by Nova
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. It’s no big deal.”
Max looked at me quizzically. “That, coming from you? I’m surprised.”
I laughed. “Damn, Max. I’m not always an asshole. At least I hope not. Look at him. He works hard. He kept himself and his kids fed when it fell apart for him. He keeps a clean house. So he was once a blade—now he’s a dust mop. The world needs people like him. Shit, someone has to feed us.”
He laughed. “Gardener, you are such a caring individual. Next thing you know you’ll be hugging people.”
It was my turn to laugh. The farmhouse was close enough to make out details now. I loosened the Ruger in its holster and slipped the leather loop off the hammer that helped hold it in place. “Yep. Time to share the love, buddy.”
I had read that when approaching some countries by sea, Japan for instance, you know at about four hundred nautical miles out that you are getting close. How? The amount of trash in the water steadily increases.
It was the same thing approaching the McKinley farmhouse. Not that they were unusual in that. It was pretty common in this part of the world. Everybody over the past few decades had consumed a lot of stuff. On a farm, a lot of that stuff was big, too big to stuff in a trash can. You put it in your own dump or left it where it died.
The house itself was neat, with a well-tended yard. It had been painted white in the past few years. There was a garden, somewhat overgrown with weeds, and chickens running around. They had a nice-sized German shepherd chained to a steel post. He noticed us and started barking our approach to the people in the house.
Not that he had to. We had already been spotted. Two almost young white guys were standing around a black Ford F-150 with its hood up. From what Tommy had told us, we knew we were looking at the McKinley boys.
Even without a description I would have known which one was the nut job bothering Donna. The wife-beater T-shirt and can of Bud in his hand were definite giveaways. Starting early with the breakfast of champions there, buckaroo , I thought when I saw him. He was wearing a black semiautomatic pistol in a black nylon holster.
The slow one was as big as he had been described. He wore black jeans and a NASCAR T-shirt. He didn’t look like he was armed. Max had overdressed for the occasion by wearing a shirt with actual buttons and no silk-screening on it.
We stopped about ten feet from them. Before Max could say anything, Nut Job looked at us and said, “What do you two peckerheads want? We don’t have work, food, or money.”
“We would like to talk to your Paw if he is home.”
Paw? I almost busted out laughing. Max had gone hick on me.
Nut Job must have noticed my brief grin. “What the fuck you smiling about?”
His brother chimed in, “Yeah. What you smiling about?”
My God, it’s the echo twins, I thought. But what I said was, “Nothing. Just a nice day, and I am so happy that the Lord has blessed us.” Want to get hick, Max? I can do hick.
Slow One yelled, “Paw!” loud enough to startle his rodent-looking brother.
“Goddamn it! Don’t yell in my ear, you dumb fuck!” Then to us he said, “What you want with my Paw and what the hell are you wearing around your waist, preacher?”
Just about then Paw stuck his head out the front door and yelled, “Who the fuck are they and what do they want?”
Damn. This family was already starting to irritate me. I really dislike loud people.
Max said, pretty loud for him, “We want to talk to you and the missus.”
Slow One started to repeat what Max had just said, but his brother punched him in the arm and told him to shut up. Then he yelled it to his Paw.
“Just a minute!” Paw went inside and came back out carrying a shotgun. As he approached us, he yelled, “You are trespassing! You sure as hell better not be selling anything!” He was a big man. When he got to us I could tell he was also one of those white men whose face always looked like they were blushing. “Okay. You got two minutes. Where the hell is your car?”
“They came from Tommy’s, I think, Paw.”
“I don’t care if they crawled out your ass. I want to know what they’re doing on my land.”
It was tough to get a word in edgewise, what with all this yelling and carrying on. Max did, and it got their attention. “We have gold and we want to buy some heavy equipment.”
There was the magic word. It hung in the air for a second or two, all nice and shiny. Gold. Gold wasn’t going-tothe-market money. It wasn’t buying-a-part-for-your-truck money. It was real money. Gold would get you land with a house on it. Enough gold, and you could buy yourself a life. Gold was serious money for serious business.
Paw cocked his head. “What did you just say?”
Slow One didn’t realize it a was rhetorical question. “Paw, he said—”
“Shut the fuck up!” both his brother and Paw shouted at him.
Max grinned, slow and easy. “I hear you got some heavy equipment. We would like to buy or rent it.”
“Who the hell is we, and it’s not for sale.” Paw grinned. “But I might consider renting it for the right price.”
“Yeah, Paw, get him to throw in the pretty Asian girl,” cracked Nut Job. He thought that was funny. He was the only one who did. When he got done laughing at his joke he chased it down with a long pull of Bud.
“By the way,” Paw said, looking at me now, “what the fuck is that tucked in your belt? You just fly in from a cowboy movie?” He looked at Max. “If this is your idea of a bodyguard, then I think you need to hire my boys, especially since you have all this gold.”
“No, sir. I didn’t fly in from nowhere. The Lord led me here.”
I have found that if you want to paralyze people like this, you hit them with the Jesus talk. It totally messes up their responses. They just don’t expect violence from a Jesus talker. Maybe fraud, or their women getting knocked up, but violence? No way. We had gradually drawn closer to them, so that we were now within a foot or so of normal conversation range.
Paw shook his head and laughed. “Jesus, huh? A boy as deranged as you shouldn’t be walking around with gold on him. I tell you what. You two show me the gold you got and maybe we will talk.”
Slow One wasn’t picking up on what Paw was saying between the lines but Nut Job was. He casually set his beer on the air filter cover and dropped his hand down next to the butt of his holstered gun. I watched his stance change with it. I didn’t bother to look at Max to see if he had picked up on where this was rapidly going.
“No, sir. The Lord led me to the barn, and that’s where I found this Colt 1851 Navy. I’m sure he will show me what to do with it. Take a look at this. It’s almost two hundred years old, and I think it might still work.” I gave them a couple more heartbeats to digest what I said while I slowly stepped up to Paw as I eased the Colt out of my belt.
“Here. Take a look at it.”
Paw dropped the muzzle of his shotgun so that it was pointing to the ground and extended his hand so I could place the Colt in it. I stepped up, tightened my grip on it while I thumbed back the hammer, and shot him in the heart.
He seemed surprised—probably because I shot him, but also perhaps because his shirt was now on fire. I think it was because I shot him. Damn, that gun put some serious smoke into the air.
His sons were stunned. They had been totally unprepared due to their preconceived notions on how stuff like this was supposed to play out, which gave me the extra second I needed.
As soon as the Colt fired—I wasn’t sure it would—I drew the Ruger with my strong hand and shot Nut Job. Then I pivoted and shot Paw in the head just to make sure. He hadn’t moved other than to put his hand over his heart and feebly try to extinguish the flame that was consuming his polyester-blend shirt.
Slow One turned out to be not so slow—and not so predictable. Max was reaching for his .45, on the assumption that Slow One was carrying and would do the same, when Slow One decided to handle things differently.
Since his training had probably come from watching the WWE, that’s how he responded.
He leaped forward and wrapped his arms around Max, pinning him. Then he hugged him hard and lifted him up over his head, using Max’s belt for a handle, did a couple spins, and slammed him to the ground. He stood there, chest heaving, and looked at me and grinned.
I shot him twice. He was also surprised by it. Those first few years almost everyone I shot seemed surprised when it happened.
I checked the bodies quickly using my scientific method, which consisted of kicking them in the head and listening for an “Ow.” Then I turned to Max, who was holding his side and struggling to sit up.
“That big dumb sonofabitch cracked a rib or two, I think.”
I was trying to think of something witty to say, hopefully to make him laugh, when Maw came busting out the front door, ripping the screen door off its hinges.
“You killed my boys! You killed my boys!” she screamed, while covering the distance between us pretty damn quick. I shot her twice, too.
As she fell I said, “Yes, ma’am, I did.” Out here in the sticks, politeness counted.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I walked back to Max, helped him to his feet, and walked him over to the truck so he would have something to lean against. The damn dog was barking its head off in the background.
“How are you doing, Max?”
“Damn that stupid sonofabitch. We need to burn the house down with the bodies inside. Look for keys for everything before you start lighting matches. I think I’m going to lean here for a few minutes.”
“I don’t see why not,” I told him. “You haven’t done shit since we got here anyway.” I laughed. He started to, and then he stopped and winced. “You going to be okay while I do this?”
He nodded.
“What do you want to do about the dog?” I asked.
“See if you can let him go. If he lets you get close, that is. If he doesn’t . . .” He shrugged.
I got a hold on Nut Job and started moving him while Max watched and tried to look like he was fine. He wanted to help but I told him, “Don’t even try.”
The house inside was surprisingly neat and the furniture was nice. I almost took my boots off at the door. One by one I dragged the bodies into the house, and believe me, none of them was light. I was sweating by the time I got the last one in the door. I hoped nobody decided to come by and visit. I didn’t want to have to drag anyone else inside. I put the bodies in different rooms. Just in case. I didn’t expect a forensics team to show up, but why be stupid.
There was a nice gun cabinet off the living room. I left it alone except for the ammunition. Guns, especially out here, were probably as recognizable as wives to the gun-owners’ friends. While I was inside Max had found the garden hose and was washing down the driveway. He was hurting, that was obvious, but he was functioning. I found the keyboard in the kitchen. Each piece of equipment was labeled on the board and tagged on the key. That was a nice touch, I thought.
I triple-bagged the ammo and carried it outside. Max was done with his watering. “What did you find?”
“Ammo.”
“Find a couple buckets for me and check the kitchen for matches.”
By the time I came back out, he had punched a hole in the truck’s gas tank. We collected a couple gallons, and I went back inside and splashed it around. I left the buckets inside the house.
“You want to head back? Maybe get them ribs looked at and wrapped?”
He looked really pissed for a couple seconds and then he grinned. “It isn’t anything. Heck, I could probably carry you back if I had to.”
“I know. Just looking out for you.”
“Right. Before you torch the place, deal with the dog. It’s not right leaving him chained up.”
“Yeah. Look, Max, I know nothing about dogs. You’re a dog guy. You hobble around back and let Fido go.”
“Damn, Gardener. Just do it.”
I shrugged and went to find Fido. He was all the way at the end of the chain, standing there, watching me as I walked up to him. He was as still as a statue.
I got to about a foot from him and stopped. “Hi, dog.”
He didn’t say anything. He did wag his tail twice. I thought that was encouraging.
“Okay, dog, this is how it is. If you bite me, I am going to shoot you. You won’t like that. If you don’t bite me, I am going to let you off that chain, and you can go be a dog somewhere else.”
I waited. Nothing from the dog other than its attention. I walked closer. No growl. I held out my hand, ready to jerk it back at the first sign of teeth. The dog licked it. That scared the crap out me for a second.
“Okay, dog. I am going to take that as an indication that you and I are cool.”
A wag of his tail.
Damn. Maybe I had some kind of magical dog power. Maybe I was the Dog Whisperer!
Maybe I better get my ass in gear. I reached over and found where the chain hooked onto his collar and set him free. “Okay, dog. You can go wherever you want now.” I turned around and headed back to Max and the matches.
“I see you got yourself a dog,” I heard Max say.
I looked back. The dog had followed me and was standing about five feet away wagging its tail.
“No, Max. You got yourself a dog. I got myself a fire to set.”
I set a rag on fire and tossed it through the open door into the house. It went up nicely. When I was done, the three of us admired the flames for a minute or five, until it began to smoke enough to call attention.
“You ready?”
“Yeah, Max, I am.”
I grabbed the bags of ammo, and Max and I started walking back. The dog followed.
The walk back was as uneventful as the walk over. When we came to the fence, I ripped enough of it down that Max could step over it. The dog, which was following behind us, had no problem jumping over it. In fact he looked rather pleased with himself for his leaping ability.
We got to the porch, where Tommy’s two kids were playing. They were happy to see the dog—too happy. They both went running down the steps yelling, “Doggie!”
Max and I looked at each other, the Oh, shit unspoken. Max’s hand went to his .45 and I went down the stairs after the kids.
They were standing there, staring at the dog, which was taller than either of them and outweighed the two of them combined. I made up my mind in an instant. If the dog attacked, then I would leap over the kids and hopefully land on top of him. No way was he going to hurt them. Then I would cut his throat.
The dog stood there, wagged his tail tentatively, and walked up to the kids slowly. I took a deep breath. Then the boy threw his arm around the dog’s neck and yelled, “Doggie!” in its ear. The dog did nothing. Well, actually, I swear it looked at me and smiled.
The girl yelled, “Yea! Uncle Gardener got us a dog!” Then she attacked it. The dog shrugged off her attack. He jumped so he was about five feet from them and stood there wagging his tail. They rushed him again; he let them get a hold of him briefly before jumping away. A minute later they were playing “Chase the doggie” in the yard. I let them play for about five minutes before I told them to go find Aunt Donna and tell her Max was hurt. They ran off laughing with the dog running next to them.
“So what are you going to name him?” Max asked me.
“I think I’ll let the kids name him. It looks like he’s going to be their dog, thank God.”
Donna came running. She hustled Max into the house, chattering at him the entire time. I stayed on the porch and watched the kids, who were back to playing in the yard. The dog sat about twenty feet away, under the shade of the trees, watching them.
The boy saw me standing there. “Hey, Uncle G!”
“Yeah, kid?”
“We named the dog!”
I began walking toward them. Donna said Night was working on a project in the trailer. Maybe I could help. If not, I was supposed to weed the garden. I didn’t mind weed
ing. I actually found it rather peaceful. It was one those jobs where you could shut your mind off and just work. It was just too hot to start now.
“So what did you name him?”
They both shouted, “Woof!”
I looked over at the dog. He was grinning. “Good name, guys.”
“Watch!” They yelled “Woof!” and sure enough, the dog walked over to them, standing there as the girl pulled his ears and the boy tried to put him in a headlock. “See?”
I nodded. “You kids got yourself a dog.”
The kids were happy. The dogs they’d had when I was at the farm before had disappeared. No one knew for sure what had happened to them. Eaten or killed by someone was my guess. As I walked away, I yelled over my shoulder, “Make sure he has water.”
The only reply was a chorus of giggles. I looked back. Woof was standing there patiently as the girl tried to climb on top and ride him.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The trailer door was open. So were all the windows, the better to catch the breeze should one decide to come this way. I called Night’s name as I walked up the wooden steps.
“In here,” Night answered. She was in our living room, taping road maps to the wall and sweating.
“What are you doing?”
“Making my Intelligence Command Center.”
“Oh. Need any help?”
“No. Go weed the garden like you’re supposed to be doing.”
I shrugged and turned to leave.
“G, I’m sorry. The heat is getting to me. Let’s sit outside. You look okay. How’s Max?”
We went outside and sat in the shade and I told her the bare bones of what had happened. She didn’t seem surprised about how it had ended. We both turned to look across the fields toward the McKinley place. There was a fair amount of smoke rising into the air. The previous night, Max had casually asked Tommy about the local fire department.
“We don’t have one anymore,” Tommy had said. “It was made up of volunteers, and a lot of people have left. The county came and took the equipment anyway. Or maybe it was the company they bought it from. I know it had something to do with money or the lack of it. Falls Corner has one, but you got to be on their list and pay for it.”