by Blake Banner
I stood in the doorway. They looked up at me. I put a single round into each one of them, in the center of their foreheads. All their scrubbing was for nothing. I turned and walked away.
twenty-two
I took the Audi Q7 down the track, back toward the road. I could see the plow through the windshield. It was on the road, but it was motionless. I pulled up outside the broken gates, swung down, and walked across the cleared blacktop toward the cab. The door was open, the key was in the ignition, but Vasco wasn’t in the plow. He’d driven up, positioned the vehicle ready to start shifting work, and then he’d climbed down and disappeared.
I scanned the area. It was no more than three in the afternoon, but already the sky was casting a menacing darkness over the plain. The empty miles of featureless white would have made a man’s silhouette stand out. But there was nothing: no tracks, no tell-tale humps in the snow, nothing but a white wasteland and the freezing, desultory wind lifting occasional ghosts and drifting them across the empty landscape.
Empty but for one, singular feature. I stood staring at it for a moment. A sudden twist of anxiety told me I had just found Primrose, but Vasco had found her before me. I pulled the Sig from my pocket and ran toward the depot. I hit the snow and started wading like a man running through deep surf. It dragged at my feet, made me stumble, was agonizingly slow. My breath tore at my lungs. I finally made it around the palisade fence to the main gate and, with a sickening jolt, I saw the SUV that Abi and Sean had taken to return to the guesthouse. They had had the same realization. I ran, skidded and fell on the frozen ground. Scrambled to my feet and made it around to the door. I cocked the Sig, wrenched the door open and went in.
It was dim. The only light came from a small fire that was burning in the corner, where a pile of blankets formed a makeshift bed. Primrose was there. So were Abi and Sean, and so was Vasco. Abi and Sean were sitting to one side, on a couple of drums. I couldn’t see Vasco clearly enough to take a shot, because he was standing behind Primrose. She was standing in the middle of the floor, with her arms stretched up above her head. She had a rope tied roughly around her wrists, slung up over one of the rafters and attached at the other end to one of the drums of gold ore. Her face was pale, her breathing was shaky, and despite the cold she was sweating. I could see his left hand on her left shoulder. Both Abi and Sean were watching me from where they were sitting. They looked as terrified as Primrose. Joe Vasco spoke.
“Well, lookie who just came in. The Lone Stranger…” He laughed like he’d said something funny.
I closed the door and took a step closer.
He went on. “You know what I got back here? You being a fighting man, a man of weapons, you’d be interested.” His voice changed suddenly, became menacing. “Don’t come any closer, friend. I’ll tell you all about it.”
“I thought we had an arrangement, Vasco. What are you doing?”
He laughed. It was an ugly sound that seemed to creep among the shadows. He leered at me and rested his chin on Primrose’s shoulder. “You want to take a shot? How good are you? Light ain’t great. Be a shame to miss and hit this pretty little lady. Especially before I’ve had my bit of fun with her.” He narrowed his eyes. “We didn’t have no arrangement, Walker. You made your arrangement with Mr. and Mrs. Stupid. You think I didn’t realize the little game you was playing? Well, now we’re going to play my game. My game is called…” He grinned and slid his right arm around her waist. Clutched in his hand was a hunting knife with a broad, six-inch blade serrated along the back. He repeated, “My game is called, where do we put the knife?”
I kept my voice steady. “Do you know what I will do to you if you hurt her, Vasco?”
“Do you know what I will do to her if you don’t put down your gun and your knife?”
I bluffed. “We have a stalemate.”
He shook his head. He was still resting his chin on her shoulder. “Uh-uh. ’Cause, see? I don’t have to kill her. I can take my sweet time. I can cut open her shirt and I can cut slowly into…”
“All right! You made your point.” I bent down and laid the Sig on the floor, then stood.
He chuckled. “And the knife, Mr. Special Ops. Next to the pistol.”
I pulled the knife and laid it next to the gun. “OK,” I said. “Now what? This is between you and me. Let them go.”
“Are you kidding me?” He stood erect and turned to Sean. “You, pick up the gun and the knife. Put them over there, by the wall, where I can see them. Do anything stupid and I’ll skin your sister like a mule dear.”
Sean walked to me. Our eyes met for a second in silent communication. He picked up the weapons and carried them to one side, as Vasco had instructed him. Then he returned to his mother’s side.
“See, Walker, the big difference between me and Al and Karen, is they’re stupid, and I am not.”
I gave a small laugh. “You look pretty stupid to me, Vasco. How are you going to explain all this to the Feds and the sheriff? Do you realize that Al wants to frame you alone for everything—from the mine to the girls who were murdered? You’re playing right into his hands.”
He was laughing again, waving the blade in the negative. “Uh-uh, see, there it is. I don’t believe you are stupid enough to call the sheriff. I figure you for a poker-playin’ man, and that was all one big bluff. I have to hand it to you. It was smart and you wrapped them around your little pinkie just like you wanted. But I ain’t as stupid as they are.”
I nodded and gave a little snort. “So what’s your big plan, Einstein?”
He put his elbow on Primrose’s shoulder and pointed the big blade at me like a gun. He narrowed his eyes, like he was aiming that gun. “See?” he said. “I got you figured out.”
I laughed quietly. “Really?”
“You’re tough. I got to hand you that. You’re one tough son of a bitch, and you are dangerous. You are without doubt the most dangerous man I ever knew. But you got one, big weakness.”
“What’s that? Enlighten me.”
“You got a soft spot for a pretty woman. Me? I’m happy to kill you and the kid and then have my way with momma here and the girl. Then I’ll kill them too, and walk away a happy man. But you, you think you’re some kind of hero: Captain America, the Lone fuckin’ Ranger, some knight of the fuckin’ round table. You…” He wagged the knife at me again. “You want to be a good man. And that, friend, is your weakness. You know why?”
He slipped his left hand over her left shoulder and changed the knife from his right to his left. Then his right hand disappeared and came back holding his Desert Eagle. Primrose’s eyes were wide and wild. Her breath was shaking badly. Abi stifled a sob, and Sean said, “Don’t let him see you’re scared, Mom!”
Vasco pressed his cheek against Primrose’s and pressed his body up close against her back. He slowly brought the knife around, so that his elbow was poking out and the point of the knife was pressing against her chest at the height of the fifth intercostal. Then he aimed the pistol straight at my gut. He was six paces away and could not miss.
“They say,” he drawled into her ear, “that a shot in the belly is the most painful way to die. Now I’ll tell you what my plan is, Mr. Hero, you’re going to stand there and allow me to shoot you in the gut. Because if you move, I am going to ram this big old cock of a knife right into her heart.”
“And if I allow you to kill me, what guarantee have I that you won’t then rape and kill her?”
He was enjoying himself, having a great old time. He leered and drew breath to answer. I didn’t hesitate or change the expression on my face. I just slipped my left foot back and around behind my right one, so my belly was no longer in his line of fire. In the same fluid movement, with my right hand, I pulled the second Sig from my waistband, behind my back, and took the shot of my life. I put a 9 mm hollow tip right through his left elbow. It shattered the joint and at the same time, the sheer force of the slug violently levered his hand away from her chest. He staggered back, screaming
, “Oh shit! Oh shit!”
I aimed up at the rafter and shot the rope where it lay against the wood, and Primrose ran staggering toward her mother. With her out of the way, I took aim at Vasco where he lay on the floor. Maybe it was because I didn’t want Sean to witness a killing. Maybe it was because I was exhausted. Maybe it was both. Whatever the reason, the shot was not instant. I took maybe a quarter of a second to line him up, and by that time, in his pain and his rage, he had fired. He didn’t aim, but he got lucky, and the slug hit my gun, dented the barrel and ricocheted across my hand. There was no permanent damage, but the pain was excruciating and my gun was unusable.
I swallowed the pain and moved toward him to finish him with my bare hands, but he had staggered to his feet. He was strong, and what was worse, he had a strong mind. He must have been in agony. His left arm was hanging limp by his side, bleeding profusely. He was still screaming, making inarticulate noises, but his eyes were fixed on me and he was walking toward me, with the gun held out in front of him.
For a moment, his eyes glazed and seemed about to roll back in his head. He let out an animal groan and doubled up. I took a step toward him, but he yelled then screamed. He flushed red and took another step, staring hard into my face. I started dancing like a boxer, making a moving target. His gun wavered. I danced toward him. He thrust the weapon forward, I danced away and he fired. He missed and I heard the slug thud into one of the drums of ore. I rushed him and saw the black hole of the muzzle loom into my face. There was an explosion that made my ears ring and I danced away again, shaking my head.
He had five rounds left in his magazine. It was too many, and I couldn’t keep dodging forever at this range. I had to attack. I lunged in a scissor kick aimed at his gun hand. He pulled it back and I missed. When I landed, I was just two feet away from him and he smashed the heavy steel gun into the side of my head. It was like being kicked by a mule. I staggered back, stumbled, and fell, cracking my head a second time on the concrete floor.
I was stunned and numb, and not thinking, but some instinct, or maybe the years of training, made me roll and I heard a slug smash into the floor a couple of inches away. I staggered to my feet. By the wall I saw a shovel. It was seven or eight feet away. I lunged for it. My head was still ringing and I had no coordination. I stumbled and fell, with my fingers clawing at the blade. Another explosion and another slug hit the wall behind me. The shovel fell across me. I got to my knees, grabbing it like a spear. His face twisted with hatred. He aimed straight at my head. He was not going to miss. There was an explosion. I roared and hurled the shovel. I saw the muzzle of the Eagle erupt in flames. I felt a searing, burning pain in my head. I saw Vasco’s head wobble and the right side of his skull erupt in blood and gore, and at the same moment the blade of the shovel embedded itself in his chest and he went down.
I turned and looked. Abi was standing, holding my Sig in both hands. She was trembling violently, staring at the twitching corpse on the floor. I struggled to my feet. A couple of times, my legs gave under me and I had to support myself on the drums stacked behind me. I took one step, and then another and finally made it to her side. She looked up at me as I took the pistol from her hands and slipped it into my waistband, behind my back. Suddenly, violently, she flung her arms around me and squeezed, sobbing into my chest. I held her tight and kissed the top of her head. Then Sean and Primrose were there, with their arms around both of us, and all three of them were sobbing.
I heard Abi’s voice, muffled by my jacket: “It’s over, please tell me it’s over, Lacklan. Tell me it’s over…”
I kissed the top of her head again and rested my chin on the soft cushion of her hair. “Nearly,” I said. “Very nearly.”
Twenty-three
She lifted her chin and searched my face with her eyes.
“What? What else?”
I shook my head. “You three have been through enough. Take the kids home. You need to clean the living room. Leave no trace, Abi. You understand?”
She nodded. “Will you…?” She stopped, searching my face again. “Will you come back to the house?”
“Yes. I’ll try to get there before the storm starts up again. Go now.”
I walked them out and watched them climb into the truck and drive along the road to Independence. Then I went back inside, collected the weapons, including the shovel, and dragged Vasco’s body out to the yard. I went and got the Q7 and drove it to the depot gate. There I loaded Vasco into the back seat and drove him back to the plow where, with extreme difficulty, I put him in the driver’s seat. I put his knife in its sheath on his belt and put his Desert Eagle in his right hand. The shovel I dropped on the blacktop beside the plow. I was wearing woolen gloves, so I had left no prints. It would be a nice mystery for the Feds.
I inspected the back seat of the Q7 and found traces of Vasco’s blood. I smiled. That was fine. I drove back to the farmhouse and parked out front. Then I walked inside, crossed the tiled hall with echoing footsteps, and found Al and Karen sitting silently in front of the fire. They looked up as I came in, each with an anxious, hopeful face. I gave them two-thirds of a smile and walked to the tray of decanters on the credenza. I poured myself a large whiskey, fished a pack of Camels from my pocket, shook one free, and lit up with my battered old Zippo.
Al said, “Did everything go OK? Did you take care of Joe?”
I took a drag, inhaled deep, all the way down, let it out slow, and pulled off half the glass of Irish. Then I went and lowered myself into an armchair in front of the fire.
“Vasco is dead,” I said, and followed up with a lie. “I made it look like suicide.”
Al nodded. “Oh, good. Yes. Good idea. It all became too much for him.”
I studied his face a moment. “Pat and the other guy are taking care of things in the lodgings.”
“Good, good.”
I turned to Karen, who was staring at me with no expression. I said, “Abi, Sean, and Primrose have gone back to the guesthouse. They’re cleaning that up.”
She said, “Primrose…” with no inflection. It was just a statement.
“She was hiding out at the depot.”
She turned to Al. “Nobody thought to look there.”
He blinked a couple of times but didn’t say anything. I took another drag and another drink, let the smoke out slow through my nose. “I don’t want Primrose hurt. I don’t want anyone in that family hurt. I will respect and protect your family, Al. I want the same in return.” I gave Karen a once over, trying to read her. It wasn’t easy. I turned back to Al. “I know you’re a man who cares about family, Al. I want you to think of Abi, Primrose, and Sean as my family. Have we got a problem there?”
“No, no, not at all.”
I looked at her. “Karen?”
“No. No problem.”
I stared into my drink for a moment. “You brought a Mexican kid back with you this morning.”
Al turned away and looked into the flames in the fire. “A friend for Arnold.”
“She was filthy, skinny, starving…”
Karen sat forward, smiling. “Oh, she’s had a bath and combed her hair. She had something to eat, and she has a nice dress now. She looks quite lovely. They’re getting on very well. They seem to have taken to each other.” She laughed. “She’s Mexican, but she’s only a playmate. It’s not as if they’re getting engaged or anything!”
I shook my head. “Why?”
Al wouldn’t meet my eye. I turned to Karen.
She shrugged. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Why do you need to pick his friends from among slave children? Why doesn’t he make friends in the normal way?”
She looked impatient. “You’ve seen him! He’s ill. I have to keep him at home where I can look after him. You said yourself, family…”
“Karen is very,” Al hesitated, then said with emphasis, “…protective of Arnold. She feels only she can really look after him.”
“What’s wrong with him?”
He shook his head. “We don’t know. He seems to be weak, a little sickly…”
“What do the doctors say?”
Karen flashed a glance at Al. “We haven’t taken him to the doctor. We thought it was better to care for him ourselves. Nobody really understands Arnold the way we do. We are his parents.” She gave me a long look, then added with heavy meaning, “We don’t like outsiders prying.”
I snapped, “Well, get used to it. I’m a hands-on kind of guy. I like to know what goes on with my business partners.”
Her eyes went hard. “Arnold is none of your concern.”
“I’ll decide that.”
Al stared at his wife, chewing his lip. “Karen, Mr. Walker, Lacklan, is our friend now…”
I interrupted him. “So what happens? He makes friends with them. Then what? He has sex with them, too?”
Karen cried out, “No! Of course not! They talk! They spend time together, it’s soothing for him…”
“He wanted to be friends with Primrose.”
She gasped. “How did you know that?”
“I know things. Why couldn’t he be friends with Primrose?”
“She was too old for him. Why this interest in our son?”
“Who decides if she’s too old? He liked her.”
Her face flushed and she shouted at me, “I decide! Will you stop this interrogation!”
I shook my head. “No.”
Al interceded, “Really, Lacklan, I don’t see what this can have to do with you.”
I sipped my whiskey and took another drag on my cigarette. “I’ll tell you what it has to do with me. Vasco had a bigger hold over you, Al, than just the mine. He abused you and disrespected you and blackmailed you and there was not a damned thing you could do about it. He had found your Achilles’ heel and he was screwing you…” I turned and raised an eyebrow at Karen. “Both of you, for everything he could get.” I looked back at Al. “And there is only one thing that I can see that could make you that vulnerable. And that’s your son.”