High White Sun

by J. Todd Scott

  “Dammit, Mel . . .”

  “I know, Chris. I know.” And she also knew this was the point where he’d start blaming himself, chasing shadows at all the things he could or should have done. “Whatever happened out there at the Lights is what Ben wanted. You know him, and you know that.”

  He pushed away from her, gentle. “It doesn’t make it any easier. It was about money, Mel. That’s all. The car that ran down Tommy Milford was full of drug money owed to John Wesley Earl. Murfee was just the drop-off point. Earl was traveling with his son Jesse, and since Jesse and Thurman Flowers had decided to set up in Killing, they all ended up here. If they’d chosen anywhere else, none of this would have happened.”

  “True, but you can’t think that way. It’s useless.”

  “Two of my men are dead, babe.”

  “Okay, so what do you do about it? What happens now?”

  Chris leaned against his desk. He was exhausted, and she wanted to hold him again, just to help him stand. “I’ve talked to the FBI and they’re taking the lead on dealing with the Earls and Thurman Flowers in Killing. No one needs another Waco or Ruby Ridge, so they don’t want me and the few deputies I have left rolling up on it. But I’ve got everyone I know with a badge and gun across four counties on the lookout for anyone and anything connected with the Earls. So we wait.”

  “You’re not happy about that?”

  He looked out the door to where Amé and Danny stood close, talking, with Dale awkwardly standing nearby. “Honestly, no, and they’re not happy about it, either. Danny thinks he knows Earl’s next move and he wants us to get to him before he makes it.”

  “And Amé?”

  “Same. If I’m not careful, they’re going to both slip out of here and try to deal with the Earls on their own.”

  After a long moment, Mel asked, “Is that such a bad thing?”

  Chris looked at her twice as if trying to remember who she was. “Yes, yes it is. We’re not bounty hunters, and we’re not in the revenge business. They’ll get themselves hurt, probably killed, and there’s been more than enough of that tonight.”

  Mel nodded. “Okay, and I guess they’ve accepted that, or they wouldn’t be in here trying to convince you otherwise.” She grabbed Chris’s hand back. “What would Ben say?”

  He pulled away a second time and shook his head. “Don’t ask me that, not ever again. It’s not fair. Ben’s approach is exactly what got him killed, action versus reaction and all that crap. He saw wolves everywhere.” Chris’s eyes were as dark and wet as the earlier rain. “And maybe, you know, he wasn’t even wrong, babe. That’s the part I can’t let go, that I struggle with. He warned me again and again, and still, here we are.”

  “Waiting,” she said.

  “Yeah, waiting.” He rubbed his face, wiped at his eyes. “I want to think all of this is just bad luck, like the Earls showing up in Killing. But what if it isn’t? What if it’s me? Would any of this have happened if Sheriff Ross had been here? Could he have stopped all this?”

  She moved in close and took his hand a final time, held it tighter. “And you think Ross was such a mean bastard Earl wouldn’t have crossed him?”

  Chris didn’t answer, but she knew that’s exactly what he thought—that he wasn’t tough enough, strong enough, to protect his own.

  “It doesn’t matter what Ross would have done, and you’re right, it doesn’t matter what Ben would’ve said or done, either. You’re the sheriff now. I trust you, love you, and I’ll support whatever you decide. I knew that the minute you chose to stay in Murfee. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t worry all the damn time, but that’s what comes with the territory and I accept it, just like you have to.”

  “That’s a helluva non-answer.”

  “It’s the only one I have, and it’s the truth.” She fought to stay steady for him, to stay strong, even as she knew where this conversation was carrying them. “A while back you were on our porch talking about helping Danny, and we both knew you were going to do it. You talked around it, tried to talk yourself out of it, but we both knew. Like you said: As far as the eye can see, that’s my responsibility. And that, Chris, is the territory.” She made him look at her. “So, what if you wait for the FBI because they gave you an order, and then Earl goes on the run and hurts someone else before he gets caught? Someone without a badge and gun . . . someone who doesn’t get a choice on how and when to deal with him. What if it was me, Chris? How would you deal with that?”

  “That’s another unfair question.”

  “No, but it matters. You don’t get two choices, Chris, one for yourself and one for everyone else. I understand all the good you’re trying to do here and the sort of man you are. I know what you believe and I also know, no matter what, right or wrong, you’re never going to be him.”

  “Him?”

  “You’re not Sheriff Ross. I know that’s what you’re afraid of, what drives you to do the job the way you do it. Whatever you decide here tonight, you’ll never be like him. I know that and you need to know it, too.”

  Chris stood silent. “Did you come over here to tell me all that?”

  “No, I came over to tell you I’m going home. Our new dog is still there all by himself, the poor thing has been cooped up all night.”

  “You can’t go by yourself. The storm . . . the Earls . . .”

  “And you can’t spare the men. You’re running out of them . . .”

  He smiled, faint, grim. “I’ll have Tommy ride out with you. He can’t walk, but he can shoot, if necessary. He’ll stay out there with you until I’m done here.”

  She squeezed his hand and let him go, not bothering to ask him when that would be. She was going home, where she’d try and fail not to cry about Ben Harper.

  Where she’d wait for Chris until it was over.

  Goddamn waiting.

  But like she’d told him, it’s what came with the territory.

  * * *

  He left Mel in his office, and went out to where Amé and Danny were standing. He told Dale to reach out for Tommy and let him know that Mel was driving over to his house, and that he was going to ride with her out to the Far Six, where he was going to stay until he heard otherwise. He’d need his badge and his gun, both his duty pistol and his rifle. Then he told Dale to come back and help Till, who was going to be in charge of handling things in town.

  He’d made all the calls, done everything he was supposed to do, and it wasn’t going to be enough. Not for him. Not with his men, his friends, dead. It wasn’t even close. He wasn’t going to sit here and wait for Nichols and the FBI to handle things their way.

  His men, his choice.

  And the Big Bend, all of it, was his, as far as he could see.

  Chris turned to Danny and Amé. “Okay, tell me . . .”

  59

  Earl was eating an apple, contemplating again just being done with it and shooting Flowers and Clutts, when T-Bob appeared in the living room.

  Alone.

  He’d come in through the back, quiet—the same way he’d left what now felt like days ago with Little B and Kasper—but had gone to the kitchen first, and walked in holding a six-pack of Pearl. He had something else held tight in his other hand and all of him was soaking wet, his jeans and the front of his shirt muddy, even his face. It was dark clay, almost red, and it looked like he’d been crawling around on the ground on his belly like a damn snake.

  He’d got caught by the rain that had just started lashing the house.

  “The Devil . . . ?” Earl said, standing back to get a better look at his brother. Cole Malady stood aside to make room for him, and everyone now was taking in the muddy, horrible apparition. He’d left footprints all the way down the hall behind him. “Where’s them other two, T-Bob?” Earl said it through clenched teeth, knowing he wasn’t gonna like the answer at all.

  His brother had fucke
d up again, just like he always did.

  T-Bob made a face and a noise halfway between a laugh and something else, not quite human, that made Earl’s skin crawl, as he tossed the object in his other hand at Earl.

  It was a soaked-through hundred-dollar bill, crumpled up.

  “Little B’s dead, JW. You’d be proud of him, though. That other one done run off or whatever . . . I left him behind. But I done what you told me and I brought it, it’s right where you told me you wanted it. Still runnin’, lights on, easy to find. I said I’d do it, I swear I did, come hell or high water.” T-Bob then made that weird noise again and pulled a Pearl free and cracked it open.

  Goddamn T-Bob makin’ a sight and mess like this, a spectacle. And Earl knew that his older brother was finally, after all these years, makin’ a statement of his own.

  Flowers watched Earl closely, and the wadded money in his hand.

  “Well, by God, I was right, John. The goddamn money,” he said. “The money you swore you didn’t have and that you didn’t see fit to share with Jesse. I hope it was worth your sons. It’s all in Corinthians . . . nor thieves, nor the greedy, nor drunkards, nor revilers, nor swindlers will inherit the kingdom of God.”

  Earl took the bill and slipped it into his pocket. He turned his back on his brother and steadied his daddy’s ole Blackhawk that he’d never stopped aiming at Flowers’s skull.

  “Go on, preach some more to me about swindlers. Seems like I’m looking at the biggest fuckin’ one of all, right here in front of me . . .”

  * * *

  • • •

  IT HAD BEEN A LONG WAIT for T-Bob and the others to come back, trapped in the living room with the retard Cole and Flowers and his fool. They’d drunk a few beers and smoked, and he’d gone back and forth a bit to check on Jesse, who’d looked worse by the minute—pale and fading, turning into a ghost right in front of his eyes. Every time he went in that reeking bedroom to see him, he’d half expected him to have disappeared altogether, leavin’ only blood in the bed where he’d lain. It hadn’t helped that Sunny had been after him to know what Little B was doing, and that back in the living room, Jenna had been cryin’ a goddamn flood, beggin’ to see Jesse. Her caterwauling had gotten on his nerves enough that he’d finally let her back there, where seeing all the blood had only made her wail more. She’d held Jesse, kissed him, but Earl wouldn’t let her stay, ’cause he’d wanted her where he could see her, just like the rest, so he brought her back into the living room, where she’d sat with his son’s blood on her hands; at last, finally fuckin’ quiet.

  She’d kept looking at her hands, though, turning them over and over as if she couldn’t quite see the blood on them that she knew was there; couldn’t make sense of whatever it was she was seein’.

  It had been a long fuckin’ wait.

  If all that shit hadn’t been bad enough, there was also that thunderstorm that had rolled down on top of them, a real fuckin’ boomer, making the lights in the old ranch house flicker long before the rain itself hit. Every time they went out, he’d clenched up, ready for Clutts to make his move and imagining the darkened room filling up fast with fire and heat. He’d been about ready to pull the trigger first himself one or two times, but the lights had always come back up too quick, leaving him and Clutts still staring at each other and reading each other’s thoughts.

  And he really hadn’t wanted to shoot Clutts or Flowers, not too soon anyway, thinking they might still be useful. They’d all sat there, trapped with one another, the lights flickering on and off like a weird heartbeat, listening to one another breathe and the storm murmur as it slowly worked its way over them, until T-Bob had walked in like the Devil himself . . .

  * * *

  • • •

  “SO THIS IS WHAT’S GOING TO HAPPEN, PREACHER. Cole is gonna give you boys the keys to the RV and then you can get on your merry way. You’re gonna go yours, and me and mine are gonna go ours.”

  Flowers shook his head. “So you can send us away in the one vehicle that’s the easiest to find? That everyone will be looking for? While you slip out in our van or whatever other car it is your brother brought to you, the one with all the money? That hardly seems fair, John.” Flowers forked his fingers at T-Bob and Cole. “You two understand what’s going on here, right? He’s using us as bait, a distraction.” He focused on T-Bob. “Just the way he sent you and Little B to do his dirty work. He didn’t want to get caught himself doing that, but had no problem risking you. All his big talk about Jesse being a coward, and now we learn he’s the biggest one of all.”

  Flowers laughed, kept going. “So when we drive away and leave you here with him, what do you think he’s going to do? He’s letting his own son die back there. Do you honestly think any of his plans involve you walking out of here with him? How long have you been planning this, John, weeks, months? You’ve been breaking bread with these folks, most of them your family, knowing they were all going to die. You’ve been living with dead people all along. How do you live with yourself?”

  Earl checked his brother, tried to read what was going on behind his eyes, but T-Bob wouldn’t even look at him. Cole, the fuckin’ retard, on the other hand, was blinking slow, eyes going up and down like the lights had been. Was it possible he’d lowered the scattergun he had on Clutts and Flowers, just a little?

  “That’s a nice speech, but lots of words that don’t mean shit. I’m giving you the keys and a way out. You don’t want to take it? Fine, don’t make no difference to me. We’ll leave you here and . . .”

  And then Sunny was in the room, standing at T-Bob’s shoulder, pulling at his muddy shirt. She was looking around, searching all their faces for her boy, until she started screaming at Earl.

  “Where’s Little B, John Wesley? Where’s our son? You said he’d be right back. That’s what you said, that he was coming right back.”

  “There was a problem, Sunny. I don’t know all about it, so we gotta talk to T-Bob, figure it out. Now ain’t the time. There is no more time. I need you to go back there with Jesse and I’ll be there in a minute. This is almost over.”

  Flowers spoke, barely a whisper, but it carried all the way across the room. “Sunny, Little B is dead. You see, John sacrificed him. It was no different than if he had put the boy up on the altar and wielded the knife himself. He killed your son, and before he’s done, he’s going to kill you.”

  Sunny’s eyes were wide, big enough to reflect the whole room and everyone in it.

  “Goddamn you, Flowers,” Earl said. “Goddamn you . . .” He raised the Blackhawk for what seemed like the hundredth time, but Sunny was on his arm, holding him, her hands like claws and all muddied from T-Bob’s shirt.

  “Tell me that ain’t so, JW. Tell me . . .”

  “Dammit, bitch . . .” He tried to push her back, and . . .

  . . . everything started to tip over, like the room itself was tilting. Sunny was latched on his arm, holding fast like a gator, holding his gun hand. And she was standing in front of Malady, blocking his scattergun, which he had, in fact, lowered, far too much. Then fuckin’ T-Bob was in the way, too, tryin’ to pull Sunny off of him, and he’d dropped the rest of the beers in his hand and they were rolling around between their feet and his brother was crying big tears that left tracks in the mud on his face.

  The blood on his face . . . from Little B.

  They were all jumbled up together in each other’s way, and Earl felt the room turnin’, threatening to toss them all on the floor.

  That’s when Flowers said, Now, Marvin, and Clutts went for his gun.

  60

  I’m in the backseat, giving directions. Sheriff Cherry and Deputy Reynosa are up front. We’re somewhere outside Killing, off road, driving through the rain-soaked desert and following the swollen lines of the creek called the Alamito that I picked out on the sheriff’s old map, searching for the unmarked dirt road the map didn’t show
that I knew stretched behind the house. The same road that Earl used to go and stare at . . . that I once saw him riding along on his Harley and that gets lost in the mountains and the rolling hills.

  That I bet if you follow long enough, takes you right into Mexico.

  How he’s going to get across the border, much less the river, I don’t know, but I know that’s his plan. It’s been his plan all along.

  It makes sense. It’s what old outlaws used to do—run south for the border when the heat got too heavy. Dirty Dave Rudabaugh did it. The infamous Ike Clanton from the O.K. Corral did, too, though he later came back north to Tombstone and was shot by lawmen for cattle rustling.

  But Earl is never coming back. If he gets past those mountains and over that river, he’s gone for good.

  * * *

  • • •

  I DON’T HAVE A GUN.

  That was the deal. I promised to help, as long as he promised to bring me along, but he flat-out refused to arm me, and when we find what we’re looking for, I’m not even supposed to get out of the truck. He seriously thought about handcuffing me back in Murfee, and he might yet do it.

  I still wear that deputy shirt but he’s made it clear I’m not one.

  Small lights flicker and fail way off to our left. That should be the ranch house and out behind that the bluff, and hidden somewhere nearby will be the Mexican’s car Earl had T-Bob, Kasper, and Little B steal. The car he wanted me to steal for him. I talked to Kasper about everything that happened just before we left, the boy still crying over Little B while sitting in a Big Bend County jail cell, the same cell the Mexican had been in earlier in the day, at least that’s what Deputy Reynosa told me.

  It’s hard to imagine that Little B is dead. He wasn’t enough like Jesse or Earl, although he so, so badly wanted to be.