Nelson was powerful and emboldened. He had been thinking about taking out Snow ever since he showed up. There was no way he was going to let this fucking cop screw up his good thing. They were out in the middle of nowhere. No one around. Easy to get rid of the body, tough to prove what happened. All this had almost immediately been factored into the equation. Buck Nelson was a quick thinker and not afraid to act on instinct.
Nelson was all in now and had already committed to killing Snow. It was just a matter of whether Snow was stupid or green enough to give him the opening. When the chance came, he took it.
Snow rolled, trying to roll Nelson away from him. It half worked, but Nelson recovered quickly—more quickly than Snow. He scrambled back on top and grabbed at Snow’s throat. Snow squirmed and pushed with his legs, first one way, then the other, old wrestling moves that usually worked at getting out from under. But Nelson was strong and motivated. He countered each move and kept his position.
An eternity passed in a minute. Then two. Snow kept trying to get out from under as Nelson worked to stay on top and keep his large, tough hands around Snow’s throat. Snow forced his hands and arms up between Nelson’s and bucked with his body.
Snow bucked once, hard, got a little space, slid his hand down and released his weapon. He pulled the gun out, but Nelson seemed to anticipate his every move and the gun went flying before Snow could get off a shot. Snow watched the flight of the gun in slow motion as it landed a few feet away.
Maybe the gun move had sapped something from Snow, or maybe he was simply losing the fight. Nelson was able to get his big hands back around Snow’s throat. Their movements were more deliberate now, a little bit slower. Snow panicked as darkness crept into the corners of his vision.
A muffled clang rang out, like someone ringing a bell with a chicken leg. Charlie Johnson hit Buck Nelson on the shoulders right below his head with a metal shovel from the cabin. Nelson rolled off of Snow, dazed.
“What the fuck!”
Snow had a million things going through his mind, but right out front was Get the gun, get the gun, get the gun. He scrambled for the gun and had it in his hand. He was on his knees looking at Charlie and Nelson. Charlie had the shovel in his hands and was positioned to take another swing but had not struck out again. Everyone froze.
Nelson pulled a knife from his belt. It had a red plastic handle with a blade about five inches long. It looked kind of like a steak knife but was called a “Vickie,” and people used them for working with fishing gear. Very sharp.
Snow was out of gas and still on his knees.
“Don’t do it.”
Nelson seemed to consider, then charged. Snow rose up and shot Nelson twice in the chest, and Nelson crashed into the ground. But he got to his knees quickly and Snow shot him again in the chest and once more in the neck as Nelson began to slump forward. Nelson collapsed in a heap.
Snow moved forward but stopped when Charlie Johnson said, “Careful, Chief.”
Snow crept slowly forward with the gun on Nelson, his hands shaking from the exertion. The Vickie knife was a couple feet from Nelson. Snow edged in and kicked the knife a few feet further away.
Charlie still had the shovel in both hands and also crept forward so that both were close to Nelson.
“Roll him over, Charlie. I got him,” Snow said, motioning with the gun to Charlie.
Charlie bent over and placed the shovel on the ground. He rolled Nelson onto his back. Snow looked down at him. He was turning gray and dying. Snow knelt by Buck Nelson and asked, “Why? Why’d ya do it, Buck? Why’d you murder Bullshit Bob?”
Gotta wrap this up, Snow thought. Finish it.
“He was going to take it back,” Nelson stuttered as he struggled to breathe. Frothy blood came from his mouth. “Didn’t mean for Nancy. That was an accident. Didn’t try to kill her. Sorry about Nancy.” Blood spittle flew as he said his last few words.
“You got fucking . . . got lucky. Pig. I had . . . you.” Nelson had just about had it.
“Lucky my ass. You got shot four times, asshole,” Charlie said after a few seconds. “Take a long dirt nap, gussok.” He laughed like a lunatic; with his head back and his hands on his hips, he howled, “Eee! Good shooting, brother!” Then he looked at Snow with a big grin and slapped Snow on the back, nearly knocking the chief onto Nelson, who was indeed taking a dirt nap.
Snow looked at Charlie like he had noticed him for the first time. Somehow he knew “brother” was more than an offhand remark.
“What? How?” Snow stammered.
“Kinka,” Charlie said.
Both men had subconsciously heard a boat motor approaching, but the sound didn’t register with all the stuff going on. Now that the motor had stopped, they both looked toward the bank. Nasruk Toovak approached holding out a shotgun aimed at the ground, ready to bring it up.
“It’s okay, Nasruk. He’s dead,” Snow said. He noticed then that he was still holding his gun, which he now shakily holstered.
“What happened?” Toovak asked Snow, keeping a weather eye on Charlie.
Snow’s voice was raspy and he felt his throat with his hand.
“Came up to confront Buck. But he got the drop on me and we were on the ground fighting. I was losing. Charlie hit him with a shovel and knocked him off me. Buck charged me with a knife and I shot him three or four times. Before he died he confessed to killing Bullshit Bob. He also said he was sorry about killing Nancy. Charlie saved my life. Nelson was choking me out—not sure I could stop him.”
Toovak lowered the shotgun and held it in his right hand.
“How’d you get here? I mean, how’d you know?” Snow asked Toovak.
“Your girlfriend, Lilly, got me on the radio. She’s persistent.”
Snow stood in the waiting room of Chubby Libbit’s Flying Service. He looked around the shabby waiting area as he wondered what to do next. He felt numb and lost. Buck Nelson’s death and his own near-death experience had not had a chance to sink in at all. There had been the business of getting the body moved, getting it flown to Dillingham and all that. Then the statements to troopers Dick and Debbie. It seemed like days since he had slept, and he suddenly felt exhausted. He came here to catch a flight back to Togiak, but right now he was sure of nothing. $
It was just about dark outside, and he thought he might be too late to go today.
He went outside, fished around for a smoke and lit one up. He was surprised to see snowflakes drifting down from the heavens. It was almost summer, but it was snowing anyway. He gazed up at the streetlight in wonder as the snowflakes fluttered in the light.
Where do I belong? Snow thought. Where do I go? I want to go home, but where’s that? I don’t belong out here, but I sure as hell don’t belong in the city. Not anymore. Not after all this. I’m lost.
He noticed a woman wearing a lovely, dark Eskimo parka, the kind with the colorful fringe at the bottom and a long wolf ruff around the bottom, sleeves, and hood. The parka was beautiful and a work of art. She had the hood up as walked toward him out of the near darkness. He was in kind of a daze.
Lilly took her hood off and walked right into Snow’s arms. They embraced.
They were quiet for a minute. “I should have listened to you, Lilly,” Snow said. “You were right. I should have waited. I almost got myself killed.”
Snow was waiting for her to say something, but she was quiet.
“I love you, Lilly Wasillie.”
Lilly looked up at Snow.
“I love you too, Brady. Brady Snow,” she said, and they kissed. “Come home now.” She took him by the hand and led him into the night.
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Bush Blues Page 16