The Bargain - One man stands between a destitute town and total destruction.

by Aaron D. Gansky

  Until the night of his wife’s death, Bernard dropped to his knees each night, his shoulders slumped, hands clasped together. He’d offer up the same prayer, that his wife would remain faithful and turn from her lovers, that his children would learn to love with Christ’s love.

  At her funeral, he’d asked the burial home to display a photo of Heather near the time of their wedding, after she’d sworn off make-up, but before the purple splotches marred her face.

  His children stood on the other side of the mahogany coffin. He hadn’t seen all five out of prison at the same time in well over three years. They refused to stand by him, protesting the fact that Bernard refused to bail them out each time they’d been arrested.

  Reverend Caleb Harper, his face marred with scars, closed his Bible and shook Bernard’s hand. “Call if you need me.”

  He walked to his car where his wife and daughter waited, and drove away. The meager crowd gathered at the graveside dispersed slowly, until only Bernard and his children remained. He wanted to stand with them, tell them that he loved them, no matter how much they hated him. But it might be dangerous, especially without witnesses. Instead, he’d wait a little longer before he drove home. Maybe now they’d be willing to talk with him. Maybe Heather’s death wouldn’t be in vain. Maybe they’d learn from it and turn from their wicked ways.

  Corwin walked toward him, hands deep in the pockets of his wrinkly black slacks, elbows locked. At seventeen, Corwin had more tattoos than any of his brothers or sisters, most of which were on his neck, shoulders, and chest. The left side of his face had been inked to look like a skull, including tattoos of teeth on his lips. In a few more weeks he’d have the right side done and he’d be more skeleton than human.

  Bernard shivered and hoped Corwin didn’t notice. He wanted desperately to see the face of his youngest without the reminder of death, but he buried his thoughts and focused on his son. “It’s good to see you.”

  “How you doing, Pops?”

  Bernard smiled, touched that Corwin cared enough to ask. “Hasn’t really hit me yet.”

  Corwin smiled. “I know what you mean.” He paused, looked over his shoulder to the other kids, and turned back. “Listen, we’ve been talking.”

  “About?”

  “Mom’s life insurance.” He stepped a little closer and lowered his voice. “We know you had a policy on her.”

  Bernard stood his ground. “This isn’t an appropriate time to discuss it.”

  “She was our mom. We deserve the money. You don’t need it anyway. You’re set for life, but we gotta struggle.”

  Bernard took a deep breath. “You don’t have to struggle. You know you’re welcome home anytime you want.”

  “Please. You’re all about rules and religion. You can’t expect us to live like that.”

  “I want what’s best for you kids.”

  “Don’t play righteous with me. You want to control us. Now give us the money, Pops.”

  Bernard took a deep breath. This wouldn’t end well. Of the five kids, Corwin had the most violent history, even though he was the youngest. He steeled his nerves and said, “Heather talked with me before she died. She didn’t want any of you to get the money. Said you’d waste it on drugs and booze.”

  “Shut up, Bernard. Mom wouldn’t say that.”

  Bernard’s patience ran out. “How would you know? You ran away when you were twelve. You’ve been locked up so long, you don’t even know who she was.”

  “I’m not going to ask you again. Give us the money.” He stood skull to face with Bernard.

  And all at once it made sense. Corwin was seventeen, a minor in the eyes of the law. Whatever they’d planned likely had a prison sentence attached.

  Corwin pulled something from his pocket. “Last chance, Bernard.”

  A switchblade. Corwin flipped it open.

  “Don’t do this, Corwin.”

  “Give us what we want.”

  “The money is locked up tight. No one gets it unless I say. If you kill me, none of you will ever see it.”

  Corwin whispered obscenities and stabbed Bernard in the stomach.

  Chapter 19

  Sunday, September 6th

  I put my pen down. “Wait. Your son stabbed you?”

  Bernard’s breathing had become more labored. “People do funny things for money. But it turned out to be a good thing. When the hospital sewed me up, they ran some simple blood tests. Found my HIV and got me on a course of treatment.”

  Each breath came slowly, deliberately. The story slowed snail-style, and I put my hand up. “Take it easy, Bernard. This is clearly too much for you. Let’s finish up later.”

  He tried to sit up, the muscles and tendons of his neck snapping to attention. His head wobbled. “There is no later.” His eyes slipped shut like a fatigued trucker fighting sleep.

  “You need a nap.” Then again, so did I. “Mason and I can come back tonight. I’ve heard enough to get a good start.”

  “I only have one day. Hailey has three.”

  I closed my notepad and set my coffee down. He knew? How much did he know? “Mason, what’s he talking about?”

  Mason stood peering through the window, the baseball bat slung over his shoulder like he was Ty Cobb. “It’s not my money that pays your checks.”

  I stood up. Of course. It all made sense now. “The life insurance money?”

  “Near the end, Heather changed. She believed in this town and wanted to see it change. You will change Hailey.”

  I shook my head, feeling suddenly manipulated. “I’m sorry, Bernard, but I can’t help you. I can’t change an entire town. I don’t even believe in God.”

  His eyes opened. His mouth twitched, as if he might sneeze. “You don’t have to. He believes in you. You’re doing the work of God. I saw your face, your wife. I knew you would come. This town is sick, but there’s still good here. You’ve been chosen to find the good, Connor. Chosen by God.”

  I ran my hands through my hair.

  Mason spoke from the window. “I know it sounds crazy, but when you’ve seen this man as much as I have, when you’ve heard him talk, you get to believing. This man has prayed people better. I once saw him fix a leak in the church’s roof simply by praying over it.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “He starts praying for this leak in the roof, right? Just him, me, and Rev. Harper there. For whatever reason, a bird stars building a nest there and uses an old shingle as the base of the nest. The rain muddies up the straw and leaves until it becomes a paste. Inside an hour the leak was fixed.”

  I rubbed the bridge of my nose. “We’re talking about the destruction of the town. It’s a little more than a leak in the roof.”

  Mason continued. “Bernard’s in touch with God. I’ve seen it. You may not believe it, but that doesn’t mean it’s less true.”

  “Connor.” Bernard whispered. “I saw your wife healed. I saw her well, walking and talking.” His voice was sandpaper. I wanted to ask how he saw this, how he knew it. I wanted to ask how he could be so sure.

  Mason closed the blinds quickly and grabbed my arm. “We gotta go.”

  “My kids?” Bernard asked.

  Mason pulled my arm like a father guides a child, with urgency and authority. I followed him through the house out the back door. The sun shone brightly, but declined toward the horizon, and I realized how long I’d been there. “Move.” He pointed with the bat to the edge of the dry river.

  I felt like I was back in Darfur, my head down rushing through the desert hoping, praying not to be seen by the Janjaweed. The urgency Mason used to usher me out the door made me queasy.

  We darted from one creosote bush to the next, kept our heads down, paused for a second or two, and moved again. I’d hoped Mason saw the car early enoug
h to get us to the river without being seen.

  The crack of a gun rang behind us.

  Mason yanked my arm, and I collapsed in the dirt.

  “Why’s he shooting at us?”

  “She. Get to the river.”

  He pointed to his right. The river lay a hundred yards away. If we could make it down there, we could follow it back up to the truck in relative safety.

  “Separate. Keep moving. Don’t run in a straight line.”

  I moved to the right, running at strange angles, doubling back, ducking and running. The gun fired again. Again. Four shots. Three sped past me, missing me by inches.

  My feet tangled. I fell face first in the dirt and rolled on instinct. I crawled to a bush, which shook as a bullet shot through.

  I jumped back, tripped, and fell backward into the dry river. Mason, about fifty yards ahead, motioned to me with a wide wave of his arm. I moved, running in a hunched posture, ducking and dropping with each crack of the gun. From far off, the sound of cursing, a door slamming.

  Mason leaned close to whisper. “She’s not gone. Seeing if we’ll come out. Let’s get back to the truck, quick and quiet.”

  I breathed for the first time since I heard the shots screaming through the air. My heart pounded my chest hard enough to leave a bruise. We hurried to the truck, our heads inches from our knees as we ran hunched over like Quasimodo.

  “What was that all about?”

  “The shooting? Because we were trespassing. Because we were talking to Bernard. Because she hates me. Because we were there.”

  “Who was shooting?”

  “One of his daughters. There was glare on the windshield. Couldn’t tell which.”

  I panted. “Look. I’m done. I’m not risking my life for this town.”

  Mason nodded, his right arm wrapped around his abdomen like he was out of breath. He used the bat in his left hand like a crutch, an aluminum walking stick. We trudged on.

  “I’m serious.”

  “I know.”

  “Aren’t you going to talk me out of it?”

  He shook his head. His breath came in heavy gasps. Sweat coated his forehead and his skin paled. The sun set behind us, and soft sand filled our shoes.

  “Maybe you’re right. This town isn’t worth saving.”

  Mason let his arm hang limp, and something wet and dark ran down his left side. Blood stained his hand, and he stumbled into the dirt.

  I cursed. The truck couldn’t be much further, and now I’d have to carry or drag him the rest of the way. I knelt over him to inspect his wound.

  “It’s nothing.” His chest heaved, and his eyes searched the sky.

  “You’re bleeding pretty bad.”

  “We’re not worth saving.” He struggled for breath. “Keys are in my pocket. Get to Aida’s. Pack up the girls and get out.”

  “We need to get you to the hospital.”

  Footsteps scuttled along the top of the bank. A gun cocked. A woman with a long nose held a rifle snug against the crook of her shoulder. “Hello, Mason.”

  I didn’t think. I grabbed the bat. The woman pulled the trigger a split second before the bat came up and clanked the rifle out of her grasp. She turned to get the gun, but I chased her down, instinct guiding my feet, my hands. I forgot my exhaustion, the articles, everything except getting the gun away from her.

  She dove for the weapon, picked it up with surprising grace and ease and turned it on me, but I swung again. Smoke exploded from the barrel of the weapon as it rocketed out of her hand and deep across the riverbed. She cursed and stood up. I had the bat raised, poised to swing for the fences.

  She couldn’t be much more than twenty five. Dirt and dust covered her face. She bared her crooked teeth at me like a baboon and hissed. She lunged toward me.

  I stepped to the side, brought the bat down across her arms. They snapped, and she fell forward, arms bent at impossible angles. My stomach soured. I brought the bat rushing down toward her head, but stopped myself and threw the bat down. I wouldn’t repeat Greg’s mistakes. I’d already snapped her arms. Bone stuck out of each forearm. She rolled around in the dirt like a dog scratching its back.

  My fear left, my breath returned, and pity settled over me. While she screamed, rolled and cursed, I took my phone and dialed 911.

  Chapter 20

  Sunday, September 6th

  I’d been in enough war-torn countries, enough cities ravaged by nature, to learn simple first aid. Gloria and Mason’s wounds put my training to the test. I had to get them to the hospital, but couldn’t move them. I took a few minutes to bandage the wounds, using the sleeves of my shirt to bind Gloria’s arms and Mason’s side. Then, I raced to the truck and drove it back to get them. Mason’s truck only had two seats, so I had to put Gloria in the back. It’d be a bumpy ride for her, but that couldn’t be helped.

  Shortly after I pulled onto 29, Gloria woke up. She rocked back and forth, arms between her legs, back hunched up like a stuffed doll.

  Mason smiled. “Just like old times. Except now you’re driving instead of me, and I’m bleeding instead of Shannon.”

  I nodded.

  “Am I worth it, Connor?”

  I drove faster.

  “What about her?” He nodded to the bed of the truck. Gloria shrieked like a B-movie actress.

  The sun set up ahead and ignited the sky in crimson and orange. The light spilled in through the filthy windshield. I squinted. I hadn’t let up on the gas since we got in. The engine groaned. I doubted his truck often saw speeds above 60. I pushed it up to 80.

  Mason laughed. “Nah. We’re not worth it. No one in this town is. You could roll this car and no one would blink.”

  “What about Aida? Nadine?”

  He grimaced. “Yeah. They’re something, aren’t they?”

  “If we die, they die. And that’s not going to happen.” The reversal in roles surprised me. For the most part, I agreed with Mason, but found myself arguing the side he’d championed since I arrived in Hailey. Somehow, the bullet convinced him I’d been right all along.

  Gloria turned to face the rear of the truck. Her long, wispy hair spilled around her like a silver waterfall. She slid down and started slamming the back of her head into the rear window. Mason jumped, startled, laughed, and held his side. “Crazy.”

  “And you’re the picture of sanity?”

  He smiled and slumped in his seat. He put his head on the window and closed his eyes. “See your point. Guess you were right all along. This whole thing is crazy. Bernard, he’s crazy, too.”

  His dramatic change in perspective might be a symptom of shock. But as long as he could speak and make some sense, it meant enough blood was getting to his brain. I had to keep him talking, had to keep him thinking.

  “Keeping pressure on that?”

  “This old thing?” He laughed.

  Keep him talking.

  “What did Bernard tell you? Everything.”

  He laughed again, and Gloria slammed her head into the window. We both jumped, and Mason giggled again.

  “Serious, Mason. Tell me.”

  He took a shallow breath. “What’s it matter?” He paused. “Know what he told me? A tornado. In the desert. That’s what he said.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “A tornado. Can you imagine?” He coughed and wiped at his mouth. I saw him bring his hand back streaked with blood. Not good. “Can’t believe I believed him.”

  “Tell me about the tornado. When did it happen?”

  “Never, man.” A breath. “Said God was going to send a tornado and wipe out the town. All of it, all of Hailey, gone in an hour he said.”

  “When did he say it would happen?”

  “Nine days. He said nine days.”

 
“How long ago was that?”

  “The day before you showed up, Einstein. That’s why I said you had eight days.”

  And then it made sense. “Did he really mention I’d be coming?”

  “Doesn’t mean anything. Maybe he knew about Nadine being sick. Maybe he guessed.”

  Another crash on the back window, then another. I wondered how Gloria hadn’t managed to knock herself out yet. Maybe that’s what she was trying to do. Might be better if she did. She didn’t bleed as much as Mason, but I’m sure the pain drove her out of her mind. Being knocked out might keep her out of shock.

  Sirens and flashing lights split the early dusk. My heart nearly popped.

  “Relax. You called them, remember?”

  The fact didn’t comfort me. I’d broken half a dozen laws already and had no interest in going to jail. The patrol car pulled alongside the truck. With a stern face and a rigid finger, the cop pointed to the sand shoulder.

  I pointed to Mason and mouthed, ‘Hospital.’”

  The cop pointed again, and I shook my head in disbelief. “He want you to die or what?”

  “Does it matter?”

  The cop followed me to the shoulder, jumped out of his still running patrol car, and sprinted to the back of the truck. Gloria’s screams escalated an octave. Without hesitating, the cop punched Gloria square on the jaw. The screams ceased. He tossed her thin frame over his shoulder and knocked on my window. I rolled it down.

  “Had to be done. She’ll be safer unconscious in the back of my car. Try to keep up.”

  “Of course, Officer.”

  “How fast can that thing go?”

  “With or without the plutonium?” Mason laughed.

  “How long has he been like that?”

  “Ten minutes?”

  “Let’s roll.” He tossed Gloria in the back seat, buckled her, and sped off in the cruiser. I did my best to keep up with him, but Mason’s truck topped out around 90.

  “A tornado, man. Three days and we’re all F5 food.” He grinned like a punch-drunk boxer.

  “Three days.” I pulled out my phone and dialed Aida.

  She answered on four rings. “What’s up, Connor?”