by Jeff Carson
The rain was coming in at an angle from the southwest. He hoped Martin was keeping dry on the north side of the old house he’d just left him at.
Wolf stared at Young’s hulking body slumped in the mud, looking like a dead rhinoceros.
If Young had been acting alone, then why had he been busy the last couple of days implicating Wolf as much as trying to eliminate him? Why plant Wolf’s knife at the stabbing of Mark Wilson? Why frame Wolf for Connell’s murder? Gary had to be behind it all.
Wolf stared into the rain and thought about all that had happened, and the motivations of everyone involved.
The answer was beginning to come into focus, and, if Wolf was right, it meant the past sixteen years of his life would have to be completely rethought.
After a few minutes, the rain let up to a drizzle and the sun burned bright through the clouds in the west.
He stood and loosened his painfully tight muscles and heard the faint whir of sirens. The highway below was hidden behind the receding white veil of rain, but the sirens were down there and getting closer. To the south, the air thumped as the helicopter took back to the skies and neared.
Wolf took out Martin’s and Young’s cellphones, and tossed Martin’s far down the slope he’d climbed up earlier.
He thought about the text he’d sent to Rachette, and hoped he’d gotten his point across. Then he held up Young’s cell phone to check the reception and battery, and knew there was one more message he needed to send. But he needed to get closer to that construction site first.
Wolf turned and squinted into the steamy woods below, then took off down the slope as fast as his sore muscles could take him.
Chapter 39
Gary looked at his phone and swiveled to squint at the blazing sunset over the western valley from in front of the Connell estate’s equipment shed.
It was from Young.
He stared at the screen and responded to the text message, then shoved the phone in his jeans pocket and closed his eyes to the warm light. His chest rose as he inhaled the sweet scent of wet sage; then it fell as he exhaled sixteen years of pent-up tension.
But it wasn’t over. Not yet. He wasn’t lighting another Behike yet.
Gary turned to Buck and Earl, who both leaned against the flatbed tow truck. Buck wiped a dollop of dark spit from his chin and went back to his stoic stillness.
“I just got word from Young. It’s done.” Gary thought Earl may have raised an eyebrow. “He’s on his way here. We’ll set everything up, and keep the cops preoccupied well into the morning hours. In the meantime, get over there and finish it now.”
Buck’s eyes narrowed and he pushed up the bill of his mesh trucker hat. “What if someone sees us workin’?”
Gary waved his hand. “So what? Nobody knows who you are. They’ll think you’re the night crew. In fact, if anyone asks, that’s exactly what you are. But who’s gonna ask? The cops? They’ll be busy scraping Wolf’s corpse out of the forest over here. They’ll have plenty of other shit to worry about than checking into the legitimacy of a construction crew. Now get the hell out of here.”
Earl and Buck moved fast for the doors of the hulking flatbed.
“Remember.” They stopped and listened. “I want that ring.”
They said nothing and got in.
Gary watched the diesel gurgle to life and speed away through the red mud. He needed his rifle, and he had some time to kill as he waited for Young and the corpse of the man he’d tried to help, but who just wouldn’t listen.
Another wave of guilt lapped his mind. A scotch and cigar would help.
Gary almost barreled square into his father as he entered the trophy room.
“Jesus! What are you doing up?”
The old fart stared at him with that look of disappointment he’d grown so accustomed to seeing his whole life.
“What? What is it this time, Dad? What are you upset about now?” Gary put a hand to his ear and leaned close.
His father’s glare was ice. “What’s going on?”
They stared at each other in silence. Gary wanted to tell him the good news, but, then again, he didn’t like the assumption in his dad’s look or his tone. It was all too familiar.
His dad never thought he could do it. It never mattered what it was. It was always the same story. He was always guilty until proven innocent. Weak until proven strong. Gary was finished proving anything.
His dad’s face curled in a humorless smile, thick with disgust. “You’ve done it, haven’t you?”
“I’ve done what, Dad?”
“Well, son …” He used the condescending tone Gary had grown to love. “You’ve single-handedly ruined us.”
Gary stared at him coolly.
His father glared. His chin quivered harder as he wheezed. Then he shook his head, this time on purpose.
“Stephanie!” Gary yelled.
Silence echoed in the vast house.
His father’s eyes widened. “And what will be left when all is said and done?” His father’s face went still for the first time in years. “Nothing.”
Gary controlled his breathing as he watched his father’s lips rise to a snarl.
“Nothing will be left. There’s not going to be a legacy, or anyone to leave it to. Not even your son. Oh,” he laughed in Gary’s face, “wait, that wasn’t even your son. You’re a goddam disapp—”
Gary reached his hand out and clutched his father’s throat.
His father gurgled, and his hands came up, groping feebly at Gary’s grip.
Gary squinted and looked out at the fleeting blaze of orange in the western windows. He struggled to keep his hand clenched on his father’s warm, wrinkly neck as it collapsed under his fingers, so he let go, turned him around and grabbed him in a full-strength headlock. Then he picked up the walker in his other hand, and moved down the hall.
He slowed a little at the next window pane and squinted, put down the walker for a second, cleared a smudge with the side of his palm, then continued onward, with the gentle scrape of slippered feet trailing behind.
The kicking had stopped by the time he reached the end of the long hall. He opened a bedroom, hauled back and threw in his motionless father like a sack of leaves, chucked in the walker for good measure, and closed the door.
Chapter 40
Rachette shoved his hands deep in his jacket and looked at the bullet exit holes on the north side of the old house. It was easy enough to see where the shots had come from by squinting and looking through the hole towards the mountainside. Up near that very spot, two deputies were waving flashlight beams in the dusk.
Vickers looked into the woods towards the fading orange sunset.
“So?” Rachette stood next to Vickers.
“So what?”
“I talked to Tammy,” Rachette said. “She says it was definitely Wolf who called in the location of the old man.”
Vickers nodded, eyes unblinking.
“Why would Wolf do that? I’m telling you, it was this guy Young. That was his ATV way back there on the mountain behind Connell’s ranch, and it was Young who shot this old guy.” Rachette pointed up the hill towards the beams of light on the hillside. “From up there. Then Wolf probably dragged the old man out of danger.” He pointed to the side of the house. “And Young blasted away at them.”
Looking at the ground revealed nothing, however. It was a blank canvas, wiped clean of any evidence during the earlier deluge of rain.
Vickers pointed to the deputies up on the hill. “Thanks to your little phone call with Wolf, the triangulation pointed in that direction. At the old man’s house. Wolf could have barged in on the old man, and maybe the old man fled. Maybe the old man ran here to get away from him, and Wolf picked him off from up there.”
Rachette snorted. “Yeah, then the old man found a shirt on the ground here to press against the wound before he went into a coma. Come on. It was a third person who shot him. It was Young. And Wolf helped the guy and called it in.”
Vickers got on the radio. “Wilson, what do you guys have up there?”
The radio scratched. “Nothing yet, sir.”
Vickers studied the hillside, then the bullet holes again. “You’ve gotta go higher. Let me know the second you guys find anything. Where the hell are the K-9 units?”
A few seconds passed and then the radio hissed again. “They are on their way, sir. Within the hour,” said a voice Rachette didn’t recognize.
Vickers turned and walked away.
A state trooper van showed up twenty minutes later, full of boxed food and refreshments.
Night had fully set in and only the faintest light was still visible over the western peaks. Two vehicles’ halogen lights shone a bright swath over the area. The men who weren’t stuck on the side of the hill ate and laughed heartily, seeming to enjoy the adventure of the situation.
“The way Wolf hit that tree with his motorcycle, holy shit! I couldn’t believe he got up, huh, Rachette?” Baine’s voice was loud as he sat cross-legged among the other uniformed men, barking out his story to anyone who would listen.
Rachette turned his back and walked into the darkness. He took the final bite of his turkey sandwich, sucked down the last of his bottle of water, and watched Vickers.
Vickers was sitting near the edge of the lit area, staring at the ground, like he’d been doing for the past fifteen minutes.
Young existed. Rachette was sure of it now. He knew Vickers was wrestling with the same thoughts.
Suddenly Vickers jolted to attention and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. Walking into the darkness, he put the cell to his ear.
Rachette stepped nearer, trying to hear the conversation.
Vickers nodded and pocketed the phone, and then he walked toward a deputy who sat smoking on the hood of an SUV, barked an order, and held out his hand.
The deputy fished in his pocket, produced some keys, and handed them over. Vickers opened the door and the deputy slid off the hood and walked away.
“Sergeant Vickers!” Rachette yelled.
Vickers propped a leg inside the truck and turned.
“Where you going?”
Vickers shook his head. “I’ve got some business to attend to. You’ve got your orders, deputy.” He got in, fired up the engine, and drove away down the dirt road.
Rachette looked to the deputy who’d just given up his vehicle. “Where did he say he was going?”
The guy squinted and blew out a drag. “Didn’t. Just said to get going once the K-9s get here. Said it would be any minute.” He shrugged.
Rachette stared at the brake lights as they disappeared into the trees below, then sprinted over to Baine.
Chapter 41
Wolf could hear the chaos from over a half-mile away, but now that he was much closer, right against the security fence of the construction site, the diesel engine of the excavator and the boom of rock against steel that echoed up and down Cave Creek Canyon was deafening.
He was squatting next to a boulder against the north perimeter fence, opposite where he’d parked with Rachette the morning before.
There weren’t any bright halogen lights glowing from within, like one would expect from a legitimate night-time construction operation. But his eyes had fully adjusted to the night, and he could see clearly enough.
He zipped up his coat and yanked his black winter hat down. It was cold, at least ten degrees colder at the bottom of the canyon, and just ten feet above the rushing river.
Wolf ducked behind the boulder and pulled out the binoculars from his backpack, then peeked over and pressed the frigid eyepieces to his face.
Thirty feet to the rear of the excavator stood a man carrying a rifle and a flashlight pointed at the mountain.
Wolf scanned the rest of the area, finding no one. It was a two-man show, and he recognized the silhouette behind the excavator as one of Gary’s two ranch hands. He assumed the other was driving the rig.
He ducked behind the boulder again and pulled out Young’s phone. There were no messages. Gary would still be at the ranch, waiting patiently for Young to show up with Wolf’s dead body. But the clock was ticking. Gary was an impatient man, and smart. Sooner or later he would find out that Young was not coming, and when he did, Wolf wanted to be done here.
Wolf pocketed the phone, then shuffled out and brought the binoculars back to the excavator.
The machine’s engine dropped to an idle, then shut off, plunging the night into relative silence.
The excavator sat still, bucket on the ground. A figure jumped down from the operator cab and walked towards the side of the mountain.
The rush of the river muted an animated conversation between the two men, but Wolf got the gist of it. The rear man pointed his light and walked fast toward the mountainside while the other followed closely behind. They had uncovered what they came to uncover.
Wolf looked up at the fence. It was topped with a spiral of razor wire, extending straight ahead to the river, then strung along the river to the other end of the construction site, where the gate stood wide open—a good hundred yards away.
The silhouettes of the two men seemed to disappear straight into the mountain.
Wolf wasted no time, sprinting along the fence to the edge and dropping to his belly to take a look. It was ten feet of steep incline, then a row of rocks along the river. He swiveled and slid feet first, then hopped along the boulders in a fast jog.
At the end of the fence line, Wolf crawled to the top of the slope and peeked over.
A haphazard group of rock piles surrounded the steaming excavator. The site looked like a bomb had gone off somewhere high above, sending down tons of rubble.
Wolf realized it was the scree field the construction crew had been busy removing earlier, completely shoveled away from the side of the mountain and now strewn about on the ground. Where it used to be, now yawned a tall cave, flickering yellow from the light within.
Wolf sprinted through the gate, his steps crunching louder to his own ears as he moved further from the river. The cave bobbled in his vision as he stepped fast, finally reaching a pile of rubble just as a beam pointed out of the hole. He crouched, pulled his Glock, and looked over the rocks.
One of the men jangled a set of keys in his hand and jogged by.
Wolf ducked down, just barely keeping undetected.
A few seconds later, a diesel engine, this time a truck outside the fence-line, fired up, and then tires munched nearer.
Wolf stayed down as headlights streamed shadows across the gouged mountain. The lights turned away towards the river, then the truck backed into position with a beep that echoed through the canyon.
The engine went silent, a door slammed shut, and the keys jangled as the man stepped back towards the cave.
Wolf scurried to the edge of the rock pile and looked.
A black flatbed tow truck shone in the moonlight, looking brand new. Probably the best money could buy. Probably bought just for the occasion.
A series of metallic clacks pierced the air, then a motor whirred as the tilt tray slid back, angling until the rear scraped against the ground. Then there was a high-pitched whine and a gleaming cable with a thick metal hook on the end bobbled down the ramp.
After a few seconds, one of them, Buck, or Earl, stopped the winch and pulled the cable out of sight into the cave.
Wolf walked silently around the pile, then straight to the opening.
“Stop what you’re doing and put your hands up.” He trained the Glock on the guy without the cable.
The two men turned with wide eyes and put their arms up, which sent the beams of their flashlights pointing up to the ceiling.
The sudden change in lighting gave all three of them the same idea at once, and when the two men shot lightning-quick glances at each other, Wolf dove forward.
Wolf was only halfway to the nearest man when they both turned off their flashlights, sending the cave into pitch-black. Wolf groped through empty air, brushin
g up against the back of one of the men’s cowboy hats.
He clamped his left arm around the guy’s head and sat down to bring him to the ground. The man buckled, and when Wolf felt his butt hit the floor, he yanked the man backwards so that they both lay flat, with the man on top of him acting as a shield.
A few feet away, the cave lit up with a massive cone of flame from the other man’s pistol.
Wolf shot four times in a tight circle around where the blast had been, then slammed the butt of his Glock into the head of the man he held, hoping he’d connected with the temple.
The man on top of Wolf struggled with a strength he wasn’t expecting, kicking and bucking back, his shoulders digging into Wolf’s chest. Before Wolf could react, a slicing pain seared through his right thigh.
Wolf went berserk, rolling the man to the left and clubbing him in the head with repeated blows until he went limp.
Wolf pulled his arm out from under the man and blinked fast. His vision swam with fuzzy circles, and a tone whined in his ears. He slid his hand along the ground, and his finger glanced off a hard metal cylinder. It was the flashlight.
He picked it up with his left hand and extended his arm up to the side.
He pointed the dark flashlight carefully, then pointed the gun. He took a deep breath and clicked the flashlight on.
A thunderous bang flashed to his front and right as the air above his left wrist rippled painfully against his skin.
He aimed the beam and fired twice into the other man’s head.
Chapter 42
Buck sat dead, two holes in his head, still holding the .45 revolver in a loose grip against the dirt.
It was Buck. He was the one with the thick gray mustache, Wolf remembered.
Wolf swung the flashlight beam through the thick smoke towards Earl, who lay on top of Wolf’s leg, still unmoving and bleeding steadily above his eye. Wolf checked his pulse, which was strong.
