Leaving Epitaph

by Robert J. Randisi

  The younger Shaye did not respond.

  “I see,” Shaye said. “You thought it did make you special.”

  “Yes.”

  “So now you don’t feel special.”

  Thomas put down his coffee cup and spread his hands. “What is there about me now that makes me special?” he asked.

  “First of all,” Shaye said, wishing Mary were there to answer the questions, “what makes you think you need to be special? Why can’t you just be…normal?”

  “I…don’t know,” Thomas said. “I just thought…it was important.”

  “And who knows what makes someone special, Thomas?” Shaye said. “You’re still young. There is plenty of time for you to…become special.”

  Thomas gazed out into the darkness.

  “I wish your mother was here,” Shaye said. “She was so much better at this than I am.”

  Thomas turned his head and looked at his father. “You’re doin’ fine, Pa.”

  “Am I?”

  Thomas stood up and patted his father on the shoulder. “Yes, you are. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

  Shaye watched as Thomas walked to his bedroll and rolled himself up in it. His oldest son had just put aside his own questions and doubts to reassure his father about his.

  Shaye thought Thomas was pretty special.

  27

  The Langer gang camped outside of Oklahoma City. In the morning, Ethan told them he was going on alone.

  “Alone?” Petry said.

  “Yes, alone.”

  Petry leaned in so he could speak softly. “Ethan, the men were lookin’ forward to—”

  “I’ll talk to the men,” Ethan said. He stepped around Petry and approached the others.

  “I have somethin’ to do in town and I need to do it alone,” he said. “It will take me a few hours. If I let all of you ride into a city the size of this one, it’ll take me days to round you up again. We can’t afford that. We have to meet my brother on time.”

  “Is stoppin’ here gonna make us late?” one man asked.

  “No.”

  “Can’t we just go in for—”

  “No,” Ethan said. “Nobody rides in but me. That’s it.”

  He turned and went to saddle his horse.

  “This ain’t fair,” one of the gang members complained to Petry. “There’s women in Oklahoma City!”

  “What makes you think any of those women would be interested in you, Bates?”

  The rest of the men laughed at that.

  “That ain’t the point!” Bates said.

  “Have you got any money?’ Petry asked.

  “Wha—No, I ain’t got any money.”

  “Anybody else here got any money?” Petry asked.

  All of the men shook their heads.

  “Do you know why you ain’t got any money?”

  “’Cause Ethan’s got it all,” Bates said. “He’s got the money from the bank job.”

  “Right,” Petry said. “So what are any of you gonna do in Oklahoma City without money? You sure ain’t gonna get any of them women Bates was talkin’ about to look at you without any money. So what’s the point of anybody else goin’ into town?”

  “Ethan’s goin’ into town!” somebody said.

  “He’s got a reason.”

  “What reason?’

  “He don’t gotta tell us that,” Petry said, “’cause he’s the boss. Any of you wanna question him on it personal, be my guest.”

  The men exchanged looks and shook their heads. Nobody there wanted to take on Ethan Langer.

  Horse saddled and ready, Ethan waited a few more moments while Petry finished with the men. Terry Petry had been riding with him for several years now. He’d worked his way up to number two—his segundo—when the previous number two man had been killed. Ethan thought that Petry had been a decent second in command up to this point, and there was no one in the gang right now who he would have liked to see move up. If there had been, he might have already killed Petry himself, for questioning him.

  As soon as he did find a good replacement, he probably would kill Petry. The man was getting too comfortable in his position—although he had just handled the men pretty well.

  Ethan took his horse’s reins and walked the animal over to where all the men had gathered.

  “Anybody got anything to say?”

  The men all shook their heads.

  “Well, I got somethin’ to say. I’m leavin’ the money behind with Petry. If I come back and find it gone, you’ll have to deal not only with me, but with my brother. And don’t think we won’t find you.”

  Ethan took the two sets of saddlebags filled with money from his saddle and handed them to Petry.

  “I know exactly how much money is in there,” he said. “If there’s a dollar missin’, I’ll find out who took it and I’ll kill him. Do you all understand?”

  “Don’t worry, Ethan,” Petry said, with the saddlebags over his shoulders. “They understand.”

  Ethan turned and looked directly at Petry. “Do you understand, Terry?”

  “Sure I do, Ethan,” the man said, almost indignantly. “You know you can count on me.”

  “I don’t even want anybody opening these saddlebags to take a look,” Ethan said.

  “Nobody’s gonna touch ’em, Ethan,” Petry said. “I swear.”

  Ethan switched his gaze back to the men, many of whom were staring at the saddlebags and licking their lips. “I got one other thing to say.”

  They all looked at him.

  “I see any man in town, I’ll kill him on the spot, no questions asked. Got it?”

  The men nodded that they had it.

  Ethan mounted his horse and looked down at them.

  “This is gonna be an important test for all of you,” Ethan said. “It’ll prove your loyalty to both me and my brother.” He looked at Petry. “I’ll be back before nightfall.”

  “Don’t worry,” Petry said. “We’ll all be here and so will the money.”

  “I hope so, Terry,” Ethan said. “For everybody’s sake.”

  28

  That same morning, two days behind, Dan Shaye woke all three of his sons for breakfast. He had made a full pot of coffee, but it was James’s job to actually make breakfast.

  Shaye was amazed at how he and his sons were getting along with each other. He knew they all had heavy hearts—no, broken hearts—and he knew they were all filled with anger, but never had that anger spilled over onto each other. Even now, as he watched the three boys picking on each other the way brothers did, he was amazed at their good humor—and at his own.

  None of them had been able to mourn yet. That would come later, after the rage was expiated, after the thirst for vengeance was quenched. Once that was done, the emptiness would come, and the tears. Until then he hoped that Mary was looking down at their boys with as much pride as he was.

  “Breakfast, Pa!” James called out.

  “I’m coming.”

  Matthew and Thomas saddled the horses while James and Shaye broke camp.

  “Can I ask you somethin’, Pa?” James asked.

  “Always, James,” Shaye said, hoping that James’s question would be easier to answer than Thomas’s last one about being special had been.

  “What would Ma think of what we’re doin’?”

  Shaye sighed. Apparently, his sons were not going to come up with simple questions. “Well, James,” he said honestly, “I don’t think she’d approve very much.”

  “Of any of it?”

  “No,” Shaye said. “She’d approve of me doing my job and trying to get the bank’s money back. She would not approve of what I intend to do when I catch up to the Langer gang.”

  “Kill them?”

  “Right. She also would not approve of my taking you boys along with me.”

  “We got a right.”

  “She’d probably agree with that part,” Shaye said. “Just not with me putting you in danger.”

  “But you ai
n’t puttin’ us in danger,” James said. “We’re here to watch each other’s backs, right? To keep each other safe?”

  Shaye finished stomping out the fire and turned to face his youngest son.

  “I can’t lie to you, James,” he said. “We’re here to kill the men who killed your ma. At least, that’s what I’m here to do.”

  “Us too.”

  “No,” Shaye said, “it’s not the same for you boys as it is for me.”

  “She was our ma!” James snapped, his face growing red the way his mother’s used to when she lost her temper. “We got a right to—”

  “Simmer down,” Shaye said. “You don’t understand. Of course you have a right to come along, but I’m the one who’s going to kill them. I’m going to kill Ethan Langer, and probably his brother too. But in the eyes of the law, I might be doing wrong.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “What if we catch up to them and they give up?” Shaye asked. “They surrender. What if they’d rather go to jail than resist and possibly die?”

  James looked confused. He didn’t have any answers. “Would you still kill them, Pa?”

  “Yes, James, I would, and I will.”

  “But…wouldn’t that be murder?”

  “In the eyes of the law, yes it would be,” Shaye said. “But James, murder is what I’ve been planning ever since we left Epitaph.”

  29

  While Dan Shaye and his sons continued on toward Oklahoma City, Ethan Langer rode into that city with a definite goal in mind. He had to find somebody, get his question answered, and get back to camp before nightfall. He thought he had his men sufficiently cowed to keep them from looking in the saddlebags he’d left in Terry Petry’s hands, but it was hard to be sure.

  Oklahoma City was larger than the towns Langer was used to spending time in. His older brother, Aaron, liked big cities, like Denver and Chicago. Ethan preferred smaller, more western towns to spend his time in.

  He knew the place he was looking for, he just didn’t know where it was. He stopped a man and a woman on the street to ask them, because they looked like the type of people who would know. After giving him a startled look—he knew he looked trail weary—they were happy to direct him.

  “The Church of the Holy Redeemer is on the other side of the square, sir,” the woman said. The man took over then and gave him directions. Langer thanked them politely so he wouldn’t stand out in their minds, in case anyone asked, mounted his horse and followed the directions to the church.

  Terry Petry sat at the first fire with the saddlebags at his feet. While he was pleased that Ethan had entrusted the money to him, he knew that the other men were now sizing him up, trying to decide if they should make a move for the money. All six of them were seated around the second fire, watching him. Of course, they also had to decide if they wanted to risk the wrath of both Ethan and Aaron Langer by going for the money.

  If they did go for it, though, Petry knew he was the one who was going to end up dead, but he’d take some of those sonsofbitches with him. He wasn’t going alone.

  Eventually, one man, Ted Fitzgerald, separated himself from the others and came walking over. He’d been riding with Ethan’s gang the least of anyone, and this had only been his second job.

  “Hey, Petry, some of us have been talkin’,” Fitzgerald said as he approached.

  “Looks to me like all of you have been talkin’,” Petry said, “and I think I know what about.”

  “What’s the harm in jest takin’ a little looksee, ya know?” Fitzgerald asked, standing by the fire now.

  “Forget it, Fitz,” Petry said, “and tell the rest to forget it too. Ethan left this in my care, and if anyone looks inside, it’s my head.”

  “We could take it from you, ya know.”

  “You could try,” Petry said, “but I’d kill some of ya, and the rest of ya would have to deal with Ethan and Aaron trackin’ ya down. You want that, Fitz?”

  Fitzgerald looked more frustrated than angry. “It ain’t fair,” he said. “We don’t even know how much we got from that bank.”

  “We don’t never know until Ethan and Aaron get together,” Petry said. “They like to see which one got the most money, first. Just go on back to the others, Fitz, and tell ’em we’re gonna wait until we meet up with Aaron, like always.”

  “Can’t even take a look, huh?”

  “Not even a look.”

  Fitzgerald kicked at the ground, then turned and walked back to the others. He hunkered down by the fire and they all started talking again. Petry was pretty sure there were only one or two who were pushing the others to make a move. The rest of them were too smart to risk going against the Langers.

  Petry poured himself a cup of coffee and kept it in his left hand so his right hand—his gun hand—was free.

  He hoped Ethan would get back soon.

  Ethan Langer reined his horse in outside the Church of the Holy Redeemer, dismounted and went inside. It was a big stone church, with high ceilings, and it was so empty that he could hear his own footsteps echoing throughout.

  He stopped just inside, unsure of what to do. He removed his hat, held it in both hands. It was midday, middle of the week, so he guessed people didn’t come to church much at this time of the day. That would probably work in his favor.

  He finally decided nothing would happen if he didn’t at least move away from the door. He started down the center aisle, knowing there was something he should be doing but unsure what. It had been a long time since he’d been in a church.

  When he reached the front, he looked up at the altar and the image of Christ on the cross behind it. Off to one side he heard some footsteps, and turned to see a man coming though a door from somewhere in the back. The man was in his late forties, dressed all in black, with a white collar. He stopped short when he saw Ethan standing there.

  “You have the gall to come here?” he demanded.

  “What’s the matter?” Ethan asked. “A man ain’t allowed to visit his own brother?”

  30

  The two men faced each other in the empty church.

  “You’re no brother of mine,” Father Vincent said. Once, he’d been Vincent Langer, older brother of Ethan and younger brother of Aaron. “You and Aaron gave up the right to call me brother when you turned to a life of crime.”

  “Okay,” Ethan said, “then I didn’t come here as your brother.”

  “What then?”

  “I came because I need the help…of a priest.”

  Vincent frowned. “You’re joking with me.”

  “Why would I come here to make a joke, Vincent?”

  “Father Vincent!”

  “Okay, Father Vincent.”

  Vincent studied Ethan for several seconds before coming closer. He stopped about five feet away, still looking his brother up and down.

  “Is it true, then?” he asked finally. “You’ve come to me for spiritual guidance?”

  “I don’t know if that’s what it’s called,” Ethan said, “but I need some kind of help.”

  “Do you want to confess?”

  “No, Vin—Father Vincent,” Ethan said. “I just want to talk.”

  “All right, then,” Father Vincent said, “all right. We’ll sit down here and talk, Ethan. If it’s help you need, I cannot in all good conscience turn you away, can I?”

  “I hope not,” Ethan said, “because if you can’t help me, I don’t know where I’ll go.”

  “Pa?”

  Here it comes, Shaye thought. The only one who hadn’t asked any questions yet—serious questions—was Matthew, and he had just ridden up alongside him. Thomas and James were riding behind them.

  “Yes, Matthew?”

  “Can I ask you somethin’?”

  “Sure, Matthew,” Shaye said. “Go ahead and ask.”

  “James told me and Thomas that you said what you’re gonna do to the men who killed Ma is murder.”

  “That’s right, Matthew,” Shaye said. “The law
might consider it murder, depending on how things go.”

  “But how could that be?” he asked, clearly puzzled. “Ain’t we got a right to avenge our ma?”

  “We got rights, Matthew,” Shaye said. “Maybe not in the eyes of the law, but in our own eyes.”

  “But if the law considers it murder, are you gonna do it anyway?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “But you’re a lawman, Pa,” Matthew said. “How can you break the law?”

  “It’s not something I want to do, son,” Shaye said. “I’ve been upholding the law for the past twelve years. Don’t forget, I broke the law for some time before that.”

  “But you’re wearin’ a badge now.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “And you’d still do it?”

  “Yes, I would.”

  “But…why?”

  “Because I answer to a higher law, Matthew,” Shaye said.

  “Whose law is that, Pa? God’s?”

  “No, Matthew,” Shaye said, “not God’s law. My own.”

  Matthew thought about that for a few moments, then shook his head and said, “I don’t think I understand, Pa.”

  “Let me try to explain it to you, then….”

  “My God,” Father Vincent said after Ethan told him what had been bothering him, “do you mean to say you killed a woman while robbing a bank?”

  “No,” Ethan said, “she got killed while we were escapin’, not while we were robbin’ the bank.”

  “I can’t believe what I am hearing.”

  “And I didn’t kill her,” Ethan went on, “she ran out in front of my horse.”

  “My God, man,” Father Vincent said, “you rode her down and killed her.”

  “Others rode over her too,” Ethan said. “Why am I the only one dreamin’ about her?”

  “It’s the guilt, man,” Father Vincent said, “the guilt over having killed a woman.”

  “Why is she screamin’ in my dream?” Ethan asked. “She didn’t scream in the street.”

  “It’s the guilt that makes you hear her scream—”

  “Stop sayin’ that!” Ethan shouted, jumping to his feet. “I don’t feel guilty! The damn woman ran out in front of us. Any one of us coulda rode her down first.”

  “Why did you come here, then, Ethan?” his brother asked. “Why, if you feel no guilt, did you come to me?”