Lone Wolf

by Linwood Barclay

  A revolution. A bunch of nuts with a bomb and a van.

  “So you decided to do something about it,” I said.

  “The boys and I invited Morton to come along with us when we took the dogs for a late-night walk. I think he must have thought something was up, but he came along, and we talked about this and that, it didn’t really matter, because no matter what he told us then, we wouldn’t have believed it. He was going to leave. And he was probably going to take May and Jeffrey with him.” Timmy sighed. “No way I was going to allow that to happen.”

  “Of course not,” Lawrence said.

  “And so you took him into the woods,” I said, “and sicked the dogs on him.”

  Timmy shrugged.

  “What about the bear story?” I asked. “Where did that come from?”

  “Well, once it was over, we started thinking, someone might come looking for him, or find him, which did happen the very next morning. And the first thing we thought of was the first thing everyone else thought of. That it had been a bear.”

  “And you came up with that story about Morton seeing a bear, and going off after it.”

  “We figured, if anyone came around asking questions, that was the story we’d stick with. And that’s what we told May and Jeffrey, too.”

  I leaned up against the side of the pen, kicked at some old hay with my shoes. “Have you ever actually seen a bear around here, Timmy? Because you gave Orville and everyone a pretty good description of it.”

  “Nope. There’s obviously some in these hills, but I’ve never laid eyes on one.” He smirked. “I guess that’s what you’d call ironic, huh? Considering.”

  “So what’s your plan for us?” Lawrence asked. I wasn’t so sure I wanted the answer to that question. “You going to turn the dogs loose on us, blame it on a bear again?”

  Timmy gave that some thought. “I don’t think so,” he said. “I think we’ll just shoot you.”

  34

  CHARLENE RETURNED WITH ICE CREAM. Three bowls of vanilla, two with chocolate syrup on top. She handed them out to Wendell, Dougie, and Timmy.

  Dougie spooned into his, looked contemplative, and asked his mother, “Do we have any sprinkles?”

  “I think so,” she said. “You want me to go get some?”

  Timmy said, “Stop making your mother make so many trips. If you want sprinkles, go back and get them yourself.”

  Dougie set his bowl just inside the back of the van, on the floor, and said, “I’m gonna get some.”

  Timmy said, “You know what? I think I would like some chocolate sauce after all. Bring some back with you. The stuff in that little squeeze jar.” Dougie nodded and ran out of the barn.

  I said, “What about Tiff Riley?”

  “Huh?”

  “The guy at the co-op,” I reminded him. “The one who was stabbed to death.”

  Timmy’s eyes lit up. “What about him?”

  “Did you kill him, too? You broke into the place to steal fertilizer and a barrel after hours, not expecting anyone to be there, and he got in the way. That about right, Timmy?”

  “Wendell took care of that,” Timmy said. “It’s good to be giving the boys more responsibility. That’s what their mom wants. Although I have to tell you”—he leaned toward the gate conspiratorially—“I’m not so sure about Dougie. I want to give him a little more to do, but I don’t know that I’ll ever be convinced that he’s ready to handle the big stuff. But you can’t argue with his mother, you know what I mean?”

  “You talking about me?” asked Wendell, leaning up against the far side of the van. I could hear him scraping the bowl with his spoon, trying to get the last of the syrup.

  It must have occurred to me before this, at some subconscious level, but it wasn’t until this moment that it fully hit me.

  This was an entire family of psychopaths.

  Dougie had mowed down May’s previous boyfriend with a car. He and his brother and Timmy had set the dogs on her next boyfriend, Morton. Wendell had murdered Tiff Riley. They’d set a lawyer’s house on fire. Timmy had already indicated he was going to shoot me and Lawrence. They were preparing to set off a bomb in the middle of a small-town parade, an act that could kill any number of innocents. And all Charlene was worried about was that none of her men be hungry when they embarked on a killing spree. They were a family without a single conscience to share between themselves.

  Except for May and, if it wasn’t too late, her son, Jeffrey.

  Dougie reappeared with a small glass bottle, about the size of a salt shaker, filled with multicolored sprinkles. He grabbed his bowl and covered his ice cream liberally with the dessert garnish.

  “Where’s my chocolate sauce?” Timmy asked.

  Dougie winced. “Shit, sorry, I forgot.”

  “Honest to fucking Christ, Dougie,” Timmy said.

  “I can go back.”

  “Never mind.”

  “No, really, I can go back.”

  “My ice cream’s almost totally melted anyway, so it’s not worth it,” Timmy said angrily. He shook his head in disgust.

  “I’ll go get you some syrup,” Charlene said.

  “I said it’s not worth it!” Timmy shouted. “If your stupid son could just remember one goddamn thing…”

  “Don’t you talk about Dougie that way,” Charlene said. She had a tone, like she was giving her husband, the boy’s stepfather, a serious warning. “The reason he forgets things is because you pick on him and make him nervous.”

  “Yeah, it’s all my fault.”

  Dougie’s gaze moved between Timmy and his mother. He had a smudge of chocolate sauce, with sprinkles in it, on his chin.

  Wendell said, “I think I’m gonna go get changed.” He left the barn, but was back only a few seconds later. “There’s a guy down by the gate,” he said worriedly.

  “At this time of night?” Timmy said. “It’s got to be long after midnight, isn’t it?”

  “Who is it?” Charlene asked.

  “It looks like maybe he’s on crutches or something.”

  Oh no.

  “Crutches?” said Timmy, looking at me. “That must be Mr. Walker.”

  “I’m sure he’s just getting some air,” I said. “He likes to walk at night.”

  Timmy shook his head slowly. “A man on crutches doesn’t go out for a midnight stroll. My guess is he’s out looking for you.”

  “I’m not lying,” I said. “He’s just looking at the stars, I’ll bet.”

  Timmy gave Wendell a nod. “Get him.” Wendell grabbed his shotgun and slipped out the door.

  “No!” I said. “Timmy, come on, leave him alone. He’s just an old guy.”

  “If he’s looking for you, and can’t find you, then he goes back, starts making phone calls. That’s not good. Can’t have that.” Timmy suddenly looked very serious, as though something had just occurred to him.

  “What?” I said. “What are you thinking?”

  “It’s just…You see, you go missing, and your father comes looking for you. And now your father’s going to go missing, and who’s going to come looking for him?”

  “No one,” I said.

  “What about the people at the camp? How many people are staying in those cabins?”

  “Everyone’s checked out,” I lied. “After our guest got killed running away from that bear, they all got spooked and went home.”

  Timmy thought about that. “I don’t think I believe you.”

  “It’s true,” Lawrence said. “I tried to talk a couple of them into staying, but they wouldn’t hear of it.”

  Outside, in the distance, I could hear shouting, an argument. Gradually, the voices grew louder, more distinct, as they approached the barn.

  “Jeez, old man, can you not move a little faster on those things?”

  “Goddamn it, I’m going as fast as I can!”

  Lawrence whispered to me, “We’ll figure a way out of this.”

  “You have a plan?” I whispered back.
/>   Lawrence said nothing.

  Dad appeared first in the doorway, and one of his crutches got caught on the latch, sending him falling to the barn floor.

  “Dad!” I said.

  “Zachary?” he said, raising himself up and looking over at me through the slats of the stall gate.

  “Dad, are you okay?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m okay.”

  Wendell stepped in behind him, pointing the shotgun downwards, in Dad’s direction.

  “Mr. Walker,” Timmy said, “you’ve had quite the week, haven’t you? A body found on your property three days ago, a guest killed by a bear today. It’s no wonder all your guests have packed their bags and taken off.”

  “Huh?” said Dad. “Where’d you hear that?”

  I looked down at the floor, shook my head. Lawrence laid a consoling hand on my back.

  Timmy strolled back over to the gate and said to me, “This is becoming a much fucking bigger problem by the moment. How long before someone else comes looking for you or your friend or your father?”

  “It’s late,” I said. “People are asleep. No one will be looking for us.”

  The hell of it was, that was probably all too true. The Wrigleys were in their sixties and turned in early, and Bob was their age, too. Lana had gone back into town, figuring Orville might need to talk. And the next closest set of neighbors was probably half a mile away, at least.

  “I don’t know whether we can take that chance,” Timmy said. “Wendell.”

  “Yeah?”

  “You’re going to have to go down to the cabins. Round up anyone staying in them, bring them all back here.”

  “How many’s that?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. Three, four, something like that.”

  Three. Bob and Betty and Hank.

  “Okay.”

  “You need your brother?”

  Dougie, wiping his chin with his shirttail, looked up.

  “No, I think I can handle it,” Wendell said. “Long as I have this.” He waved the shotgun. “I’ll be back in a bit,” he said, and disappeared into the night.

  So now Timmy was prepared to kill me and Lawrence, my father, Bob Spooner, and Betty and Hank Wrigley. There was no way he could leave any of us behind, not once he’d brought off his parade surprise.

  Timmy went over to my father, put his hand under his arm, and hauled him over to the stall. “Stand back there,” he ordered me and Lawrence. “Dougie, cover them.”

  Dougie grabbed a shotgun and held it on us as Timmy opened the gate and shoved my father in with us. His crutches were back on the floor where he’d fallen, and he limped over to us.

  I hugged him.

  “I was worried,” Dad said. “You’d been gone a long time.”

  “Yeah, well, we’re sort of in a situation,” I said. “You hurt?”

  “Uh, I don’t think so,” Dad said.

  “How’s your ankle?”

  “Not too bad.” He glanced back into the open area of the barn, took in the van, the blue drum in the back, the device perched atop it. “Is that what I think it is?” he asked.

  Lawrence and I both nodded.

  “Timmy,” Lawrence said, “just where do you plan to be twenty-four hours from now?”

  “Huh?”

  “Tomorrow night. You’re not planning on still being here, are you? Living in this farmhouse?”

  Charlene gave him a sly, questioning look. Dougie, not capable of that, just looked, as did Timmy.

  “I mean, come on,” Lawrence said. “You’re going to kill all of us, kill God knows how many at the parade, you think people aren’t going to be looking for you? I don’t think something this big is going to be left for Chief Orville Thorne to figure out.” Lawrence glanced at me, did something with his eyebrows that seemed to say “No disrespect intended to your new stepbrother.”

  Lawrence continued. “This county, this town, it’s going to be swarming with every law official imaginable, from Homeland Security to the Mounties. What happens when they find no one at Denny’s Cabins? No. One. Not even the owner. You think you can pretend not to know what happened to all of us? We’re just over the fucking hill.”

  “Maybe,” said Charlene slowly, “I should start packing a few things.”

  “Yeah,” Timmy agreed, nodding. “We might want to go away for a while.”

  “A while?” said Lawrence. “How about forever? Don’t you have some like-minded brethren, committed to the same whacko causes, who’ll hide you for a while?”

  “Jesus, Timmy,” said Dougie. “You don’t think we could get caught for this, do you?”

  “Look,” Timmy said, working up some courage, “we do what we have to do. We’re fighting for ideals that are bigger than just us, okay? We’re sticking with this, we’re not going to turn back now. But yeah, Charlene, you might want to throw a few things together.”

  “I want to take my Hot Wheels collection,” Dougie said.

  “What’s going on?”

  We all turned our attention to the open doorway. There stood Jeffrey, in slippers and a pair of striped pajamas, his hair all tousled.

  “Why’s everybody out here?” he said. “What’s everybody doing?”

  “Get back to bed!” Timmy shouted. That prompted Jeffrey to look over Timmy’s way, and then his eyes landed on me, and Lawrence, and Dad.

  “What are they doing in there?” Jeffrey said. He smiled at Lawrence. “Hi,” he said, and made a small wave.

  “Hi, Jeffrey,” Lawrence said. “How’s it going?”

  “Okay,” he said, quietly. He could tell something was going on. Something bad. “Why are they all locked up?” he asked his grandfather.

  “Jeffrey, go back to the house. Charlene, take him back to the house.”

  “But I don’t get it. Why are they there? Did they try to steal something?”

  Timmy pounced on that. “That’s right. They were trying to steal some tools. These are actually very bad men.”

  “That’s not true, Jeffrey,” I said.

  “Jeffrey?” It was May, just outside the barn. “Jeffrey, are you in there?”

  The boy looked back as his mother, wearing a long pink housecoat, stepped inside. It took her a second to take in the scene. Dougie, Charlene, Timmy, the three of us in the stall. The white van in the middle of the barn.

  “What the hell is going on here?” she asked.

  Timmy said, “May, take your boy and put him to bed. You know he’s not ever supposed to be out here. You too, for that matter.”

  Jeffrey said, “Grandpa, these aren’t bad men! They’re good men! Even that one!” He pointed at Lawrence.

  Timmy shook his head in anger. “Jeffrey, I’ve had just about enough—”

  “He was really nice to me! He isn’t mean like you!”

  Timmy grabbed the boy by the arm and started shaking him. “Why, you little shit, I oughta—”

  “Daddy!” May screamed. “Leave him alone!”

  Jeffrey was leaning back, trying to break free of his grandfather, who was holding on to him with one hand and trying to swat his cheek with the other. Jeffrey was waving frantically with his free arm, working to deflect the blows.

  May ran forward, grabbed her father, which allowed Jeffrey to wriggle free. Now Timmy had to wrestle with his daughter, whom he grabbed by the shoulders and flung to the barn floor.

  “I hate you!” Jeffrey screamed at him, and burst into tears.

  Timmy stood there, looking down at his daughter, wondering whether he should offer to help her up or not. May was looking from him to Jeffrey and, finally, to me. In addition to this domestic crisis she was having, she seemed to be trying to get her head around why the hell I was penned in with my father and Lawrence.

  “Mr. Walker?” she said. I wasn’t sure whether she meant me or my father. She got to her feet, ignoring her father’s outstretched arm, and took three steps toward the stall. “Mr. Walker, what’s going on?” She was directing the question at me, not Dad.
>
  I was thinking, the way things were going, that maybe May was our new last hope. That if she knew the truth, if she knew the extent of her father’s evil, maybe she could do something. That if she were presented with the truth, and could throw it back in Timmy’s face, maybe he’d reconsider what he was going to do.

  I said, evenly, “Your father’s getting ready to kill us and a whole lot of other people, May, that’s what’s going on.”

  “Shut up!” Timmy shouted at me. “May, get out of here!” He grabbed her by the shoulders and started turning her away.

  “Don’t touch her!” Jeffrey shouted, still crying.

  “Ask him about your boyfriends!” I shouted. “Ask him what happened to Morton, and Gary!”

  May twisted out of her father’s grip, looked back at me. “What?”

  “I told you to shut up,” Timmy said.

  “What’s he talking about, my boyfriends?”

  “It’s not a coincidence,” I said. “First one gets hit by a car, then another gets killed in the woods.”

  “Gary?” May said, looking at Timmy. “The hit-and-run?”

  Timmy tried to adopt a gentler stance, reaching his hands out to May’s shoulders, but she took a step back. “Honey, you and Jeffrey need to go back to the house. We can talk about this later. We’ve all said a few things that we’re probably going to regret later. And we’re kind of busy out here, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  “Busy doing what? What have you been doing out here? You’ve been out here for days, working on something.” She caught a glimpse inside the van. “What’s all this?” She whirled around. “What was he talking about, my boyfriends?”

  “He killed them both,” I said. “With help from Wendell and Dougie. And sabotaged your jobs with anonymous phone calls. So you’d have no choice but to come back home.”

  May was stupefied. Jeffrey, who had stopped crying, was looking a bit baffled as well.

  “That’s not true,” Timmy said softly. “You know I’d never do anything like that.”