Randy was too busy looking out the back window to notice, but Devin smiled, just for a second, in a way I didn't like at all.
#########
The old office we were waiting in sat on a ridge roughly in the center of the gravel quarry. Long windows in every wall let in light and gave a good view of almost everything from the front gate to a steep drop over a cliff's edge above the river and train tracks. We'd been waiting for hours, and I was drenched in sweat.
“You think they’re going to show up?” I asked.
"Yeah. They’re pissed-off white trash. Deep thought is not their specialty.”
“I don’t know if they really care that much about you killing Randy.”
“Randy?” Joseph said. “Who thinks we killed Randy?”
“His truck was there, and you left his watch on the guard’s body.”
Joseph laughed. “There was no body, and I gave that watch to Taye's nephew. We just told Randy that to keep him calm. Last I saw that so-called guard, he was running across the field behind the hangar like his ass was on fire.”
“Where is Randy?”
“Devin is keeping him company in your cave. Every good trap needs bait, kid.”
“You lied to me.”
“Sam, I didn’t lie to you. I lied to Randy. Big difference.”
"If you say so," I said.
Joseph sighed and looked out toward the river and the cliff beyond.
“The day Talia died, the guys who killed her stopped into Jan’s to buy beer. She said she noticed some blood on one of them. Another truck pulled into the parking lot with them, a red Chevy with a bulldog hood ornament. Driver didn’t get out. He just talked to them for a second and then floored it out of there. Jan didn’t get his tag number, but she got theirs. Devin and Taye found them a couple weeks later. Never did find that red truck, though.”
"So that's why you—"
"Yeah. Been looking for that hood ornament ever since. Finally found it the night I killed their dog."
"You think he helped kill her."
"Didn't just kill her. They stomped her. Eight months pregnant. They stabbed her in the stomach five times and shot her in the head. She didn't die right off, so they left her there to bleed."
His eyes were full of tears, so I looked out the window at the old rock crusher below us, fighting the urge to be sick.
An hour later, Richard’s red Chevy rumbled slowly through the gate, followed by a black Suburban.
“Looks like they brought friends,” I said.
“It’s all right, Sam. We’ve got a few friends too,” Joseph said.
Fifty yards from the gate, Richard’s Chevy and the Suburban stopped in the shade of a massive sycamore looming over the old weigh-station building. Richard stepped out of his truck and looked around. The deep roar of engines starting up echoed through the piles of gravel and rocky cliffs. A faded-yellow dump truck with tires taller than me rolled out from behind a small mountain of gravel and blocked the gate. A black-haired figure climbed down from the cab and disappeared into the trees.
Joseph pushed a button on the desk, and an air horn sounded somewhere down near the river. I looked that way and saw Taye on a four-wheeler sitting in the middle of the main road in a narrow slot between two piles of boulders and gravel. He raised a rifle, and the windshield of the Suburban shattered. A second later, the crack of the shot reached us. Richard ran back to his Chevy, jumped in, and started toward Taye with the Suburban close behind. Taye gunned the four-wheeler out of sight, heading down the cliff road toward the river, throwing gravel and dust in his wake.
“Come on," Joseph said. "Time to get to work.” He grabbed the short-barreled shotgun I’d bought at Jerry’s, tossed me the Mini-14 with the banana clip, and ran out the back.
Instead of heading toward the river, we climbed up to an old conveyer belt behind the office. Joseph hit a switch on a panel, and it came to life, squalling like a thousand demons on Sunday. He jumped onto the belt, and I tried to do the same. I fell and almost rolled off the far side before he caught my leg and dragged me back from the edge.
“Easy, Sam. You don’t want to miss the fun part!” he yelled. He turned and ran up the belt as it rattled up the hill like some crazy escalator.
I followed the best I could but lost my balance after the first five steps and fell to my knees. The belt was so steep the thought of dropping over the side onto the rocks and machinery below had me shaking. I just knelt and rode the conveyor the rest of the way to the top.
Joseph was waiting on a platform to the side of the rollers, waving me over impatiently. “You better jump, kid, if you don’t want to see what the inside of the crusher looks like!”
I lurched to my feet and threw myself toward him. Somehow, I landed upright and stumbled along in his wake. He ran to the edge of the cliff at the water’s edge and followed a narrow path to an iron tower where a rusty cable stretched across the river. Hanging from the near end was a weird contraption of old angle iron, steel wheels, and sheet metal. Joseph jumped into it and started pounding at a badly corroded lever. With a squeal, the ancient service car rolled slowly down the cable. Fairly sure we were going to die but too scared to stop, I jumped in beside him. We rolled over the edge of the drop, gaining speed in a cloud of dirt and rust.
Shots rang out somewhere behind us, and a bullet pinged off the wheel over my head. I peeked over the side in time to see Richard taking careful aim at us with an assault rifle propped over the hood of his Chevy. Just then, the biggest bulldozer I’d ever seen appeared atop the cliff above him and pushed a couple of tons of gravel over the edge.
The Suburban, pulling up behind Richard’s truck, was almost completely buried in seconds. Only the back end was still visible, and the windows blew out under the weight of stone hitting the roof. Three guys crawled out of the hole.
Jesse leapt from behind the red Chevy and sprinted to a pile of old crossties and poison sumac at the edge of the railroad tracks. Richard crawled out from behind it and fired a whole mag of ammo at us. I ducked as low as I could, but none of the bullets came close anyway as we picked up more speed. The river was boiling a dull red over the rapids a hundred feet below us.
Fifty yards and five seconds later, we crashed into the trees on the far side, long untrimmed branches and small trees snapping out of our path. Joseph pulled the brake lever, and we ground to a violent stop just short of the cliff. The platform on that side had long since rusted away. The cable hung from a massive eye screw set straight into the granite wall. Joseph dropped the last eight feet to the ground and yelled for me to hurry up. I was gripping the cable car so tightly my fingers didn’t respond at first, and I had to jerk them loose. Surprised by the rifle still hanging by its strap around my neck, I tossed it down to him and jumped. I tried to do Dad’s hit, shift, and rotate trick when I landed, but I hit and shifted right into a tree. I wound up twisted in the briars, my bruised ribs screaming at me.
Bullets whipped through the brush to our left, and Joseph pushed me down, all laughter gone from his eyes. I curled up on my side, in too much pain to breathe, much less talk. Half the tape had come loose from my nose splint, which hung down in front of my left cheek. I ripped it off and immediately wished I hadn’t. That old saying about ripping a bandage off being less painful than pulling it slowly was horse crap.
The firing from the far bank stopped abruptly and was replaced by shouts and curses. We crawled to the edge of the trees for a better view.
Richard and Jesse stood on the railroad tracks, looking at the river. Another longhair had crawled out of the shattered Suburban and joined the three standing uncertainly behind the Stanglers. Two held assault rifles. The other two held black shotguns similar to the one I’d bought at Jerry’s.
The dozer continued pushing load after load of gravel and rock over the edge onto the trucks below. First the Suburban disappeared, quickly followed by Richard’s shiny Chevy. When the last of the chrome and candy-apple paint was gone, two shots rang ou
t from somewhere on the cliff above us. The big yellow dozer rolled back out of view. The sudden silence when its motor cut off was startling. The only sound in the canyon was the deep rumble of river on rock.
The rains to the north, at the headwaters of the Washita, had been heavier than usual all summer. The massive boulders in the riverbed were hidden under deceptively smooth waves and dirty foam.
Walking far upstream and crossing safely without being swept into the rapids was still possible for a strong swimmer. Will and I had been that stupid more than once when the water was high. Crossing below the rapids was doable too, but you would have to make it across before the banks turned into sheer cliffs as the current swept around the bend. The mass of trees and brush piled up against the trestle bridge half a mile downstream would shred a body like a wood chipper. Trying to cross from rock to rock in the rapids would’ve been sure death with the water so high. I hoped they would try. Apparently, Joseph did too.
“Jump on in, boys,” he yelled. “The water’s fine!”
Richard responded with a string of obscenities and what remained of the magazine in the AK-47 he was holding. None of the bullets came close, but we hugged the ground just the same.
When the magazine ran dry, I stood up and yelled back at them, “I’m going to make sure every last one of you dies choking on your own blood!” It might have sounded tougher if my voice hadn’t cracked halfway through. I even started toward them before Joseph pulled me back down behind an old log. Bullets again raked the trees above us.
“Nice speech, Sam, but save all that stupid for later." A strange kind of pride shone in his smile below eyes gone dark and fierce. He rose into a crouch, pulled me up with him, and pushed me toward the old trails up to my cave. Before following, he yelled over his shoulder, “There’s a bridge a mile or so down the tracks if you ladies are too scared to swim." I expected more bullets, but none came.
Halfway up the cliff, we stopped and watched through a break in the trees as two of the men tried to wade out into the river after us. They chose a good spot to enter, holding their guns over their heads. The first one made it almost twenty yards before he lost his footing and disappeared under a red wave. He popped up gasping and tried to yell for help, but then he came to a sudden stop against a hidden boulder and went limp. Whether he’d broken his back or just knocked himself out, the result was the same. He slipped under the water and disappeared for good. The guy behind him waited all of two seconds before turning back.
When he finally reached the bank and collapsed, puking up water, Jesse dragged him up the ridge of loose gravel to the tracks. Richard stared across the water, smiled from ear to ear, and pulled a large knife from his belt. He made a little stabbing motion with it, blade flashing in the sun. I raised my rifle and fired off three rounds as quick as I could pull the trigger. I missed him by at least twenty feet, but seeing him jump was worth it, and that smile was wiped off his face.
Richard slammed the knife back into its sheath and turned down the tracks after his brother and their friends. Once they disappeared behind a stand of oak and elm, I trudged up the hill to Moron’s Rest. I realized I was alone and glanced back just before I got there, but Joseph had disappeared.
Randy lay on his stomach in the dirt and filth of the cave floor. His hands were tied behind him, and his legs were bent upward at the knees with his ankles connected to his hands by another short piece of rope. A rolled bandana had been forced between his jaws and tied at the back of his head. A small goose egg was bulging above his left eye.
“What happened to you?” I wondered out loud.
“He wouldn’t shut up and kept trying to run,” Devin said from behind me.
I jumped and hit my head on the roof of the cave. Some things never change.
Leaning my rifle against the wall, I crouched over Randy and sawed at the ropes around his ankles with the antler-handled knife Joseph had given me that morning.
“Leave his hands and the gag,” Devin said. “Take his shoes. You white folks don’t run so good barefoot.”
“Cut the Indian crap,” I said. “You talk whiter than I do.”
Devin smiled and shrugged. “Have it your way, white boy, but the hands and gag stay tied.”
“I’m sorry, Randy. Just do what they say. You’ll go free when this is over. You got my word on that.”
Hatred flashed in his eyes as he mumbled something through the gag. I helped him to his knees, and he lunged toward me, slamming his forehead into my already broken nose. I fell backward, tears streaming. Devin slammed the butt of his rifle into the goose egg over Randy’s eye, and he collapsed, unconscious.
“Told you,” Devin said. “By the way, your nose is crooked.” Before I could react, he reached out and gave it a quick yank down and to the right. “There, that’s better.”
The pain was unbelievable.
“Motherf—” I started to say before he raised his rifle butt warningly.
“Watch your mouth, na hollo. You’re Joseph’s friend, not mine, and my mother has been dead a long time."
An owl hoot questioned faintly outside.
"That’s the signal," Devin said. "Better get going. I’ll keep your friend company.” He motioned me out the top entrance of the cave. The hoot came again from the next hill over. I walked that way, crossing over the ridge of rock separating me from the next ridge then climbed the rest of the way up. Taye was waiting by the grave, flicking pieces of grass and twigs off the mound.
“Where’s Joseph?” I asked.
Taye looked up at me and smiled. “Your nose is bleeding. A little crooked too. Looks better, though. Manly.” When I didn’t respond, he said, “Joseph is waiting for them at the bridge. I’ll show you.” He rose and walked barefoot into the trees, crossing the sharp rocks as casually as if the hill was carpeted.
“How do you do that?” I asked.
He glanced back and raised an eyebrow in question.
I looked pointedly at his feet.
“It’s easy. Stop wearing shoes.”
“Seriously, man. Is it, like, an Indian thing, trying to be closer to the Earth or something?”
“Nah,” he said. “Shoes make my feet sweat. My woman kept complaining they were stinking up her house when I left them by the door. So I stopped wearing shoes. No more sweaty feet. No more stinking shoes. Everybody’s happy.”
I wasn’t sure if that was a joke or an answer. Before I could decide how to respond, he walked away into the trees. I nearly had to jog to keep up with his long strides. I’d only been around the brothers a few times in the past week and studied him as we moved.
He walked quickly but gracefully, his hair floating behind him like a raven's wing. He had a Glock pistol stuck down the back of his pants and carried a large knife in a leather scabbard on his hip, but the overall impression he gave was of a man who needed neither.
After ten minutes of hard walking, we came to the edge of the last cliff before the trestle bridge. Joseph was crouched there in camouflage pants and T-shirt. He was watching the far side of the bridge through a small set of binoculars. He motioned us down, waving one hand behind him. Taye crouched in the scrub brush beside him, so I did too. He hissed suddenly and quietly in two small bursts. I followed his gaze across the river. Richard, Jesse, and their four remaining thugs were walking down the tracks on the far side.
On our side of the river, the old cable car was only half a mile from the bridge. The steel tracks on the other side took a long loop around a hill and back to the river before reaching the bridge, covering at least three times that distance.
The bridge was designed for trains, not people, with no safe, solid walkway for anyone to cross over. On foot, one had to step from each crosstie to the next over wide gaps. The riverbank below dropped away in a steep incline. After the first few steps, someone would be looking through those gaps at a hundred-foot fall to the river raging around concrete pilings and jagged logs. Crossing there always made me a little queasy.
The group stopped at the edge of the bridge and appeared to argue. Jesse knelt, laying his hand on the steel rails, feeling for a vibration that would warn him of any oncoming trains. I always did the same. The bridge was at least seventy yards of nowhere to go if a train came.
Jesse stood and started across the trestle, stepping casually from one tie to the next. Two of the thugs turned away from the bridge, but Richard fired a shot into the gravel beside them. They wasted no time getting back to the bridge and starting across. Richard followed several steps behind.
When they were halfway across, I figured they were in easy range of my rifle. I raised it to my shoulder, but Joseph stopped me.
“Not yet,” he whispered.
As the group of men neared the end of the bridge, Joseph moved to a pile of boulders at the edge of the cliff overhanging the first ten feet or so of safe track on the near side of the river. A nice patch of shade lay below them, where the cliff blocked the sun, and Jesse paused for a breather in the shadow. As each of the thugs caught up, they stopped too, grinning in relief. Just before Richard stepped off the trestle into the shade of the cliff below us, Joseph pushed the pile of head-sized stones.
They were caught completely by surprise. One guy, with a ridiculously long blond ponytail, was only clipped in the back of the head by the first of the small boulders, but that was enough. He dropped as though all his bones had turned to mud, the blond hair quickly turning red. A slightly larger boulder caught Jesse in the left shoulder as he lunged away from the river, trying to avoid the mini avalanche raining down. When he started screaming, I guessed something was broken. That sound was deeply satisfying in a way I thought Will must really be enjoying up in heaven.
The three remaining thugs and Richard were hit only by gravel and smaller stones that annoyed them more than anything else. Their expressions were priceless, though. Richard looked up just as I jerked my head back from the edge. Again, he loosed a whole mag of ammo at us in vain. Rock chips and ricochets flew from the cliff face as a couple of his pals joined him. A fair amount of roaring and cussing echoed up the rocks when the firing stopped. Joseph was laughing quietly, and even Taye wore a faint smile.
A Portion for Foxes Page 16