Bull Mountain

by Brian Panowich

  Clayton tipped his hat to Cricket and then turned to Holly. “I’m guessing this changes your plans.”

  “I would say so, yeah.”

  “Despite what my wife might say, this was bound to happen someday. I’ve always known that. I’m not looking to blame you for anything.”

  “Good to hear, Sheriff. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry it happened this way.”

  “Me, too. We’ll be seeing you, then.”

  “I hope so.”

  Clayton put an arm around Kate and the two of them turned to go.

  “Sheriff,” Holly said, “I almost forgot.”

  “What’s that?”

  “That call I took a few minutes ago. I called in the info you gave me. I know you wanted to run it down yourself, but I thought you could use the help. One of my boys with the Georgia Bureau put eyes on your missing deputy.”

  Clayton stopped, and without looking back, asked, “Where?”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Kate said, and tugged on Clayton’s arm. He turned and looked at Holly. “Where?” he said again.

  “One of the GBI choppers that fly regular over the mountain spotted a blue Camaro registered in his name and another vehicle at a cabin on the Western Ridge of the mountain. You know the place?”

  “Yeah, Johnson’s Gap. It’s a hunting cabin that’s been in my family for years. Choctaw goes up there sometimes for the fishing in Bear Creek.”

  “Yeah, well, I bet he ain’t fishing today.”

  “Don’t kill him, Simon.”

  “Don’t intend to, Sheriff, but I can’t make any promises. People tend to get squirrelly around that kind of money, and if the intel is right, that’s where he’s got it stashed. I got a team headed there now.”

  “You got what?” Clayton flared.

  “Well, you were a little busy here, Sheriff. I had to make the call. How it turns out is going to be up to him. I’m just giving you a heads-up.”

  Cricket came off the bumper of the ambulance. “Sheriff, don’t let them kill him. Whatever he’s done, I’m sure it’s a mix-up. James is a good man. Please, Sheriff, you know he is. Please don’t let them kill him.” Cricket was back in full sob, crying into Clayton’s chest. Kate stood cold as a slab of granite by his side, burning a hard stare into Holly. She was in a state of suspended animation, waiting to hear her husband say the words she knew he’d say. It made him who he was. He didn’t have a choice. It was his father’s pride. It was the reason she loved him and the one thing she was completely sure would crush her heart into dust. She pulled on Clayton’s arm. He shook her off.

  “Let me go get him,” he said. There it was. Kate felt like she’d been punched in the gut.

  “Clayton, you’re hurt,” Holly said, “not to mention you’re probably in shock. Go take care of yourself and yours. Let me handle this.”

  “No,” Clayton said. “You’re right. Situations like this cause people to overreact. There are too many guns and too many questions. I don’t want anyone else to die today. We don’t know if Choctaw was even involved.”

  “The odds aren’t good, Sheriff. What does your gut tell you?”

  “It tells me if I want to see my deputy again upright and breathing, I need to be the one to bring him in. Call off your dogs and let me do this.”

  “Are you sure?” Holly pointed over the sheriff’s shoulder. That’s when Clayton noticed Kate wasn’t holding on to his arm anymore. She was already crossing back under the yellow caution tape. He watched her work her way through the crowd, and a few seconds later she was gone.

  Clayton scratched at his beard and spit on the asphalt. “I’ll drive.”

  CHAPTER

  23

  CLAYTON BURROUGHS

  2015

  “Are you sure you’re up for this, Clayton? I can have my people here within the hour. Full tactical squad—pros. They’ll do everything possible to take this idiot kid alive. You have my word.”

  Clayton responded by mashing the gas pedal down, and hammered the Bronco farther up the dirt mountain road. “You can’t promise me that, Simon. I know you got good intentions, but your people won’t see Choctaw as an idiot kid caught up in a bad situation. They’ll only see a target. I’m not going to let someone else up here die if I can help it. Not today. Give me your phone.”

  “Huh?”

  “Your phone. You carry one, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, okay.” Holly dug into his pants pocket, pulled out a silver flip phone, and handed it to Clayton. “Here,” he said. “Hit send after you dial.”

  Clayton took the phone and smirked at Holly. “The hillbilly sheriff knows how to work a cell phone.”

  “All right. I’m just saying.”

  Clayton didn’t flip open the phone. Instead, he rolled his window completely down and tossed it out into the blurring trees.

  “What the fuck, Clayton?”

  “I don’t want you calling anyone.”

  “And you couldn’t just trust me?”

  Clayton slowed the Bronco down and pulled over to the side of the road. “Get out, Simon.”

  Holly twisted his face into an expression of surprise. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Nope. Get out.”

  “I’m not gonna do that, Clayton.”

  The sheriff dropped the shifter into neutral and let his foot off the clutch. He put an arm up on the seat and turned to Agent Holly. “Look, the place we’re headed is less than two miles up this road on the left. It’s about a fifteen-minute walk. By the time you get there, I’ll most likely be sitting on the front porch waiting for you, Choctaw sitting beside me, sipping iced tea.”

  “I’m not going to let that happen, Sheriff. I can’t even begin to tell you how many protocols I’d be breaking if I did what you’re asking me to do.”

  “Something tells me a man like you doesn’t give a rat’s ass about protocols. Besides, you can tell anybody that asks I forced you at gunpoint.”

  It was Simon’s turn to smirk. “And you think anyone will believe that?”

  “Anyone who knows about me drawing down twice in the past two days will.”

  “And what if there’s more than just your deputy waiting up there?”

  “Won’t be anyone I don’t know.”

  “You know all his ex-military buddies turned hijackers?” Holly saw in the sheriff’s face that he hadn’t thought of that, but Clayton shook his head dismissively.

  “If I get there, and it looks like I just stepped in shit, I’ll pull back and wait on you.”

  Holly still didn’t move to open his door. He sat with his arms crossed like a stubborn child.

  “Look, Simon, this is the only way I know I’ve got an honest shot at not getting this kid killed like his buddy Bankey. I can tell him I came alone, and I won’t be lying. If he thinks a fed is creeping around, it could spook him into doing something stupid. It’s only a fifteen-minute walk. I need you to do this. Goddamn, it’s not like I’m asking for your gun. Just get out and meet me there.”

  Holly unclicked his seat belt and popped open the Bronco’s door. Before he was fully out, he turned to Clayton and said, “You know, I’ve been running marathons my whole adult life. I can cover two miles in a lot less than fifteen minutes.”

  Clayton tipped his hat. “Well, I best be on my way, then.” He dropped the shifter and punched the hammer down as soon as Holly had both feet on the road, letting the vehicle’s sudden motion slam the door closed. Holly shielded his face from the kick-up of dust and red dirt. When the Bronco was far enough from sight, he brushed the road spray off his dark blue suit, chewed a couple Percocets, and pulled out his cell phone. Not the burner phone he let Clayton throw out the window, but the one he was issued by the United States government. He chewed the pills into paste, punched in a number, and held the slick black smartphone to his ear. As t
he phone rang, Holly smiled his shark’s smile and began to jog up the road toward Johnson’s Gap.

  CHAPTER

  24

  CLAYTON BURROUGHS

  WESTERN RIDGE, JOHNSON’S GAP

  2015

  1.

  Clayton pulled the Bronco over and cut the engine just before he reached the clearing where the cabin his great-grandfather had built sat quiet and serene. His deddy had brought him here a few times when he was little, but something about the place never sat right with Gareth. Clayton always got the impression his father was never comfortable here. Choctaw came out here all the time. He swore Bear Creek was the best trout fishing in all North Georgia. Clayton just took his word for it.

  The midnight-blue Camaro that Choctaw had thrown most of his extra bones into restoring for the past five or so years was parked out front. No other cars. If someone else had been out here with him before, they were gone now. Clayton could breathe a little easier. The driver’s-side door hung wide open and gently rocked in the breeze. The cabin was covered in the shadows of the heavy canopy of trees and brush surrounding it. Clayton could easily slip in from the back and surprise anyone inside, but he was going to play this completely straight. Even he was aware of just how foolish his next move was, but he wasn’t taking any chances at getting anyone else killed on this mountain, except maybe himself. He carefully slid his Colt from his holster and held it up over his head, letting it dangle on one finger. “Choctaw,” he yelled, “you in there? It’s me, Clayton.” He walked up the gravel drive toward the front porch and glanced in the open door of the Camaro as he passed it. Dry blood the color of coffee grounds stained most of the front seat. It looked a few days old, most likely from the hijacking. No fresh blood at all. A 20-gauge shotgun lay across the seat. “Choctaw,” he yelled again, and this time the curtain shuffled slightly in the window next to the door.

  “It’s just me, James. I just want to talk. I’m here to help you with whatever this is.”

  “You alone, Sheriff?” Choctaw yelled back.

  “Yes, I am, James. Are you?”

  “Are you sure?” Choctaw asked, still concealed within the cabin.

  “Have you ever known me to lie to you, Deputy?”

  Thirty or so seconds passed as Choctaw mulled that over. Finally he yelled back.

  “No, sir.”

  “Well, then, how about I come in there and we sort this out. We don’t have a whole lot of time before we have company up here, and my arms are getting tired.”

  Another thirty seconds.

  “All right, boss.” Deputy Frasier appeared at the door, thin and pale like a scarecrow up for three days on a meth binge. The repeater in his hands looked to weigh more than he did, and he held it pointed at the ground, as if it were a relief to let it drop. “C’mon in,” he said, and disappeared back through the door.

  Clayton holstered his weapon and followed Choctaw into the cabin.

  2.

  Clayton hadn’t seen the inside of this place since he was a kid. Nothing hung on the walls, and the wood-burning stove was a rusted-out firetrap. There was nothing else in the wide-open space except dust, a few cases of crushed empty beer cans, a fold-out bed against the wall with no sheets, and two black plastic garbage bags stuffed to capacity by the back screen door. One of the bags was torn open at the top, allowing a view of the cash inside. Clayton blew all the air from his lungs and let out a disappointed “Damn.”

  Choctaw took a seat on the bed and laid his rifle down next to him. Like magic he produced a quart of shine from the foot of the bed and took a long, gulping swig. He wiped his mouth and held the bottle out to Clayton. “I know you’re all sober these days, but I ain’t tryin’ to be rude.”

  Clayton took a seat next to him on the bed and took the bottle. He held it a good long while before screwing the cap back on and setting it on the floor.

  “How did you get pulled into this mess, Choc? Was it your buddy Chester’s idea?”

  The deputy laughed, which turned into a dry cough, which quickly turned into a sob. Clayton wasn’t expecting that. Not once in eleven years of knowing the man had he ever seen Choctaw cry. He didn’t think he knew how. He reached across to put an arm around the deputy’s shoulders, but Choctaw abruptly stood up, snatched the bottle, and crossed the room. “Chester didn’t get me into anything. He was a good friend—a real solid dude. He saved my life over there in that shithole desert more than once. He got dealt a raw deal with that bitch in Tennessee. He couldn’t get any real work. He needed this. I told him it was a bad idea, but what else could I do? He was my friend, boss. I owed the guy my life. You don’t know how it was over there.”

  Clayton waited for the rest.

  “It was supposed to be a quick payday. Nobody gets hurt and even the guy we were ripping off wouldn’t come looking for what we took. Nobody was supposed to get hurt, boss. Chester—Allen—wasn’t supposed to get killed. It just ain’t right.”

  Clayton stood up. “So tell me what happened. The only way I can protect you is if you lay it out straight. How did you know about the money in the first place?”

  Choctaw wiped his raw, reddened eyes and took another swig from the bottle. “Let’s just take the money and get out of here,” he said. “Frankie and Lenny already took their cut, so that leaves a little over a hundred and twenty-five grand here.” The deputy reached into the open garbage bag and grabbed a wad of crumpled bills. “We could just take a bag apiece and dip out, boss.”

  “Are you out of your mind, Deputy? There are federal agents on the way here right now to recover this money and haul your ass into custody. I talked them into letting me bring you in, to keep you from getting shot to hell. I need to know how you and Chester knew to rob these guys. Why wouldn’t the owner come looking for you? Who’s going to just write off a loss that big? Where did you get your information from?”

  Choctaw laughed a delirious laugh. Clayton grabbed his shoulders and shook him. “This is no joke, Deputy. I had to do a lot of convincing to get them to let me come out here and bring you in myself. Now, I can’t help you if—”

  “Who did you convince?” Choctaw suddenly looked hard and angry.

  “What?”

  “Who exactly did you have to convince?”

  “The feds.”

  Choctaw loosed another laugh; this time it was a deep belly laugh that bordered on maniacal. Clayton grabbed Choctaw by the front of his loose red flannel shirt and pulled him face-to-face. “What the fuck is going on here?”

  “It’s rigged, boss. The feds are what’s going on here.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about how it doesn’t matter what you do to protect me. I’m not walking away from this.”

  “What are you not telling me, James?” Clayton was close to shouting.

  “Chester said it was a fed who set him up with the robbery. He said the guy knew exactly when and where to hit those biker guys. He said no one would come looking for it. He said by the time we rode into the sunset, the dude we were stealing from would be dead.”

  “That’s bullshit. That doesn’t make any sense. Why would a dirty fed do that without taking a cut for himself? What does he have to gain by serving it up to you guys? Why not just take it himself?”

  “I don’t know, boss. I was just doing Chester a favor. Frankie and Lenny were in, I couldn’t say no. Chester was convinced the guy was on the level.”

  “You got a name?”

  “No. Chester never told any of us, but I did think it was pretty weird that the day after Chester comes to me with all this, that Holly joker shows up out of the blue, saying he knows all kinds of shit about Halford and you.”

  “Holly? You think he’s Chester’s dirty fed? That’s crazy. He’s the agent assigned to the case.”

  “I don’t know shit, boss. I just know I’m in a lot of tr
ouble and whoever it is isn’t going to let me live through it. I didn’t know what to do, so I came out here.”

  Clayton let go of Choctaw’s shirt and pushed him back toward the bags of cash. The wheels in his head were spinning to a blur. This didn’t make sense.

  “Start at the beginning, and tell me everything you know.”

  “That’s it, boss. That’s all I know.”

  “Did you know the money was on its way to my brother?”

  “Halford? Oh, Jesus. Now I know I’m going to die. What am I going to do?”

  “You don’t have to worry about that.” Clayton took the jar of shine from him and turned it up. Choctaw looked confused but didn’t ask, and Clayton didn’t explain. Instead, the deputy looked at the bags of cash at his feet. “It’s a lot of money, boss. I mean, why can’t we just walk away, right now? I can disappear. You can say I wasn’t here when you got here and—”

  “That’s not going to happen. We’re going to sit here and wait. If Holly is involved in this shit at all, we’ll know in just a few minutes.”

  “He’s coming here?”

  “Any minute now.”

  The deputy snatched his rifle up off the bed and pointed it at Clayton.

  Clayton set the jar on the floor. “What are you doing, Deputy?”

  “They’re going to kill me, boss. I can’t be here. You can’t keep me here.”

  “You have lost your mind. Put the rifle down. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  That’s when Choctaw’s head exploded.

  3.

  Clayton watched Choctaw’s headless body collapse to the floor, and spun around to face the back door. Holly racked the shotgun and lowered it.

  “Are you all right, Sheriff?”

  Clayton raised his Colt.

  “Hey, slow down, Sheriff.”

  Clayton held his gun on Holly and wiped blood spatter from his beard. “You just killed that boy in cold blood.”

  “The hell I did,” Holly said. “I saw him holding that rifle on you and thought you were in trouble. A thank-you for saving your ass would be nice.”