Robert B. Parker

by Wilderness

  In a clearing, up an old logging road, with insects humming softly and often biting, Aaron and Janet Newman stood side by side. She held the empty carbine.

  “Slide the bolt back,” he said.

  “Show me,” she said.

  He took the weapon. “See,” he said, “this little tit here, you push it back with your left hand, like this.” He slid the bolt back and let it snap forward.

  “Why do I do that?”

  “In this case, to see that it’s not loaded. If the clip were in it would jack a shell up into the firing chamber and cock the gun.”

  He pulled the trigger and the hammer snapped down on the empty chamber. “Okay,” he said, “you do it.”

  She took the gun and pushed the retracting handle on the bolt back. She let it go and it slid forward. Then she pointed the gun and pulled the trigger. Snap.

  “Good,” he said.

  “Why don’t I hold it in the other hand and push the whosis back? It’s awkward to reach across like that.”

  “Bolt,” he said. “Because then you’d be holding it left-handed, and you don’t want to. You are right-handed and want to be ready to shoot and not switch the thing back and forth. You can do it like this too, if you want to.”

  He held the butt of the carbine against his thigh, his left hand on the stock forward of the trigger housing. With his right he snapped the bolt back. He snapped the trigger and handed the gun back to her. She tried running the bolt back as he’d shown her.

  “I like the first way better,” she said.

  “Okay, but make sure, whichever way, that you don’t end up trying to shoot left-handed.”

  “Okay. What next? Pretend it’s loaded. I run the whosis back.”

  “The bolt,” he said.

  “The bolt. I run the bolt back and let it go forward. Then I aim it.” She put the carbine to her shoulder. “And pull the trigger.”

  “Good,” he said. “I don’t know how you’ll be shooting. If it’s at close range and sudden, you’ll shoot any way you can. Otherwise you may as well learn the right way.” He took the gun.

  “Get it against your shoulder, then hold it with your left hand and reach up with your right toward the sky, like this, and then keep your elbow pointed up and reach down and grip it with your right hand like this. You don’t want your elbow down in against you like this. You want it up and out like this.”

  “It looks awkward,” she said.

  “A little, but be comfortable, don’t strain, just keep the elbow out and up as much as you can. Move your left hand down the stock a little farther. No, toward the front. Good.”

  “Now I shoot?”

  “Not yet. Pick out something, a leaf, a rock, whatever. Aim the gun so the leaf or whatever it is sits on the sight, in between the two outside wings and on top of the center thing. You see? See it? How if you get it right it sits up there, almost seems to magnify?”

  “Okay.”

  “Now breathe out, and don’t inhale. Aim, take up the slack in the trigger, now squeeze the trigger, slowly.” Snap.

  “Can I inhale?”

  “Yes. The Army had a little code for it you could say to yourself: BASS. Breathe, Aim, Slack, Squeeze. Don’t jerk the trigger, squeeeeeze it, you know?”

  She nodded. “Then I push the whosis back?”

  “Bolt,” he said. “No. From there on until the gun is empty you just keep pulling the trigger. The explosion of the weapon will push the bolt back and eject the spent shell and put a new round in the chamber and cock the hammer.”

  “So, pretend it’s loaded, I slide the thing back. Breathe, Aim, Slack, Squeeze.” Snap.

  She repeated the process several times.

  “I think she’s got it,” he said, “by God, I think she’s got it.”

  “Let me practice putting the clip in.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” he said. “I’ll put it in for you when you need it.”

  “I want to know how myself, Aaron.”

  “Oh, for crissake.”

  “Aaron, I have to be able to do it if you’re not there.”

  He took the clip out of his pocket and looked at her for a long time. “Yes,” he said. “Of course you do. I might get shot. You might be alone.”

  The hum of the insects was steady in the clearing. More of them now that the sun was going down. They buzzed and bit, and both Newman and Janet waved them away automatically and almost continuously.

  “You just slip it up in, like this. Then slap it home. Just make sure the bullets are pointing in the right direction, the barrel end, not the stock. To release it you press this little buttonlike, here.”

  She did as he said.

  “You remember all this from the Army?” she said.

  “Yeah. They have an excellent pedagogical technique. They threaten you and they mean it. Fear is underrated as a motivator.”

  She smiled. “Isn’t that what’s motivating us?”

  “Yes,” he said. “It surely is.”

  21

  “I was in town,” Hood said, “while you were out firing, and I picked up some more supplies.”

  “We weren’t actually firing, Chris, we were just snapping the hammer.”

  “You know what I mean,” Hood said. “Now here’s how I’ve set things up. The guns are all loaded, so be careful. There’s a long gun and a handgun for each of us. Janet gets the carbine and the .32, they’re the lightest weapons. I’ll take the Springfield and the .45; Aaron, you get the Winchester and the P-38. I’ve also organized three knapsacks. In each one there’s a dozen granola bars, matches in waterproof wrap, extra ammo for both guns, but only for your own so you have to keep the sacks straight. I’ve put our names on them.”

  Newman looked at the green nylon knapsack. Across the back, between the padded straps, it said Aaron in black ink.

  “I used indelible ink so it wouldn’t run if we sweat. There’s also a roll of nylon cord, a roll of toilet paper, a small first-aid kit, a flashlight, and a down vest. The vest is rolled up inside the nylon pullover parka. In the late summer it gets cold up here at night, and maybe you’ll need it. You should put in some dry socks and clean underwear, or whatever you might want. But this is for emergencies, so you don’t want to travel heavy. Anything I forgot?”

  “If it’s an emergency,” Newman said, “you better put in more toilet paper. I may shit myself.”

  Hood shook his head. “Don’t kid around about this, Aaron. You’ve got to be ready, and you’ve got to cover everything. You should always be wearing clothes you’d be willing to live in in the woods. Jeans, boots, good shirt. If your feet get wet, change at once, get into dry socks, never get caught. You can’t tell when we’ll have to move sudden.”

  “How about insect repellent,” Newman said.

  Hood stood motionless. “Jesus, I’m slowing up. Yeah, of course, insect repellent. I got some in town.” He went to the kitchen and returned. “How the hell could I have forgotten that?” he said. “Here, I’m putting one in each bag.”

  Newman looked at the three knapsacks laid out neatly, the three long guns to the right of each knapsack, the three pistol belts rolled and laid out to the left of each knapsack.

  “The small first-aid kit in each bag contains bandages, antiseptic, some aspirin,” Hood said.

  “Chris, that’s wonderful,” Janet said. “You’ve thought of everything.”

  “I don’t like forgetting the bug dope,” Hood said. “I shouldn’t forget anything.”

  “How about a canteen?” Newman said.

  “No need,” Hood said. “The lake’s drinkable, and there’s a lot of streams, and the Saco River runs clean here. Canteen just weigh you down for nothing.”

  Hood wore hiking boots, Levi’s jeans, and a tan Levi’s work shirt. As he talked he stared out the living room window toward Karl’s camp on the island a half mile away. It was nearly dark and some light showed through the trees from the cabin. Hood picked up his pistol belt and strapped it around his waist. “It w
ould make sense if we wore these all the time. Be ready in case we’re surprised. We won’t be …” He thought for a minute, couldn’t find the right word, shrugged, and said, “You know.”

  Newman picked up the other two belts. He handed one to Janet and put the other one on. “Here,” he said to Janet, “you adjust it this way. See, you slide this along then put the little hook in here.” Together they adjusted the pistol belt. The .32 looked somewhat undersized on the broad web belt.

  “Pistol-packin’ momma,” Newman said.

  Janet smiled. Hood stared steadily out the window at the lights on Karl’s island.

  “Tomorrow,” Hood said. “Tomorrow we’ll set up a shooting spot and watch the island all the time, take turns. They have to row out there, and we should have a nice clean shot at them when they do. And remember, when we do it, then we get in the car and go. We keep all our clothes and stuff in the car. When we go we take the guns, the bedrolls, and the knapsacks, and drive away. The minute we stop shooting.”

  Newman nodded. “Yeah, we got it. We went over it all driving up, Chris.”

  “Does it hurt to run through it to remind us, Aaron?”

  “No.”

  “Okay.”

  Janet said, “Why don’t we grill some steaks over the fire? They’ve got one of those swing-out grills, built in.”

  “And a few beers,” Newman said, “here in the great outdoors. I’ll get a fire going.”

  “You do that,” Hood said. “I’m going to look things over a little.” He went out through the screened side door, across the small patio, and disappeared without a sound into the tall trees at the edge of the cabin clearing.

  Newman got a can of Lite beer from the cooler and drank it as he built the fire. Janet came in from the kitchen with the steaks on a platter. “I put some beans on to heat,” she said. She put the steaks down beside Newman. There were tongs on the platter with the steaks. “I’d set the table,” Janet said, “but I don’t know where to eat. I wouldn’t dare disturb Chris’s table layout there. He’s got everything laid out like he’s ready for surgery.” She got a bottle of wine from the cooler and poured some into a transparent plastic cup.

  Newman said, “We’ll eat off our laps, I think. Chris is fairly intense about his set-up.”

  “But he’s right, Aaron. It can’t hurt to be ready.”

  “Yeah, I know. At home we laughed at him lurking around in the yard at night, and goddamned if he didn’t save our lives. This is probably sensible. But don’t you feel like a horse’s ass with the gunbelt and all?”

  “Yes, but I’d be a lot more scared without it.”

  “True.”

  The fire began to bite into the logs. Janet turned the lights off, and they sat on the floor in front of the fire as the flames began to get bigger and the shadows moved in the room. Newman got another beer.

  “Like a vacation,” Newman said.

  “Or a honeymoon,” Janet said.

  “Except we came to kill a man,” Newman said.

  “There’s no other way, Aaron.”

  The smell of the beans cooking on the stovetop mingled with the woodsmoke. Newman drank some beer. “No, there isn’t. I’m glad you’re here,” he said.

  “I belong here,” she said. “It is our problem. It happened to us.”

  “I wish it hadn’t.”

  “But it did.”

  “I wish I could handle it alone.”

  “But you can’t. Who could?”

  “I wish I were someone who could. Chris could.”

  “I wonder,” Janet said. “I wonder if he doesn’t need an audience to see how good he is. I wonder if he doesn’t need a cause to serve, or a crowd to please.”

  Newman shrugged. “There’s guys that could.”

  “And there’s guys that couldn’t do this,” Janet said. “Guys that would just fold up and do what they were told. You can’t be perfect, Aaron.”

  “I’d like to be better at this.”

  “You are being the best you can be. You’ve been a good father and a good husband and a good writer for a long time now. You’ve always handled everything you had to. You’re handling this. Don’t muck it up by wanting to be something else. I wouldn’t trade you for Chris.”

  Newman was silent, sitting close to her, not touching. Chris is none of those things, he thought looking at the fire. Chris was a lousy husband and a bad father. He never was able to handle it when the kids were sick or the money was short or the plumbing broke. All he could do was fight. All he’s good at is violence.

  “When the going got tough, Chris bailed out,” Newman said.

  “What?”

  “When it got tough at home. When it wasn’t fun having kids or wife, Chris would go to the health club or the bars or the gym or hunting. He was tough in fighting, but he wasn’t tough in hanging in there.”

  Janet looked at him. “God, Aaron. I think you’re maturing,” she said.

  “Well it’s true,” he said, “there’s more than one kind of toughness.”

  She nodded, smiling slightly.

  “The thing is, we’re in something here that requires a particular kind. I don’t know if I’ve got it.”

  “I do,” Janet said. “I’ve got it.”

  22

  There were five of them in the boat as they rowed across to the island with the mist still lingering lightly over the lake and the sun slanting very sharply in from the east. Adolph Karl sat in the stern wearing a plaid shirt and new green polyester pants. Beside him, his son Richie, twenty-eight. His son Marty, twenty-six, sat in the bow seat with Frank Marriott. Gordy Tate rowed.

  “It’s them,” Janet said, looking through the binoculars. “Two of them are the ones that tied me up.” She handed the glasses to Newman. He looked.

  “That’s Karl in the stern,” he said. “In the plaid shirt.”

  The Springfield was lying across a shooting rest that Hood had built in the fork of a small white oak at the lake edge, thirty yards from their cabin. Hood adjusted the scope.

  “Goddamn,” he said.

  “What?” Newman was whispering, although the boat was a quarter of a mile away.

  “Karl’s on the wrong side. The guy with the yellow jacket on is between me and him.”

  “Shoot both of them,” Janet said.

  “Let me see,” Newman said. His throat was very tight and he had trouble getting his voice out. The boat was halfway across. Hood stepped aside and Newman peered through the scope. There was no fixed sight on the barrel, and the scope was like looking through a telescope. It was as if there were no gun. He could see part of Karl’s checkered shirt and the back of his head. More and less of him came into view as both he and Richie moved as they talked and Tate rowed.

  “We could hit him,” Newman whispered. “There will never be another chance as good. We could hit him and get in the car and be on the road and they wouldn’t even know where the shot came from. By the time they rowed to shore we’d be gone.”

  “Let me see,” Hood said. Newman stepped aside.

  “We can do it,” Newman said.

  “Do it, Chris,” Janet said. “Do it now.”

  Hood stared through the scope.

  “For crissake, Chris, shoot,” Newman said.

  Hood held the rifle carefully in its shooting rest, his cheek against the stock, his hand curled around the curved pistol grip line of the stock, his forefinger on the trigger. His left arm was almost fully extended, steadying the rifle in its rest. He inhaled once, let out the air, and then was perfectly still.

  Newman said silently, Shoot, shoot, shoot, shoot. Somewhere on the lake a fish broke. Hood inhaled, and relaxed his grip on the rifle. He straightened.

  “No good,” he said. “Too risky. We’ll have to try for a better shot.”

  Newman felt his eyes fill with tears. “Jesus Christ,” he said.

  Janet Newman pushed past Hood and crouched over the rifle. She looked through the sight. Newman could see the rowboat disappear be
hind the dock. Janet stood up. She didn’t say anything. She walked back toward the house. Newman followed her. Hood picked up the binoculars and began to study Karl’s island.

  In the house Newman smashed his hand down on the table where the packs and weapons were laid out. The rifles jounced. “Fuck,” he said. His voice was shaking. “We could have done it and been gone. It could have been over now. Son of a bitch.” He hit the table again.

  “There’s nothing to be done,” Janet Newman said. “We’ll have to wait for the next chance, but this time you or I will have to do it. We’ll have to stop waiting for Chris to do it. We’ll shoot as soon as we can.”

  The rowboat went back and forth two more times that day, but Karl wasn’t in it. It went to and from the island three times the next day, without Karl. The third time it returned to the island it was powered by an outboard motor. The next morning a second boat with an outboard went out to the island. And at eight-five that morning both boats pulled away from the dock, went around the far side of the island, and headed down the lake.

  Hood came in from his post at the rifle stand, hurrying.

  “Grab the packs,” he said, “they’re running.”

  Newman and Janet each picked up a pack by the straps, and a long gun, and followed Hood out of the cabin and down toward the canoe. On the lake, a quarter of a mile away, the two rowboats moved slowly east, driven by the small outboard engines.

  Janet Newman sat on the floor in the middle of the canoe. Newman took the bow paddle, Hood the stern. The canoe moved out from the dock and turned east after the two rowboats. It was eight-thirty in the morning, the sun was up and shining in their eyes, skipping brightly off the water of the lake. There was no wind. The canoe went around a small point and the dock was out of sight. White oak and red maple pushed down close to the water; many had fallen in where the banks had eroded and given way. There was nothing alive in sight except the two rowboats ahead of them in the sun.