by Lou Fletcher
Resigned, I got out of the van and joined Perry and Herb B., who was still whimpering, in the deep snow. We could hear Guenther inside on the radio, trying to reach other operators. The storm must have brought out a lot of radio traffic, as his attempts were drowned out by the voices of the real amateur radio operators. He cursed angrily before I saw the radio sail out the window, only to skid down the hill before sinking into a snowdrift and taking my hopes for rescue with it.
“This is nuts,” I whispered to Perry. “If we do nothing, we’re not going anywhere and somebody’s going to come along and rescue us. I’m positive,” I said, with as much confidence as I could muster.
Perry nodded. “Okay.”
Herb B. sniveled. I wasn’t sure if it was a yes or no snivel so I took it as an affirmative.
“Push,” Guenther called out.
We put our backs to the van and pretended to push. I had lost all feeling from my toes to the snow line above my knees. I was beginning to think we should just get the damn thing freed when an explosion shook the earth so violently I was thrown backwards into the snow-filled crevice beside the ditch. Stunned, I lay there on my back and watched a giant fireball light up the sky.
Perry, who had been standing right behind me, screamed, “Oh, my God! It’s the center! He set a bomb!” He stumbled away up the driveway.
Guenther, his plan deteriorating fast, jumped out of the van and tromped after Perry shouting, “Get the hell back here.”
I heard shots fired as the two brothers fled into the darkness.
I clawed my way free of the snow and joined Herb B. by the side of the road. We watched the scene unfold like some Hollywood thriller. Everything was happening in slow motion: the ghostlike figures of the two men slogging through deep snow, a black cloud dissolving in the sky above the complex, and the faint wail of sirens growing louder as emergency vehicles closed in.
I opened the rear of the van, searching for something to wrap our feet in. Among the various tools, I spotted a pair of rubber boots and a canvas tarp. I told Herb B. to get back in the van and tossed him the tarp to wrap himself up with.
“Turn on the heat,” I yelled. “Full blast.”
I freed the boots and pulled one over my frozen foot. Something was inside. I removed the boot and stuck my hand in and pulled out a long, red scarf.
My luck’s getting better. I tied the scarf around my head to cover my ears. I felt inside the other boot before putting it on, but came up empty-handed. I rummaged around in the van some more and pulled out a shovel like the one I used for my garden at home.
I was working to free the rear wheel when Guenther reappeared, alone and unarmed. He strode up to me and snatched the shovel from my hands, swinging it at my head. I fended off the attack until Guenther, twenty years younger and stronger through years of physical labor, overpowered me. Out of my one good eye, I saw the shovel aim for my head, right before everything went black.
…
When I came to, it was chillingly quiet. I sat up too quickly, nearly blacking out again from pain. It felt like a lightening bolt through my skull. I looked around. The van was gone.
I eased my snow-covered body to an unsteady standing position. I had rolled, or been rolled, into a ditch. If any vehicles had driven past, I would have been buried in snow and all but invisible. My legs, or what I could still feel of them, shook only a little less violently than my teeth. I managed to take a few tentative steps before I fell to my hands and knees.
“Maybe this will work,” I said aloud, crawling forward. “If I can just get to the drive, I can flag somebody down.” I was a little worried that I was talking out loud and to myself. I applied Gus’s method of fury and swear words to inch ahead one “f-you” at a time.
It seemed like a lifetime before I finally reached the driveway. It had been cleared of snow but was still covered with a thick layer of ice. I tried to stand but the extra weight of the snow—now frozen to my clothes, skin, and hair—made getting up in my weakened condition impossible. I lay there like a fallen log, hoping I wouldn’t get run over if a vehicle did come along. I couldn’t accept the fact my life was going to end in such an undignified way. I prayed Noah would remember the fun we’d had together, and his mom would think I’d been okay as her dad.
Out of my one good eye, I thought I spotted car lights winding slowly toward me. What if it was Guenther coming back? What if it were a rescue party? In either case, I risked getting run over unless I could get their attention. The scarf, I thought. I struggled with the frozen knot. It started to give just enough for me to squeeze a finger into an opening and work it free. I managed to get it loose and waved it above me to signal the driver.
“Help,” I yelled as loudly as I could. “Help me. Stop. Please.”
The vehicle stopped inches in front of me. I couldn’t identify who it was climbing out of the car, but I heard a muffled voice bark, “Get a flashlight and hurry up.”
Boots crunched slowly over the ice toward me. The figure bent over me, running the beam from the flashlight up and down the length of my body. Brown eyes peered out of a slit in a dark-colored ski mask. I held my breath, still not knowing if I was about to be rescued or become another victim, when a familiar voice boomed, “Wouldn’t you know it? Hank here is lying down on the job.”
Sheriff Grange looked so good right then I would have kissed him if I could have moved.
…
I was shivering in the back seat of Grange’s cruiser, the heat of his uniform jacket beginning to thaw my ice-covered arms. Pulling into the parking lot, we were greeted by the flashing lights of what seemed like every emergency vehicle in Goose Down. Fire trucks, ambulances, police, and sheriff’s department cruisers had made it to the scene.
“Stay here,” Grange commanded me. “I’ll get an assessment and be back as soon as I can. Do not move,” he warned. “I don’t need another casualty, understood?”
I could only nod and wonder what he meant by “another casualty.” I had to just sit and wait for news of Tippi, Marcy, and my other friends, dearer now than ever.
As the feeling crept back into my arms and legs, so did the fear. A deputy brought me a paper cup with steaming coffee. The hot liquid, heavily laced with cream and sugar, soothed me a bit. I tried but was unable to make out who was who in the organized chaos around me. If only I could get a glimpse of Tippi, or Applebee, or any of the others. The lights and rescue workers in their bulky winter uniforms, mingling with figures wrapped in heavy blankets, made identification impossible.
The door beside me swung open and a bulky figure, cocooned in a woolen blanket, was helped inside. Accepting coffee from a deputy, the shaking hands spilled hot liquid onto the seat.
I recognized those enormous, bare feet. “Perry?”
The head under the blanket jerked and faced me. I put my hands over his to steady the cup, and helped him raise it to his lips. He took a sip and then a long drink.
“Perry, what happened? What did you see? Was anyone,” I choked on the words, “hurt?”
He mumbled something I couldn’t make out.
“Sorry? Again?”
“I dunno. Smoke, Guenther, shooting...”
“Are you hurt? Did Guenther hit you?”
“No. He musta run outta ammo,” he cried. It was the sob of a child who searches for his mother in a crowded store and can’t see her anywhere. The terrified wail of “How could you do this to me?” I reached an arm around his shoulders. He turned to me, burying his stricken face in my chest. Finally, his heaving sobs subsided, but he continued to clutch at me like I was his life preserver.
I patted his shoulder until he quieted. He pulled away, embarrassed. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. We’ve had a helluva day.”
The front door opened to the smiling face of Sheriff Grange, “Ready for some good news, boys?” he said, before a mittened hand tugged on his shoulder. Tippi Mulgrew poked her head in and laughed.
“Boy, you should see yourselve
s. If I had a camera, I’d send a photo of you two sorry sacks all around the globe.” Her eyes softened and she reached out a hand to my swollen cheek. “How you doing, Hank?”
I answered by leaning across the seat back and giving her the longest kiss on record, even by Hollywood standards, I bet.
“Thawing out?” Grange said, relief and laughter mingling in his voice. “Let’s get you guys back inside so we can get you checked out before we let you go home. Remember home?”
THIRTY-NINE
Cheers from our friends and even some of the emergency personnel greeted us as Perry, Tippi and I walked into the center.
Applebee wheeled up, smiling. “Where’ve you been, Hank? You’re missing a great party.”
At first glance, it looked like the celebration from the night before was still in full swing. The only difference now was the presence of the men and women from law enforcement, firefighters, and EMTs.
I let go of Tippi’s hand only when I spotted Marcy sitting on Mary’s lap and drinking hot chocolate. Fussing over her were the Schmidts and Mr. Wittekind. Marcy glowed in the midst of the attention, the nightmare of what had happened momentarily forgotten.
“Hey, Marcy,” I said, lifting her up “What’s new?”
“Not much,” she smiled. “What’s new with you?” She buried her face in my neck. The warmth of her small body, the little fingers with their chipped red polish, and the smell of smoke clinging to her hair overcame me. I let myself surrender to the tears I tried to hold back.
I handed the little girl back to Mary and searched the room for one more face, missing from the welcoming committee.
“Is Gus okay?” I asked.
Tippi and Applebee seemed surprised. “We thought he was with you,” Tippi said.
“No. The last time I saw him he was in Herb’s office where Guenther had him handcuffed. He must still be there.” I bounded out of my seat.
“I want to go with you, Hank. You’ll have to help me. My crutches got burned up in the explosion.”
“Tabitha, I’m going to buy you a hot fudge sundae so big you’ll need a shovel to eat it.”
“I’m holding you to that, Hank,” Tippi said, squeezing my shoulder and leaning into me for support as we limped down the hallway to the office. I paused outside and then, taking a deep breath, swung the door open.
Gus was in his chair, his hands freed and hanging limp at his sides. His head rested on his chest.
I blocked the door to keep Tippi from running to our friend’s inert form when a head lifted itself from the sofa. It was Elrod.
“Hey, guys,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “Is it time for breakfast?”
“Elrod? Are you okay?” Tippi pushed past me and knelt beside the man, who was shaking off his nap.
“Did you see Guenther kill Gus?” I asked. I couldn’t believe the maniac had struck again.
“Kill Gus? What are you talking about?” Elrod sat up, wide-awake now. “He killed Gus?” he asked again.
We focused on the sight of Gus in the corner.
I nearly jumped across the room when Gus opened his eyes and said in a sleepy voice, “Ow, damn, I think my kiester’s asleep.”
“Oh, thank God,” Tippi exclaimed, limping over to him. “Gus, we thought you were dead.”
“I should say not,” he huffed. “I fell asleep waiting for the Marines,” he added, his blue eyes crinkled in a smile.
“Sorry, buddy. I was a little indisposed. What happened?”
“I think Guenther forgot about me when all heck broke out next door,” he said. “You probably saved my life, Hank, when you caused the ruckus in the next room.” Gus’s smile disappeared. “Guenther was ready to shoot me when we heard Marcy scream at Perry. I was prepared to meet my Maker, I’ll tell you.”
“I don’t think God is ready for you, Gus. Besides, you’ve got to finish unraveling Guenther and Herb B.’s crooked scheme.”
“I’ll nail the SOB. Oh darn, I’m sorry—again, Tippi,” he apologized.
“If anyone deserves the right to swear, it’s you Gus. Besides, I’m not as delicate as I appear,” Tippi said.
“Enough chitchat,” I said. “How’d you get these things off?” I asked Gus. I picked the locked handcuffs off of the floor. I tugged on the green fur. Considering the cuffs were probably meant for an activity of a more erotic nature, they were fairly sturdy. I tried but couldn’t budge them with my bare hands. “Too bad. They could have come in handy.” I grinned at Tippi.
“Your brush with death didn’t improve you one bit. You’re still a dirty old man,” Tippi retorted, blushing.
“Why don’t you use the key?” Elrod asked.
“Good idea. Too bad I don’t have one.”
“How do you think I uncuffed Gus?” Elrod rose and put his hand down the front of his pants. “Here,” he said. His hand held the key.
“Wow,” I said. “I’m stunned.” I looked at the key and considered where it had been. “You keep it, Elrod. For a souvenir.”
“There’s more,” he said. He went over to a portrait-sized painting of Robin Hood and removed the picture to reveal a small wall safe. He smiled, then flipped the dial back and forth a couple of times until the door popped open to reveal a cashbox marked “Petty Cash.”
“Check it out.” Elrod grinned.
Inside were bundles of hundred dollar bills, a key obviously to a safe deposit box, and some photos of Angie and Herb B. posed in various stages of undress.
“Elrod, you sure weren’t sleeping on the job this time,” I said.
“I never am,” he said, winking at Tippi.
FORTY
Elrod and I helped Tippi and Gus down the hall to the lounge, where we were greeted with hugs and more cheering. Ernie steered us toward some empty seats. I was propping a cushion under Tippi’s injured leg when Gus asked, “Hank, where’d you get Alice’s scarf?”
I forgot I had draped the red scarf around my neck. I planned to give it to Tippi later as a memento of our adventure.
“What do you mean, Alice’s scarf?”
“I gave it to her. It was a thank-you gift for helping me with the books. It was the day before she,” he faltered. “The day before she died.”
“It was in Guenther’s van,” I said. “In his boot.”
Gus paled. I helped him to a chair before his legs gave out.
Tippi hobbled over and pulled up a seat next to us. Marcy lay sleeping in Mary’s arms. “The kid is...” She glanced from me to Gus. “What’s wrong? What is it now?” her voice rose.
“This scarf,” I started, still not believing what this latest discovery meant, “was a gift from Gus to Alice.”
“Umm, okay. And?”
“I found it in one of Guenther’s boots in the back of the van.” I waited until it sank in.
“But why would Guenther have Alice’s scarf?” She paled. “Oh my God.”
“I’m going to get Grange.”
The sheriff was at the microphone and jotting down some notes when I approached him.
“Hey Hank,” he said. “What a night, huh?”
“I’m afraid it’s not over,” I said. “Something else has come up. Better come over here.” I led him to where Tippi sat, her arm around Gus.
“What’s going on?” Grange asked.
I explained to him how I had found the scarf in Guenther’s boot, before I turned to Gus to finish the story. Grange rubbed his eyes wearily, shaking his head as he listened.
It suddenly dawned on me. In the euphoria of finding out everybody was safe and unharmed, I had completely forgotten to ask about Guenther. I had just assumed he was in custody and being held somewhere in the building along with Herb B.
“What did you do with Guenther? Take him in?” I asked.
Grange shook his head. “Unfortunately, no. We found the van at his trailer, but the guy was gone. He must have dumped the van, then picked up his own truck. Probably because it has four-wheel drive is my guess. We have an APB out so he won’t get
too far.”
“What about Herb B.?”
Grange scanned the room. “Isn’t he here?”
“Guenther took him in the van with Perry and me. We got stuck right where the drive joins Route 27, so Guenther forced us all to get out and work to get us moving. Instead, we only pretended to push the van, hoping one of your guys would come along. The last thing any of us wanted was to have to get back in the truck with that psychopath. Instead, the explosion blew the place up, and Perry took off toward the center with Guenther running after him, shooting at the poor bastard. For all we knew, he’d killed Perry and would be coming back for us any minute.”
“Then what?” Grange prompted.
“We were freezing our asses off,” I continued. “And our feet. Remember, we weren’t wearing shoes or socks.”
“Give me five minutes with Guenther,” Tippi interjected. “I’ll...
“Thanks, honey,” I said, cupping her chin in my hand and lightly kissing her on the mouth.
“Can you two lovebirds do your necking later?” Grange said. “How about sticking to the facts?” He winked at Tippi.
“So I made Herb B. get back in the van while I searched the trunk. That’s when I found the boots and Alice’s scarf.”
“And?” Grange asked, jotting notes in a small notebook as I talked.
“Guenther came back, without Perry,” I added. “We fought,” I rubbed the orange-sized lump on my forehead, “and when I came to, the van, Guenther, and Herb B. were all gone.”
Grange groaned and spoke into his radio. He asked us a few more questions before waving over one of his deputies. He briefed the young man, who motioned to two other officers warming themselves by the fire. The three left, radios crackling as they again dressed for the frigid weather outside.
He called another of his deputies over and instructed him to take down the names of everybody on the site, and to make sure nobody else was missing.
“Gotta go,” he said, pulling on his coat. “Everybody sit tight ’til I say it’s okay to leave.”