead of him he saw a deadfall. The long trunk was banked with dead limbs that had green, thorn-covered vines growing over and through and around them. The thick roots were partially covered in hardened dirt that had come up with them when the tree had fallen in some storm. The track led right to it.

  Rhodes didn’t know what was on the other side of the deadfall, but he suspected that Pete might very well be back there with his rifle, waiting for Ruth and Rhodes to come along.

  Ruth was
on Rhodes’s left. He indicated for her to go around the fallen tree in that direction. He’d take the right end where the roots were. Ruth nodded that she understood and moved out. So did Rhodes.

  Neither of them got very far because Pete popped up and started shooting.

  Rhodes heard a bullet buzz by him just before he hit the ground. A couple of small limbs fell on him, and he rolled to his right, coming up ready to shoot, but Pete had disappeared behind the deadfall after firing a few more shots. Buddy would be sorry he’d missed this.

  Ruth sat with her back to the trunk of a tree, well protected from Pete’s bullets. She asked Rhodes if he was all right.

  “Sure,” Rhodes said. “I don’t think Pete had any spare clips, do you?”

  “Probably not,” Ruth said, “but he had thirty rounds or so to start with.”

  “I think he’s fired ten or fifteen,” Rhodes said. “Half, maybe.”

  “Or maybe not. You think he’ll try to slip away?”

  Rhodes wasn’t going to let that happen. He bent to a crouch and scuttled toward the deadfall. When he got there, he sat and listened. He thought he could hear an occasional sound from the other side.

  “You back there, Pete?” he asked.

  If Pete was there, he didn’t answer. Rhodes could have looked, but he didn’t think that would be wise. Instead, he waved to Ruth, indicating that he wanted her to go on around to the left end of the log.

  Ruth nodded to show that she understood, and Rhodes waited until she’d gotten there before he went to the roots and looked around them.

  Pete stared him right in the face from about two feet away with the rifle pointed at Rhodes’s belly.

  Rhodes fired his pistol, shooting over Pete’s head, and Pete’s rifle flew upward as he fell and triggered off shot after shot.

  Rhodes didn’t know why Pete had fallen, because he knew he hadn’t been hit unless Rhodes’s aim was badly off.

  Rhodes looked down at Pete, who wasn’t moving. Ruth was walking toward them from the other end of the deadfall.

  Rhodes motioned for her to stop. He wanted to know what trick Pete was trying to pull. Keeping his pistol trained on the prone gunman, Rhodes took a couple of steps forward and kicked Pete’s foot. Pete didn’t move. His eyes were closed.

  Moving as cautiously as he could, Rhodes reached down for the rifle and removed it from Pete’s hand.

  “Is he dead?” Ruth asked, moving toward them.

  “No,” Rhodes said. “He’s not dead. I think he fainted.”

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “No, this isn’t one of my bad jokes. Here, take the rifle.”

  Ruth reached out and took the rifle. Rhodes stuck his pistol in his belt at the back of his pants and pulled Pete into a sitting position, propping him against the log.

  “We’ll give him a couple of minutes,” Rhodes said, standing up. “He’ll be okay when he comes to.”

  Ruth holstered her sidearm and ejected the clip from the rifle.

  “Kel-Tec Sub-2000,” she said, looking at the rifle. “Very nice. Lightweight. He wasn’t very good with it, though. Funny that a combat hero wouldn’t be good with a rifle. Even funnier that he’d faint when shot at.”

  “He was no hero,” Rhodes said. “That was all fake news. His father was the real hero in the family.”

  Ruth looked over Rhodes’s shoulder. “Speak of the Devil.”

  Rhodes looked around and saw Con Hunley, who was holding a rifle very much like the one his son had used. Probably the same model. It was pointed in Rhodes’s general direction, but it could be fired at Ruth, too. Rhodes figured she regretted ejecting the clip from Pete’s rifle. Rhodes regretted it, too.

  “I’m not the Devil,” Con said, “but I guess I’m close enough.”

  “What are you doing here, Con?” Rhodes asked.

  “Linda called me and told me you were going to arrest Pete. I went over to their house and heard shooting from the woods. So here I am. Did you kill my son?”

  “I didn’t even hurt him,” Rhodes said. “He just passed out. You can put down the rifle.”

  “I don’t think so,” Con said. “I need to see about Pete and then get him out of here.”

  “I’m taking him to jail,” Rhodes said.

  “Nope,” Con said. “I can’t let you do that. Wouldn’t be prudent at this time.”

  Everybody’s a comedian, Rhodes thought.

  “I have to do it,” Rhodes said. “I have a warrant for his arrest for murder.”

  “Warrant doesn’t mean much out here in the woods,” Hunley said. “I have to take care of my son. Deputy, you drop that rifle and then take your sidearm out of the holster and lay it on the ground. Use two fingers.”

  “Sheriff?” Ruth said.

  “Better do it,” Rhodes said. “He looks like a man who’d shoot, and I think his aim would be better than Pete’s.”

  “It is if I want it to be. You heard him, Deputy. Do it.”

  Ruth did as he said.

  “Now kick the rifle and sidearm away from you,” Hunley told her.

  Ruth did that, too.

  “What about you, Sheriff?” Hunley asked. “Where’s your sidearm?”

  “Would you believe I don’t have one?”

  “Not for a second. Let’s see it, and be real careful.”

  Rhodes reached behind his back for his pistol.

  “Two fingers,” Con said.

  “Right,” Rhodes said.

  He held the Kel-Tec with two fingers and brought it from behind his back.

  “Now lay it on the ground.”

  Rhodes didn’t follow orders. Instead he started to bend, then flicked the pistol at Con.

  Con flinched only a fraction of a second, but it was enough of a fraction for Rhodes to charge him, head down. He hit Con in the stomach as hard as he could from such a short distance, and it was a bit like hitting a brick wall. Con was an old man. How could he be in such good shape? He must have worked out a lot.

  Rhodes wrapped his arms around Con, planted his feet, and pushed. Con bent backward but didn’t fall. He hit Rhodes in the shoulder with the rifle, but Rhodes held on and kept pushing.

  Rhodes heard a noise behind him and knew Ruth would be coming to help him. Or she would have been if Pete hadn’t tackled her. Rhodes couldn’t see it happening, but he guessed from the noise that’s what it was. Pete had come to just in time, or maybe he’d been playing possum for a while, waiting to see how things turned out. He had size and weight on his side, but Ruth was tough. She might still help Rhodes if he could hang on long enough, which seemed doubtful.

  He needed to get the rifle out of Con’s hand. He had an idea about how to go about it, but it wouldn’t be easy. Con was now hitting him in the side of the head with his left fist. Rhodes couldn’t take much of that, so he gave one more big push, up and back, and he and Con fell to the ground. Rhodes was on top. He used his advantage to grab Con’s right wrist. There was no way he could break Con’s grip with only his strength, so he resorted to trickery and unfair tactics, if any tactics could be called unfair in a fight. He bit Con on the back of the hand, not hard enough to make his teeth meet through the skin, although it was close enough to draw blood.

  Con yelled and relaxed his grip on the rifle, which Rhodes pushed away. Then he turned as quickly as he could and head-butted Con on the nose. The nose crumpled satisfactorily, but Con didn’t even seem to notice. He threw Rhodes off and jumped to his feet.

  Rhodes saw a combat boot headed toward his own nose. He grabbed it and twisted, bringing Con down again. Con didn’t even lose his breath when he hit. He reached for the rifle but didn’t quite make it.

  Rhodes did but couldn’t get a grip on it. He pushed it further away, and Con hit him in the side of the head again. Rhodes wondered if there was a concussion protocol for sheriffs, but he didn’t have time to wonder long because Con was getting back on his feet once more.

  It wasn’t easy, but Rhodes got to his feet, too. The two
men faced each other. Rhodes was panting a little. Con wasn’t. Blood dripped from his nose and the back of his hand, but he wasn’t winded.

  Con took a boxing stance. “I’m sorry to have to do this, Sheriff, but you made it necessary.”

  He advanced on Rhodes giving a couple of experimental jabs as he came.

  Rhodes wasn’t a boxer, but he put up his hands and backed away. He didn’t dare even risk a glance at Ruth to see if she’d subdued Pete. If he took his eyes off Con for even an instant, he’d get creamed immediately. He’d probably get creamed, anyway.

  Con advanced on him and struck as fast as a rattler, his right fist opening up a cut on Rhodes’s cheekbone. Rhodes dipped and dodged and wondered how he could avoid getting cut to pieces.

  Con’s hands flicked out and cut Rhodes’s face twice more. Rhodes was feeling dizzy. He knew he couldn’t last much longer, and Ruth wasn’t going to be able to help him. He had to do something, but he didn’t know what.

  He almost tripped over Con’s rifle, though he had no chance of picking it up. Con was moving in for the kill.

  And then he wasn’t. He stopped, and a shiver ran through his body. He put his hands to his head, shook it from side to side, and fell down at Rhodes’s feet without making a sound, and didn’t move.

  Chapter 26

  The first thing that Rhodes did was to check on Ruth, who was doing just fine. She had Pete in handcuffs and had dragged him back up against the fallen tree. Rhodes knew he should’ve put Pete in handcuffs to begin with. A rookie mistake that made him wonder once again if he should run for office one more time. He bent down and checked Con’s pulse. It was strong and steady.

  “What happened to Con?” Ruth asked.

  Rhodes didn’t know, and Pete didn’t have anything to say. He had a dazed look in his eyes. The side of his head was bloody, and Rhodes wondered what Ruth had done to him, not that Rhodes was going to ask.

  “I’d like to say it was my lightning-fast fists,” Rhodes told her, “but it wasn’t. He just fell down.”

  “Better cuff him,” Ruth said.