by Ed Gorman
I tried to struggle back up but it was no use. Lying on my back and tied up made me vulnerable to anything he wanted to do. But the fall had loosened the rope on my wrists.
He kicked me hard in the ribs.
The pain hadn't even had time to register properly before he walked around the chair and kicked me hard in the other rib, the one that I'd bruised a while back.
I closed my eyes and coasted on the blackness and the physical grief spreading across my rib cage and up into my chest and arms. Every few minutes, I'd become aware of my sore throat again…
"Where are those two peckers?" he said.
I didn't want to give him another excuse to kick me. I answered right away. "I don't know."
"Like hell you don't, Chase. You stick up a bank with two men and you don't know where they are?"
"I don't. I'm telling you the truth."
"Then you've got the money, don't you?"
"No."
"Bullshit."
"Honest, Chief, I-"
He kicked me again. This was enough to shrivel my scrotum into the size of a walnut and to send tears streaming down my cheeks. The toe of his boot had found the exact spot where the doc had bandaged my rib.
"Where's the money?"
"Don't… know."
"You sonofabitch."
And I could sense it, the frenzy, the way I was sure all his other prisoners had been able to sense it. When he was sober, he was a decent, humane man who ran an honest police department and had a genuine regard for the people he served.
But when he drank…
This time he walked around in front of me and looked straight down.
"You know where I'm going to kick you this time?"
"Please don't. Please." I didn't care how I sounded. I just didn't want any more pain.
"Then you tell me, Chase. You tell me where those men are and where that money is or I swear you won't get out of this room alive."
"I don't know. I really don't."
My groin wasn't all that easy a target, what with my ankles bound and all, but his boot toe was unerring and he found the spot with very little trouble.
I screamed. I tried praying, but all that came out was curses, and I tried biting my lip, but I bit down so hard I filled my mouth with blood.
And he kicked me again.
Almost instinctively, I kept working my hands free from the ropes behind me. But even if my hands were free, he had a gun and a nightstick and-
"You tell me, Chase, you tell me where those men are and that money is."
My body was cold with sweat. My face was swollen from the punches of the miner. My ribs and groin hurt so much I was starting to drift into unconsciousness…
"I'm giving you five seconds, Chase." He was raising his boot. He was picking his spot. "Five seconds, Chase."
"Please, Chief," I said again, and it wasn't even me speaking now, it was the scared little boy I'd been all the time I was growing up. "Please don't, Chief."
"Three seconds."
His foot came up even higher.
"Two seconds, Chase."
Oh and he was enjoying it, seeing me writhe on the floor, hearing me whimper.
"You sonofabitch," he said.
And was just starting to lift his leg when- Somebody banged on the door.
"Chief, Chief, you'd better get out here."
He was angry, Ev Hollister was. It was as if somebody had interrupted him having sex at the crucial moment.
"What the hell is it, Fenady?"
"Those two men we been looking for? Lundgren and Mars?"
Hollister's face changed. Anger gone, replaced with curiosity.
"What about them?"
"Somebody found them in a field the other side of Chase's cabin. And brought them in."
"They're dead?"
"Yeah. Back-shot."
Hollister smiled down at me. "Didn't know where they were, eh, Chase?"
This time he didn't give any warning. He just took two steps to the right, where he could get a better angle, and then brought his toe down swiftly and surely into my rib cage.
Fenady probably winced when he heard me scream. Even the cops who hate prisoners hate to hear human beings worked over the way Hollister works them over.
Hollister looked down at me. "I'm going out there and check those men over. When I come back, I want you to tell me what you did with the money after you killed those two men."
"But I-"
I'd started to say that I hadn't back-shot anybody, that Reeves had done it and made it look as if I had, the way he made it look as if my key had been used in the robbery.
But what was the point of talking now? Hollister wouldn't believe me no matter how many times I told him the truth.
He went over to the door, unlocked it and went out.
26
The ropes slid off my wrists with no trouble. But bending down to uncinch my ankles, I felt nauseous and dizzy. Because of the beating, the sickness was getting worse.
Through the door I could hear the commotion far down the hall, in the front office.
As I started unwrapping the rope again, I thought of how long I'd suffered at Reeves' hands. Most of my adult life he'd ruled me in one way or another. I'd been a kid when I helped pull the robbery he set me up for. And now he'd convinced Hollister that I'd back-shot the two men who had allegedly been my partners.
I reached the door, eased it open, peered down the hall and started on tiptoes down the stairs and toward the back door. I reached the ground floor and continued to tiptoe down the hall and-
I got two steps away from the doorknob when somebody shouted, "Hey!"
I turned and saw Krause, a big red-faced German cop, lunging for me with his nightstick.
He swung but I ducked. His stick hit the door above my head so hard that it snapped in two.
I knew I had no chance other than to grab the knob, throw the door open and dive into the night outside. Krause swore and lumbered toward me, but his jaw intersected with the edge of the door just as it was opening. He was knocked to his knees. I turned around, kicked him in the throat, and then pushed him over backward. As I hit the alley, he was swearing at me in German.
All I could do was run. I had no idea where I was going.
I came to the head of an alley and stopped, leaning out from the shadows to get a look at the street. Mrs. Hollister had pulled her fancy black surrey over by the general store and was watching all the men running in the street. Apparently all the shouting over the death of Lundgren and Mars had brought her out of the house. They lived near the downtown area.
I ducked back into the alley, pausing to catch my breath, then I started running again.
I went two blocks and then collapsed against a building, my breath coming in hot raw gasps.
There was moonlight and the deep shadows of the alley and the sweet smell of newly sawn lumber from a nearby store that had recently gone up.
And behind me I could hear the shouts. "He escaped! Chase escaped!"
They would come looking for me now, the human equivalents of bloodhounds, and there wouldn't be just policemen, but eager private citizens, too, eager for some sport.
I pushed away from the wall and started staggering down the alley. When I reached the last building, I pressed myself against it and peeked around the corner.
They already had torches lit, and they were coming toward me three abreast. They hadn't seen me yet but it would be only moments before they did.
I heard noise at the far end of the alley and turned to find three men with torches approaching. They would see me any time now.
I looked frantically around the alley. All I could find was a large barrel in which the general store threw food that had spoiled. Even on a cold night like this one, the contents of the barrel reeked. In the summer it had been noisy with flies twenty-four hours a day.
I had no choice. I jerked open the lid and crawled inside, hoping that the shadows would hide me sufficiently from the oncomi
ng men.
I sank deep into a fetid, swampy mixture of rotted produce. For a long time I had to hold my breath. I was afraid I'd vomit and the men would certainly hear me.
Their voices and their footsteps came closer.
The two groups met in the alley, near where I crouched in the barrel.
"I never did like that bastard," one man said. "Just something about him."
"Strange is what he is," another said. "You ever get a good look in sunlight at how scarred up his face is underneath that beard? Very strange how a man would come to get scars like that. Kind've gives me the willies."
"Enough talk," a third man said, sounding important. "You three take the Fourth Street alleys and we'll take Third Street. No way he could've gotten out of town yet."
"Oh, he's here somewhere all right," said another man.
As one of them turned around, he nudged the barrel. I froze. I had the sense that they could all hear my heartbeat like an Indian drum deep in the forest late at night.
"He could be hidin' right here," the man said. "In this alley. Maybe we should check it out before we go over to Third Street."
"Hell, Hawkins, look around. Where the hell would he hide?"
"Right over there in that privy, for one thing."
Another man laughed. "Yep, he's sittin' in there talcin' a crap and readin' a Sears catalog."
More laughter.
"Well, it sure wouldn't hurt to check it out," Hawkins said, sounding petulant.
"Be my guest."
Hawkins walked away. Ten, maybe fifteen paces. The privy was right behind the back door of the restaurant halfway down the alley.
"Stick your head down that hole in there and see if he's hidin' down there!" one of the men said, laughing.
There was no response from Hawkins, none I could hear anyway.
Bugs and mites were crawling on me, species that apparently didn't relent in November weather. I wanted to scratch myself but there was no room, and anyway doing so would probably make too much noise.
And then the lid was lifted.
This time my heart didn't start pounding. It stopped.
I sank as far down into the garbage as I could go and watched as a plump white hand dangled over the rim of the barrel.
One of the men was dropping his cigar in here.
"What a goddamn smell," he said. "All that produce."
"Had a little girl in South Dakota who smelled just like it." The other man laughed.
The lid was still off. The man's hand was still dangling, his cigar butt looking like a red-eyed snake.
And then he tossed it.
The lighted end of the butt struck me right in the forehead.
The pain was instant and considerable. I gritted my teeth. I made fists. I wanted to curse. But no way I could indulge myself.
The lid closed.
Hawkins returned. "Nobody there."
"Gee, what a surprise."
"Well, he coulda been there," Hawkins said.
"Yeah, and so coulda Jesus H. Christ himself."
"C'mon," said the third man. "Let's get moving. I'd like to find that sonofabitch myself. Show him that without that fancy blue uniform to protect him, he ain't jack shit."
I waited five minutes, during which time I had a pretty crazy thought. What if they actually knew I was in the barrel and had just snuck away a few feet and waited while I climbed out?
I would climb out of the barrel and they would open fire and I'd be dead. A nice, legal execution, something to talk about in saloons and taverns for the next twenty years.
I slid the lid open.
I reached up and grabbed the rim of the deep barrel.
Above me I saw the cold starry sky.
I pushed myself up, tatters of garbage clinging to me, and started to climb out of the barrel.
So far, so good, but I knew that my biggest problem was ahead of me.
How was I going to escape a town filled with torch-bearing posse members?
I scrambled from the barrel and immediately hid myself in the shadows again.
What was I going to do now?
And then I saw the buggy, the shiny black buggy, and without any thought at all I started running toward it.
27
The Hollister woman wasn't expecting me.
I ran from the mouth of the alley straight at her surrey, my toe landing on the vehicle's metal step while I dove down beside her feet.
She started to scream, but all I had to say was one thing. "If you don't help me, Mrs. Hollister, I'll tell your husband about you and Reeves."
She'd been all set to cry out, her mouth forming an O, but at mention of Reeves the scream died in her throat.
"I want to go out Orely Road, and fast," I said.
She seemed confused, as if she hadn't quite recovered from the shock of seeing me jump into her surrey. But then intelligence returned to her eyes and she gathered the reins tighter, made a wide turn with horse and surrey, and started us on our way out of town. The animal was running at a good steady clip.
I kept watching her face to see if she was trying to signal the men who were running past, sounding excited as hayseeds at a county fair.
The ride, with me all curled up at her feet, was bumpy. Every time we hit a rut, she kicked me in my rib with the pointed toe of her high-button shoe. I could smell horseshit and axle grease. I wanted Gillian and Annie in my arms.
The flickering street lamps fell away after a time, as did the sound of running feet slapping the hard dirt road. Even the high, charged shouts of the eager posse.
After a while I raised myself up enough to look out at the rutted road. Moonlight showed a narrow stage road with ice shining in the potholes, and all around an autumnal mountainous land touched with glowing frost. Bears would be sleeping deep in winter caves by now, and kids would be asking for extra blankets.
I swung up from the floor and sat down next to her. "H-How did you know about R-Reeves?" she said, and when she stuttered, I felt ashamed of myself. I had no right to judge this woman the way I had.
"Forget I said anything. I'm not fit to pass judgment on you, Mrs. Hollister."
We didn't say anything for a time. The only sound was the crack of hooves against icy road.
I sat and watched the frozen night go by, the jet silhouettes of mountains against the darker jet of the sky, the hoarfrost quarter moon, the silver-blue underbellies of clouds…
"Y-You d-don't know what my h-husband's l-like when he d-drinks."
She sounded miserable and I had to stop her. "I shouldn't have said that, Mrs. Hollister. Really. I don't have any right to judge you."
She started shaking her head from side to side, reliving an old grief. "I'm a s-sinful w-woman, M-Mr. Chase. I'm a h-harlot."
We fell into silence again.
Then, "I t-told him t-today that I d-don't p-plan on s-seeing him a-anymore."
I reached over and touched her shoulder. "You should have respect for yourself, Mrs. Hollister. You could do a lot better than Reeves, believe me."
And Gillian could do a lot better than me.
She didn't say anything the rest of the way.
When the road turned westward, I took the reins from her and brought the horse to a halt.
"I hope things go right for you, Mrs. Hollister. You seem like a decent woman."
She smiled and leaned over. I thought she was going to kiss me. Instead she just touched my cheek with long fingers. Tenderly.
I jumped down and started walking to the edge of the hill, from which I could look down into the valley and see our house.
What I saw was the old farm wagon that Gillian kept in back. It was loaded down with clothes and furnishings. Gillian and Annie sat up on the seat. They'd hitched up the horse and were just now pulling out of the yard.
The sickness was getting worse all the time, but I ran anyway, ran faster than I ever had in my life.
"Gillian!" I cried into the night. "Gillian!"
28
&nbs
p; By the time I got near the wagon, it had climbed the hill and was just starting down the road.
As I came close, out of breath, my legs threatening to crumple at any moment, I heard the clang of pots and pans as the wagon bounced along the road.
I fell.
I was twenty feet at most from the wagon, and I went straight down, my toe having stumbled over a pothole.
I stayed on my hands and knees for two or three minutes, like a dog trying to regain his strength. The vast night was starry and cold; the clang of pots and pans faded in the distance; and all I could smell was the hot sweat of my sickness.
After a time I got to my feet. But I promptly sank back down. Too weak.
I stayed down till I lost sight of the wagon in the moonlight far ahead. It had rounded a curve and was now behind a screen of jack pines. By this time the clank of kitchen implements was almost endearing, like a memory of Annie's smile.
All of a sudden I was having trouble swallowing, taking saliva down in gulps. Part of the sickness, I knew.
I started off walking and slowly began running. I had to catch the wagon. Had to.
***
By the time I caught up with them, the fever was so bad I was partially blind, a darkness falling across my vision every minute or so.
This time Annie heard me. She stood up in the wagon and turned around and saw me.
The last thing I heard, just before I pitched forward in the sandy road, was Annie's scream.
Darkness.
***
Squeak of wagon; clop of horse on hard-packed road; faint scent of perfume in the bed of the wagon.
Gillian.
"You're going to see that doctor in the morning, and I'm going to personally take you."
"I can't see anything."
"You just rest."
"My eyes-"
"Rest."
"Where are we?"
"Annie's taking us back home. She convinced me to give you another chance."
"Gillian-"
"And you're going to turn that money over and you're going to face whatever punishment you've got coming, and then we're going to be a real family for the first time in our lives."