by Benton, Ken
Sammy thought for three seconds before deciding to sacrifice a round. He aimed the weapon outward over the river, but low enough so the buckshot would still rake some brush and hopefully convince the intruder to back off.
It sounded like an atom bomb exploding when it discharged. Bits of bark hit Sammy in the face and arm. It also emitted a flash brighter than Sammy preferred.
Suddenly there was more light, all around him. Sammy found himself illuminated, along with the surrounding bush leaves.
“Drop your weapon!” a new voice boomed from behind.
What Sammy did next was intended to be a singular and smooth motion. He meant to pump the shotgun, spin around, spot the new adversary, and blow him away. What happened instead was his leg sent a surge of pain when he turned, he fumbled the weapon as a result, and squinted when his eyes met a bright flashlight beam shining in his eyes.
He could have continued with the original plan, but it most certainly would have been the last thing he ever attempted. Sammy quickly decided this wasn’t the way he wanted to go out.
He let go of the little shotgun and raised his hands.
* * *
“It isn’t so easy for everyone to stay as cool under pressure as you,” Mick said. Joel thought he detected a note of bitterness in his voice.
“Please don’t paint me in some special light,” Joel replied. “Or think that this kind of crap is easy for me, either. It isn’t. I’m only a car salesman, remember? Like Sammy. Besides, it sounds like what you and him did to get away from the gas station gangsters required more coolheadedness and proficiency than anything I’ve ever done.”
Mick slowed for an abandoned vehicle partially blocking the left lane. “It was stupid, and we should have just traded like they wanted.”
“That old beater for Archer’s diesel truck would have been robbery, even with a loaded shotgun thrown in.”
“Better to be a robbery victim and alive, on the road to Idaho, than … than … and if it really stuck in Sammy’s craw so much, we could have come back in the Celica and enlisted your help to right the wrong.”
“That’s the last thing I would have done,” Joel said. “When you make a bad deal you learn from your mistake and live with it. The stupidest thing you can do is make it worse by trying to ‘right it,’ especially when the stakes involve risking your life.”
“I knew you’d say that.” Mick hit the brights and sped up again. “And that’s my point, too, if you are paying attention.”
“I’m not commending your decisions,” Joel said, “nor am I criticizing them. I wasn’t there, and you guys had to think on your feet. The consequences were unfortunate, but you did come out of the situation alive, although I can understand how you are second-guessing yourselves now that you lost the truck anyway. You didn’t know how many guys they had, and that your escape route would be blocked. Strange that the Celica had been abandoned when you went back for it, though, seeing as it had a fully inflated spare and a working jack.”
“It wasn’t exactly abandoned.”
“So what haven’t you told me, then?”
Mick took a visibly deep breath. “There was a blood trail next to it, but it was strange looking, as if a body had been dragged. I didn’t want to get ambushed changing the tire, so I followed the trail through the brush a ways first. I was near certain the guy in the back seat was dead.”
“So you got that one through the windshield.”
“Yeah,” Mick answered sounding annoyed. “The driver must have moved him there after we left the scene.”
“How far did you follow the blood trail, and what happened?”
“Does it really matter, Joel?”
“Maybe. Which means yes. All information matters. We’re going into a hostile environment where we will be at a natural disadvantage. Not like at the Maddock house, where we knew the lay of the land and had the upper hand. You saw what happens to fools who go rushing into an unfamiliar setting on bravado alone. I need to know everything you know. Some little detail might make all the difference should we find ourselves in another engagement.”
“Heaven help us,” Mick said. “It shouldn’t be that hard. I know where he is. It’s a couple short blocks off the interstate, behind some empty warehouses. We just need to get there, get him up the bank, and get the hell out again. It’s only a few miles inside the city limits.”
“What makes you certain the warehouses are empty?” Joel asked.
“I’m not. Some are locked up, some are burned out, and the others look empty.”
“In the daytime.”
“In the daytime, right.” Mick adjusted the mirror and then glanced at Joel. “I followed the blood trail to its end. At least, until I could see its end, and confirmed I didn’t need to worry about Squeaky any longer.”
“Squeaky?”
“That’s what they called him. His voice squeaked.”
“What about whoever who dragged him there?” Joel asked.
Mick gave him a disturbed look. “There were two of them. They were busy with firewood.”
“What do you mean?”
“They had gathered wood and were starting a fire, right next to him.”
Joel felt himself fidget before responding. “I see. Thanks. Like I said, it’s important to share all information with me right now, no matter how unpleasant.”
They drove the next few miles in silence. Joel picked up a walkie-talkie from the center console and noticed it was on, with the volume turned all the way up.
“Maybe we’ll get a little more intel from this when we are in range,” Joel said.
“There’s one in the Celica, too,” Mick replied.
“There is? Did you hear anything on it?”
“Yeah.”
“Mick, come on, man. Out with it. I may need time to think about everything.”
Mick responded with something so unexpected it explained his aloofness.
“I um … I spoke to them on it.”
Joel turned in the seat. “When the hell were you planning on telling me that?”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“Great. Just freaking great. I can understand losing your temper and yelling something stupid at them, after what those guys did and how they ruined all your plans. But this is life and death stuff now. Sammy is hurt and depending on us, and I’d like to make it back home alive. So swallow your pride and tell me everything that happened, for crying out loud.”
“I didn’t yell at them. It was a strategic gamble. I was worried about getting past the gas station. They can see certain stretches of the interstate from it, and that Celica is bright as a canary. So I answered their calls and pretended to be Squeaky. I tried to talk like him. Pretty sure I nailed it, too. His voice only squeaks on certain vowels.”
“You have got to be bullshitting me.”
“I’m not. It worked, Joel, all right? I requested help bringing the black truck back, and then they sent those three guys in this SUV into the city. After I saw them head in, I made a break for it eastward.”
Joel sat for a second processing everything, and then released a roaring laughter that Mick appeared relieved by.
“I guess it didn’t quite work,” Joel said.
“Almost.” Mick flashed him a grin. “We do have this vehicle now.”
Joel smiled back at him. “Yes, we do. That’s the healthiest way to view it at this juncture. So did you hear anything else on the walkie talkie?” He held it up again.
“No.”
Joel set it back down. “They probably changed to another channel after realizing they’d been compromised.”
“I turned it off.”
“Oh no,” Joel groaned. “Why?”
“Now don’t give me a hard time about that, Joel. I did it so I wouldn’t be tempted to talk to them again. I felt lucky to get away with what I did, and just wanted it to be over so I could focus on driving without pushing my luck any further. And before you ask, after I thought I might be being followe
d I didn’t turn it back on so they couldn’t screw with my head. I needed to think clearly.”
Joel held his temples and shook his head. “But it’s not over. We have to get past them again. Twice.”
Chapter Fifteen
Whenever Ricky began to wonder exactly what it was about the night air diurnals were so intimidated by, he would imagine being exposed to the daylight and experience a moment of empathy. Nocturnals cower from the sun the way di’s cower from the night. Even that super-smart psychologist eyed the outside sky with growing apprehension when he agreed to talk to Ricky near the doorway, as pleased as he appeared to have a young person inquire of him after hearing him speak.
To Ricky, and to all nocturnals, logic favored the sun avoiders. Their fear wasn’t irrational like the di’s. For one thing, it was the sun that wrecked the world. After Helios its rays became outright dangerous. Diurnals had to apply thick coats of sunscreen or wear long clothing in order to be out in it for even brief periods.
According to hearsay, that condition was supposedly improving. But why would anyone trust it ever again? The sunlight betrayed everyone. Smart people stayed out of it now. Commercial sunscreen still commanded a heavy price at the trading post, and even dodgy homemade sun protection products were easy to peddle if the seller had a decent pitch.
Of course, those products were only of interest to the di’s. No one at the Dunn property had any use for them, except during the first few days after Helios before the resulting diurnal/nocturnal division had come to full effect. Ricky well remembered his last moment in the sun—that day he went out to Joel’s fence line to ask for his hat back with his tail between his legs. He suffered minor sunburn even from that short foray.
The same hat was once again causing him problems. In the two or three hours that had transpired since the evening meal, Ricky noticed Vern making his rounds. Many of the inmates gathered in small circles. Vern would hang out in one circle for a while and then another. He seemed to know everyone. Two or three other singular roamers would approach him regularly after doing the same thing. As much as was possible in such a place, Vern evidently controlled some sort of social network here. A few faces glanced in Ricky’s direction after talking with Vern, but not for long.
It was becoming intimidating. Ricky was possibly being set up as an outcast among the population for his refusal to surrender his Panama hat.
Then there was Carlin, who also made his way around conversing with different inmates. In his case, he was probably only working. Carlin was a nice guy. Ricky regretted treating him disrespectfully after dinner. He didn’t mean to.
Ricky made small talk with an occasional person who he encountered in his casual wanderings around the yard. No one was rude to him, but none were very friendly, either. Eventually, he found himself coming up to Carlin again near the solitary tree in the compound.
“So what did you speak to Tom about?” were the first words out of Carlin’s mouth.
Ricky decided to be honest. “About him representing me, and getting my tribunal bumped to the daytime tomorrow, as you mentioned. Even if you were joking about that.”
Carlin pushed the rim of his cap up to light a cigarette. “I guess you don’t agree with my strategy, then?”
“I love your strategy,” Ricky replied. “Thank you so much for your help. Please don’t be offended. I just want to get out of here as quickly as possible.”
Carlin blew out smoke and shook his head. “Here I finally have an easy case, and it gets bumped on the docket so the kid can get released in record time, and he wants to fire me. What did Tom say?”
“You’re not fired. He said that nocturnals don’t get diurnal court tribunals and vice-versa, that you are my assigned counsel and are really good, and that I shouldn’t be pushing my incredible luck any further.”
“You shouldn’t have,” Carlin replied. “He’s right about that. You’re on your own now, kid. I’m cutting you loose.”
Ricky tilted his head. “What do you mean?”
“One of the guards will call for you tomorrow night when it’s time, and escort you to the court.”
“You’re not going with me?”
“I don’t have to, since you went seeking other counsel. That action constitutes refusing the court-appointed attorney. Those are the rules. I’d rather spend my time working for people who appreciate my efforts. I mean, I’m not getting paid, so why should I do any more than I have to? Good luck to you.”
“That doesn’t seem right to me, Carlin. I understand why you are upset, but it was nothing personal. That wasn’t the only reason I wanted to talk to Tom. I had some questions about the psychology topics he was trying to explain at the other table, too. And after pissing this Vern guy off, I thought I would see if I could get out of here any faster.”
“What are you, a used car salesman? Your schmoozing failed. You gambled and lost. Live with it.”
Ricky stared at Carlin’s cigarette. “What if I hire you, then? And pay you for your services? Would you reconsider?”
Carlin hesitated. “Yes. I would.”
“I’ll be back.” Ricky turned and started walking across the yard towards the last place he saw Vern.
He’d moved. Ricky eventually found him by the back wall with one of his minions. He gave Ricky a curious look when he approached.
Ricky took his hat off. “I changed my mind and decided to do the trade.”
Vern’s expression turned into a scrutinizing one. “Sorry. I’m fresh out of cool sneakers.”
“For cigarettes,” Ricky said. “I’ll trade for the cigarettes, if the price is right. How many will you give me for it?”
Vern smirked and shook his head. “Too late for that, man. The offer expired. You should have taken it when you had the chance.”
“So you don’t want the hat now?” Ricky asked.
“I’m not sure. If it were a gift, I’d consider accepting it. But I won’t trade for it any longer.”
Ricky put the hat back on. “Well I’m not just giving it away.”
“Suit yourself.” Vern and his companion meandered off.
Ricky went back to Carlin and apologized again. Carlin accepted the apology, but he wouldn’t take Ricky back as a client. He assured Ricky he had a good case and advised him to stick to the defense they already discussed, but Carlin wasn’t going to help him any further, and he wasn’t interested in being hired without immediate compensation. Then he had to go because court for the night was starting and he had a client to defend.
That left Ricky alone in what was becoming an ever-more hostile environment. Somehow he’d done nothing but compound his problems since he arrived. Even before then, back in Joel’s yard, he compounded his problems.
Thinking about it, if Ricky had been humble and apologized to Joel, instead of railing at him and pointing out the glaring faults of the diurnals in a fit of rage, Joel might have let the incident go. The arresting soldiers seemed inclined toward that end, as they asked Joel to affirm his decision in a way that questioned its soundness. They were also quite civil to Ricky on the drive to the prison camp and during the short booking process, like they knew the crime was not that big of a deal and hardly worth their time.
Carlin was probably right, too. Ricky would probably be okay without a lawyer if he confessed in an apologetic tone, as long as he explained the arrangement in place between him and Joel prior to the incident.
Making it another 24 hours in this place without getting beat up might be more of a challenge, though. Ah, it was just a stupid hat.
Ricky kept an eye on Vern. The next time he wasn’t surrounded by too many people he approached him again, near the previous spot.
“If you still want it you can have it,” Ricky said taking the hat off. “As a gift. No trade.” He held it out with both hands.
“No,” Vern replied. “It’s too late for that, now, too. I don’t want it any more. Your timing is really off.”
Ricky stared back at him.
&n
bsp; “Some people are slow,” Vern’s companion said.
Vern turned to him. “Yeah. And they have to learn things the hard way.”
“I’m trying to be friendly,” Ricky said. “Doing the best I can.”
“Your best sucks. Put your hat back on.”
Ricky held it a few more seconds and said, “I’ve decided I no longer want it, either.” He let go of the hat so it landed on the ground. “Whoever wants it can have it.”
After walking away, Ricky looked back to see the hat on the ground by itself. Most of the rest of the night it stayed there, until a lone inmate who walked with a limp came by, picked it up, and put it on.
A short while later, however, two of Vern’s more frequent companions approached that guy. They seemed to enter an argument which ended with one of them giving the inmate in the hat a quick punch in the ribs. He bent over in pain before returning to the spot where he’d picked it up.
The hat ended up back on the ground, right where Ricky dropped it. There it remained the rest of the night.
* * *
“This way, Rabbit!” the one they called Bat said. He led the short procession left, away from the river to be shortly consumed by dark streets and buildings. Sammy had to stop and reposition his crutch in order to make the turn. It was only a tree branch, but worked surprisingly well.
His three captors were mercifully accommodating to Sammy’s injury. In fact, they acted concerned that it not get any worse. The big one, called Jimbo, even reached to help him a few times on the walk. He carried a short-barrel shotgun—not as short as Sammy’s, though, and his had a wooden stock.
The one called Chili walked closest to Sammy, not more than several feet ahead of him on the side of his good leg. He now carried Sammy’s weapon and displayed no small amount of appreciation to have come into possession of it. Bat had a large revolver that was likely either a .357 or a .44 magnum. He held it like he was in love with it.