by John Oakes
The axe came free of the chair, and Elgin, off balance, fell backward near the front door. Remus stepped forward and raised the axe, but now he finally saw them in the doorway, weapons at the ready.
He lowered the weapon some and stood straighter. “Winton Chevalier? That can’t be you.”
“Put the axe down, Remus.” Winton stepped forward into the light so Remus could see in his eyes how intent he was.
“What are you pointing that at me for?” Remus asked.
“You know why.”
“What does any of this have to do with you?” Remus waved the axe about the room. “Why aren’t you on that boat?”
“Put the axe down.”
“What are you gonna do? Shoot me?” Remus tapped near where he’d been shot by Elgin. A small divot of flesh had been blown off his chest on the side of his sternum. Remus traced the bloody circle he’d drawn. “I’m protected. See?”
“You ain’t gonna get lucky a second time,” Julius said.
“Hold on,” Winton said. “If he’s full of random bullets it muddies the story told by the evidence.”
“So why’d we bring guns then?” Julius said. “Just grease this fool.”
Winton hadn’t taken his eyes off Remus. “Put the axe down. Or I will shoot.”
“I am protected.” Remus swung his arms wide, still holding the axe. Elgin drew Remus’ attention by getting on his hands and knees and crawling toward Rabelais.
Remus lowered his arms and let the haft of the axe slide down his grip.
“We can’t use the guns,” Winton said. “Quick. Anything else.” He looked around the one-room cabin from the wall, where Remus’ magic supplies were stored, to the far kitchen.
“Julius, distract him while I run around back.”
Winton handed Julius a half brick that had probably been used as a door stop.
Winton swung under the porch railing and hit the ground running toward the truck. He huffed and puffed out his open mouth, regretting his broken nose was so blocked. Using the most of his height, he jumped, caught the edge of the truck bed, got his feet on the rear tire and tumbled over into the back. Grabbing the length of rope and crowbar they’d bought from CheapValue, he kicked his legs over the side and controlled his fall with his free hand. After landing off balance, he dropped on his ass and rolled on his back like a clumsy baby panda.
Wincing at the pain from his side, he ran around the back of the cabin, climbed the two steps and waddled to the back door, feeling his hips getting tighter from all the strain of the day. After slipping into the kitchen, he tied a loop in the end of the rope and pulled the rope through it, forming a crude lasso. Winton stepped into the main room, holding the looped rope in one hand and the crowbar in the other.
Rabelais’ dead, overlarge body served as the main obstacle keeping Remus from swinging at Elgin, and keeping Elgin from lunging for his pistol, which lay on Rabelais’ other side. Remus threatened Elgin’s reaching arm with the axe, but a rock sailed into view and bounced of his shoulder. Remus winced, looking at the front door, indicating Julius’s throw had stung. He took a defensive posture like a boxer ready for any more salvos from the dark.
Elgin scrambled for Rabelais’ weapon through the blood surrounding him. Remus chopped out, despite sensing danger from the door, missing Elgin and slamming the axe blade into the dead man’s ribcage.
Remus pulled, but the axe was stuck.
Instead of diving for the gun, Elgin grabbed the axe haft. Remus reefed on it, and it came free of the body, but Elgin held firm. The two bulls locked eyes, baring teeth.
Remus didn’t see the half brick.
It whipped through the air and clipped him on the back of the head. A glancing blow, but Remus dropped all the same, as if he were a robot and someone had flipped his off switch.
Winton rushed forward and slipped the lasso around Remus’ neck, pulling it tight and holding it in place with his foot.
Elgin retrieved his gun, wet with blood. “Wait,” he told Winton. “Think.”
Winton’s gaze flitted about the scene. “We make it look like it was just him and Rabelais?”
“That works.” Elgin drew his forearm over his mouth.
Winton let go of his rope and peered up at the rafters. “You should probably dig that out.” Winton pointed to the bullet that had ricocheted off Remus’ sternum and buried into old wood.
“Good eye.” Elgin got on a chair and pried out his slug using Winton’s crow bar.
Julius walked inside looking surprised to see Remus unconscious again.
“You got a good arm,” Winton said.
“Guess so.”
“This place is made of wood,” Elgin said. He picked up a kerosene lamp and hurled it at the corner. Flames exploded outward, bright white and yellow. “If there was a fight, no one will wonder why things got knocked around.”
Winton kicked another lamp over. “Agreed.”
Julius picked up a candle and held it under a curtain.
Remus groaned and lolled his head.
Elgin hefted the crowbar, but Julius was there first and planted the toe of his shoe into Remus’ temple, snapping his head to the side with a sickening crack. “Yeah. That’s what’s up.”
Elgin nodded at him. “Try and open windows if you can. Helps the place burn.”
Winton gathered up his rope and threw open a shuttered window, and Elgin pried up swollen old wood until another window slid upward.
With one more look at Remus, Winton and Elgin made for the door.
“What about that?” Julius still stood in the middle of the burning room, pointing at the enfador.
Winton and Elgin exchanged a look.
“It is gold,” Winton said.
Elgin looked at it with hunger. “It’s so old. So valuable.”
It sparkled and glinted more brilliantly as the flames grew on all sides.
“Maybe…” Winton felt the heat of the fires scorching his skin. “Seems such a waste.”
“Nah. Fuck that thing.” Julius said, ending the question. “Flee the devil.”
The heat was growing intolerable, and they filed out into the dark, turning to watch the cabin take flame. It burned so bright Winton’s eyes watered and he had to look away.
Elgin took a knee. At first Winton wondered if he was praying or having a moment of silence. Then he vomited. He took a few ragged breaths, spat and got back to his feet, hands on his knees.
“Man, you all right?” Julius asked.
“I’m fine.” Elgin held up a hand. “It ain’t my constitution. I seen worse.”
“You got clocked pretty good,” Winton said. “You’re probably concussed.”
“You shouldn’t be driving,” Julius said.
“You parked near here? We gotta get our two vehicles out of here.” Elgin looked over at Winton. “Guessing you can’t reach the pedals.”
“I’ll take The Abundantly Obvious for two thousand, Alex,” Winton said.
“Look, you need to get checked out,” Julius said.
“I can’t show up at urgent care covered in everybody’s blood and God knows what.” Elgin lifted his sodden arms. He took off his jacket and jeans, and touched the back of his head. “He got me with the flat of that axe?”
“Yeah,” Winton said.
“Shit. Better than the sharp end. Well, listen, I took some shots in football had to be worse than that. I’ll take some Ibuprofen, ice it and stay awake. I can’t be seen going into any hospital tonight. Not after this.”
“You need to strip before you get in your car,” Winton said. “Everything.”
“I gotta drive home bare ass naked,” Elgin said. “Crimony.”
Elgin got bare assed, but Julius offered him his soft, cotton-blend track pants. Elgin wasn’t in a position to refuse. “Thanks.” He slipped them on.
“It’s okay. I only owned ‘em for about three hours. No time to get attached.”
Elgin shook his head, as if trying to shake a memory or th
e pain he must be feeling, then looked back at the inferno. “And I guess, thanks for lending a hand in there?”
Winton nodded.
“I don’t understand a damn bit of what just happened,” Elgin said.
“You did get hit on the head,” Julius said. “But yeah. Some fucked up shit. The devil’s in Louisiana tonight.”
Elgin kicked some dirt over his vomit, took his keys, wallet and pistol, got in his car and drove off.
“It’s chilly out here in my skivvies,” Julius said.
“Let’s walk fast, then.” Winton gathered up Elgin’s bloody clothing in a ball.
“Sounds crazy,” Julius said. “But I kinda don’t wanna leave. It’s so bright. We walk away, we’re walking into pitch dark.”
Winton patted him on the back, nudging him toward the dirt road. “It’ll be all right, my friend. The darkest part is over.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
Winton and Julius had no intention of attracting police attention. Still, they diligently sought any scrap of evidence of their involvement to destroy it. Behind an abandoned factory, they made a controlled fire in a trash can, keeping the flames low, but hot enough to incinerate clothing one strip at a time. At the motel, they took another round of showers, including Lucas with the help of a plastic bag and some duct tape. After cleaning and trimming nails, Winton and Julius checked behind each other’s heads and ears for any flecks of blood or other material.
Though relieved to be done with the task, Winton knew an attempt at sleep was pointless, as he wouldn’t feel comfortable until shot of Louisiana. Lucas remained in a dazed half-sleep, and Julius collapsed for a couple hours, waking early.
They checked out of the motel and ate breakfast in the truck, parked at a drive-thru. Winton and Julius both chewed gingerly with their mouths open. Julius’ front bottom teeth felt loose near the one the Aussies had knocked out, and Winton still couldn’t breathe through his nose. When they finished, Julius carefully brushed his teeth beside the truck, rinsing with a bottle of water to get ready to visit the dentist.
Winton got Lucas to take a couple bites of food, but after that, Lucas pushed it away and slumped against the window. Winton lowered his gaze, fearing Lucas had lost far more than a limb.
He’d planned to spend the next few months focused on getting the golf course finished on the Island and helping Missy in the ripest months of her pregnancy, and after she gave birth. Now, he had another priority to add to the list: Making sure his brother came through this trauma with some stability of mind and soul.
They drove in silence until Julius pulled up in front of the hospital. “So, this is it?”
Winton sighed. “Guess so, Julius. Gonna try to see my dad. Then I’m taking him to Texas, where I know more people of a discreet nature. Don’t need the NOPD asking questions.”
Julius extended a hand. “Well?”
Winton shook it. “Yeah.”
“Hug ‘em close. The ones you love.”
“You too, man. Thank you for everything.”
“Thank you.”
They looked at one another, expressions souring.
“Julius, I don’t think we can become Facebook friends,” Winton said. “It would totally ruin the moment here where you ride off into the sunset.”
Julius rolled his eyes and chuckled. “You’re something else, man. Besides, it’s morning.”
Winton shimmied past Lucas’ legs, climbed down and helped Lucas out.
“You need any help?” Julius said.
“I got him.” Winton slung an arm around Lucas’ waist and gave one final nod to Julius before closing the door.
Julius held up a hand and drove away.
Winton looked up at the tall white structure.
“Winton,” Lucas said. “I don’t want Momma to see me.”
“I was thinking the same thing.”
“She’ll be up there with him, like as not.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
Winton nudged him forward through the main entrance to the hospital and sat him in a waiting chair. He approached the desk, resting his elbows and chin on it.
“Oh, hello sugar,” a matronly nurse said. “You don’t look so good. You need directions to the ER?”
“I’m actually here to visit someone. Could you tell me where to find a patient? My father?”
“Sure, hon.” She typed Winton’s father’s name into a computer and gave him directions to the oncology ward.
Winton took a shuddering breath, as he turned from her. His father was alive.
He and Lucas shuffled down vanilla hallways, through the cloying flavor of the hospital, a mix of sterility, sick humans, plastic and bad food. The walk seemed to take forever.
As reasons for entering a hospital went, from birthing babies to people croaking, Winton couldn’t help but feel this one was some combination of the happy and the terrible. On the one hand, he was bringing home a damaged version of his brother. On the other, he was bringing home his brother alive, when — without Winton’s intervention — Lucas would have died a captive chess piece in Anders and Remus’ game.
Winton still couldn’t wrap his mind around everything that had happened, but he could marvel at the fact that his brother was alive. The thought thrilled him and buoyed his spirits. He pressed his head into Lucas’s side, and was half-surprised to feel his brother ruffle his hair and squeeze him in return.
“You know,” Winton said, “if it were me showing up without an arm, I wouldn’t lose the opportunity to pull the prank of a lifetime.”
Lucas looked down at him blankly.
“You know,” Winton explained. “Hold up the stump and go, ‘Here Mom and Dad, I finally removed that tattoo you hated!’”
That forced the hint of a smile onto Lucas’ face. He stifled it and said, “Shut up, Winton.”
“God, think of the endless mom jokes. ‘How did you lose your arm, Lucas?’” Winton shook his head. “It’s beneath me, creatively, but for you the punchline writes itself.”
“You’re not helping,” Lucas chuckled.
They found a desk phone with no one manning it. Winton lifted the handset and dialed his mother’s cell number from memory.
“Hello? Who’s this?” his mother asked.
“DeeDee? You at the hospital?” Winton asked in a feminine tone. “This is Joleen down the street.”
“Hey Joleen. How are you?”
“I was walking my dog and I swore I smelled smoke when I passed by your house. Like burning. You sure you didn’t leave the stove on or an iron?”
“I don’t think so. Oh, golly. My head’s a mess right now.”
“The neighborhood would appreciate not burning us all down. There a way I can do that for you or—”
“No, no!” DeeDee said. “I’ll go check it right now. Roland’s asleep anyways.”
“Bless your heart, DeeDee. Praying for you.”
Winton hung up and peered around the desk. Fifty feet away, his mother was practically skipping as she walked, bags in hand, long hair and dress flying behind her. He looked back at his brother and nodded.
“From what I gather,” Lucas said, “that’s more or less the same trick you used on those drug smugglers.”
“So what?”
Lucas pushed up his lower lip. “I’d just think Winton P. Chevalier, magician and vigilante super sleuth, would have more tricks up his sleeve.”
Winton smiled inwardly. If Lucas was already ribbing him, then maybe the best parts of him weren’t so lost.
Winton leveled a finger at him. “Lucas, I will not dignify that aspersion with a response, but know this: I will punch a fella in the stump.”
They found the door to his father’s room half open. Winton stepped inside.
“Hey Dad.” He raised his voice. “Old man, wake up.” Winton stepped up next to him and rubbed his shoulder. “Wake up, Dad.”
His father stirred and squinted at him, rearing back a bit, as he registered his son’s face. “Winton?�
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“Yeah. Got my nose busted again. Best one yet.”
“You okay? Where you been?” Roland rubbed his eyes. “Your mother’s been worried sick.”
“Dad. I did what you told me. Look.” Winton motioned for Lucas to enter. “Look who’s here to see you.”
Lucas held his left arm back, seeming hesitant at the door. Once he stepped in the room, though, he moved quickly and slid his face across his father’s chest like a child. He began to cry, facing away from Roland.
“Well, what’s this all about?” Their father patted Lucas on the back. “Surgery was yesterday. Doctors said it went perfect. I’m fine, Lucas.” His father looked at Lucas, still weeping, then at Winton. “What…” He shook his head. “Where was he?”
“He was in a bad place,” Winton said somberly. “I’ll tell you whatever you wanna know, but you may not wanna.”
“What bad place? Winton?” His father seemed painfully confused. There wasn’t an easy way to explain it all to him.
Lucas’ weeping lessened to a series of sniffs.
“All I can say, Dad, is thanks.” Winton’s gaze fell somewhere on the side of the bed as his mind’s eye wandered away, reliving their escape. “I wouldn’t have got him without you—what you said to me. I wouldn’t have gotten out myself.”
“What are you talking about?” Roland blinked, jaw hanging open.
“Before your surgery,” Winton said, refocusing on his father. “I came from Texas. We talked after Mom and Corbin left…”
His father returned a blank look.
“Dad, you remember us talking before your surgery, right?”
His father sighed. “Well, son, they had me on quite a cocktail. What did we talk about?”
“I…” Winton blinked. “You…”
His father had told him something was wrong with Lucas.
He’d told Winton to find his old rage and to risk everything to find his brother.
If either of those things had gone unsaid, the three of them would not be together at that moment. Among the most important words Winton had ever heard spoken in his life, and his father had no recollection of them.