Stinking Rich

by Rob Brunet

  “I get the destruction bit,” Danny said after a moment’s silence. “Where’s the birth?”

  Skeritt spat. His spittle sizzled on a flat stone. When the last of it had evaporated into nothingness, he said, “Freedom.”

  “Based on the last couple of days,” said Danny, “I’d say freedom ain’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

  “That’s because you’re not really free,” said Skeritt. “How much longer were you supposed to have inside?”

  “Ninety-four days.”

  “Three months left and you decide to run.”

  “I had my reasons.”

  “Yeah, I’ll bet you do. Seven hundred fifty thousand reasons.”

  Danny lifted his head and held Skeritt’s gaze from across the fire. “How’d you know about that?”

  Skeritt stared back, unblinking, and picked at something in his teeth with a short stick he plucked from the ground.

  “I been your banker, Danny,” he said finally. “Took a little interest here and there. Big Fucker and I had a couple parties. I peeled off an extra twenty thou to make sure your mom was set up on a beach down south, but most of it’s still here.”

  “My mom? She’s south?”

  “Like you always wanted. Waiting for you. Nearly died laughing when I told her where you hid your pile of money.”

  “It was supposed to be temporary. Not like I had time to make a plan or nothing. But, SHIT, Skeritt. You had my money and didn’t tell me about it?”

  “I guess I was waiting ’til I saw you. No sense you knowing something you could do nothing about, far as I could tell. Then, with Ernie dead, well, things all happened kind of fast, didn’t they?”

  Danny frowned. “So you find it taking a dump?”

  Skeritt grinned. “Sort of.”

  Bif, finished with the cedar, said, “I’ve heard this before. Anyone for a cold one?” Without waiting for an answer, he turned and walked back down the path toward the water.

  Judy shivered and leaned a little closer to Danny. He had his arm around her, protectively. Exhausted, she hadn’t touched her plate of rabbit stew. Skeritt stood and pulled a heavy wool blanket from a lean-to on the edge of the clearing. He draped the blanket over her shoulders and sat back down on his log. Judy put the stew on the ground beside her and pulled the blanket tight. Wort seemed to like the barbeque sauce just fine.

  “Must have been, oh, about two years ago,” Skeritt said. “Dropped in on Ernie for the first time in months. Figured I’d use the outhouse on my way in, except the darned thing wasn’t there anymore. It was dark out, no moon. I walked back and forth a couple of times, thinking I was maybe disoriented, but the thing just wasn’t there. I gave up and headed to the cabin to ask Ernie what was up with the shitter. On my way there, I tripped on an exposed root. Fell flat on my face. Nearly busted my nose.

  “So, anyway, Ernie tells me the shitter was full up and he pointed to where he had dug a new one. Said he got one of them helpers from the Social Assistance to help him drag the outhouse over after he dug the hole.

  “Next day, I decided I better go chop out that root before Ernie tripped on it himself. Turns out it wasn’t a root at all, but some kind of leather handle.” Skeritt smiled and spat in the fire again. “And that handle was attached to one stinkin’ pile of cash.”

  “Son of a bitch,” said Danny. “So my money was safe all along.”

  “Yep.”

  “Where is it?”

  “It’s in the lean-to—”

  Danny leapt to his feet and strode across the clearing. Skeritt watched him and shook his lion-sized head as if Danny were a small child misbehaving.

  “Sit down, boy. Relax,” he said. “It’s not going anywhere.”

  Danny ignored him and rummaged among the sleeping bags in the earthy shelter. The money was in a newish red duffel bag and it looked like Skeritt had been using it as a pillow. He brought the bag out and laid it on the ground in front of his log. The others watched him in silence as he unzipped the bag to reveal a jumbled mess of bills, some still in neat stacks, more loose, mixed with a few candy bar wrappers.

  “Guess I’m not the tidiest guy,” Skeritt said.

  Danny ran his fingers through the treasure, grabbing at it, squeezing it, feeling his breath come short and fast. He looked at Judy who stared back at him, eyes wide and unblinking. She looked more scared than happy.

  “Ninety-fucking-four days,” Skeritt spat. “You were so close to the end, Danny.”

  “C’mon, Skeritt. I heard about the fire and I figured someone was going to find it. I dunno, excavate the place, put in a septic system, anything. Or maybe somehow Ernie had found it already and now someone had killed him for it. Skeritt, my brain is hurting.”

  “Not surprised. Here,” he said, reaching into an inside pocket and fishing out a leather pouch. “Roll us up a number, would you?”

  For a moment, Danny was torn between fondling the stack of bills and rolling a celebratory spliff. But only for a moment. As he pulled twigs, crushed, and crumpled the pot in the palm of his hand, he asked, “What do you figure happened to Ernie? Was he lonely? Did he kill himself?”

  Skeritt growled, “Don’t you ever think that. Ernie would never have hurt a soul, never mind himself. More than once, I know for a fact he took shots at people, folks messing with him, trying to take advantage. But he made damn sure he fired in the wrong direction.” Skeritt guffawed. “Imagine a blind man firing a shot gun in your general direction but missing by just a bit. Scare the bejeezus out of most people.”

  “I heard his gun go off late one night,” Judy said, stirring at Ernie’s mention. “He told me he thought it was a bear in his compost...that he fired into the sky.”

  “Sounds about right, and maybe it was a bear. I do know that Ernie would never have let you worry your pretty little head about the assholes who were on him.”

  Danny took a haul on the joint and passed it to Judy who shook her head. He got up and walked it over to Skeritt. He asked, “Who was hassling Ernie?”

  “The Libidos, mostly, right after you got busted,” said Skeritt. “Then the cops. Tore his place apart looking for ‘evidence’ they said...”

  “And that stupid lawyer lady,” piped in Judy. “She was on him non-stop to sell his place.”

  “Yeah, something like that,” Skeritt breathed deep and puffed out a thick cloud of smoke. “She came looking for a cut of the money after I bought him the damn TV set out of your...ahhh...winnings. Seems she heard about it from Eyes and Ears Entertainment—biggest freaking screen they ever sold, so they couldn’t shut up about it, I guess. It’s my damn fault. I just figured since all Ernie could see was big bright things that moved, he might as well be able to enjoy a roomful of them.”

  “I always wondered how he could afford that huge thing,” Judy said. “‘Rich uncle’ was all he’d say. He was private about a lot of things.”

  “More private than you can imagine,” said Skeritt, gesturing to Danny to come get the joint again.

  “Sometimes, we’d watch a movie together,” Judy said. “I’d massage his shoulders. He liked that. First couple of times, I was afraid he’d think I was making a pass at him, but he never made a move. Nothing like that.”

  “That was Ernie, alright. A real gentleman.”

  Danny paced back and forth around the fire. “So what happened to him? Something’s not adding up. You had the money, not him. Next thing you know he’s burned in a fire. And you’re sitting here waiting for me on this fucking island. What the hell is going on?”

  Skeritt looked at Judy and grinned: “He’s always been a little quick to the heat, this one.” She gave a little smile back and tugged the blanket tighter around herself. To Danny, Skeritt said, “Sit down, would you? You’re making me dizzy.”

  Danny handed him the joint and sat back down on his log.

  “A couple of weeks ago,” Skeritt said, “I dropped in to place an order for more peanut butter and kerosene. Ernie told me Linette Paqui
n had been putting on the pressure. Coming around more often. Just like a lawyer to feel they’ve got a right to a cut of anything goes by. He knew you were due out of the pen and he figured she was getting nervous that if she didn’t find the money before you got out, you’d come get it and be gone.”

  “Were the Libidos onto him, too?”

  “Oh, they’d drop in once in a blue moon. Or one of them would come up to him in the grocery store in town and make nice in the frozen food aisle. But they’d searched the place years ago, like I said. I’m sure they’ve got other ways of applying pressure—maybe a little more directly on you.”

  “They were on me like glue,” Danny said. “Literally couldn’t piss without one of them being up my ass. Sorry, Judy.”

  She shook her head.

  “Anyhow, I told Ernie to be real careful,” Skeritt said. “He laughed it off and pointed at this sucker...” He tossed the roach into the fire and reached behind himself, pulling a shotgun from the shadows. “Recognize this?”

  “It’s a shotgun,” Danny said. “So what?”

  “It’s Ernie’s gun, is what.”

  “Okay. So?”

  “It’s what killed him.”

  “Wait a sec, how’d you get Ernie’s gun?” Judy asked, raising her voice and stiffening against Danny.

  “Took from him right before I set his place on fire.”

  “YOU?” Judy jumped up, the blanket crumpling to the ground behind her. She lunged as if to round the fire and attack Skeritt. Before she could reach him, Bif reappeared; he stepped into the circle of firelight and snatched her, one-armed. He was carrying a six-pack of beer, dripping wet. Wort snapped at his heels then stopped abruptly and sat still when the Indian said something to him in a language Danny couldn’t understand.

  “Hate to break up your little party, but we’ve got company,” Bif said. “Fishing boat. Seems they spotted our fire and are headed this way.”

  Judy struggled in his grip, spewing at Skeritt. “You killed Ernie McCann!”

  “Calm down, little lady. It wasn’t like that,” Skeritt said, softening his voice. Then, to Bif, “Friendly?”

  “Somehow I doubt it. Nobody knew we’d be out here, and the boat’s not coming from the Reserve. Damn strange for there to be anyone on the water after dark this time of year. Never mind that they shut off their lights and throttled the engine back to near silent when they were half a mile away.” He let Judy go and she stumbled back into Danny’s open arms.

  “So, what do we do now?” Skeritt asked.

  “Might as well meet them at the shore. Try to stop them from getting on the island. They won’t be able to see us in the shadows on land. But we’ll be able see them pretty well on the water.”

  “Good point,” said Skeritt.

  “Besides, we have the advantage of knowing where they’ll be headed.”

  “How’s that?” Danny asked, tightening his arms around Judy who was trembling against him.

  “Assuming its them Libidos jerks, they’ll know the island, what with all the trade we do with them. They’ll head straight for the cove. Every other approach is too full of rocks.”

  “Shouldn’t we get out of here?” Judy asked.

  “Not until we drive them off. Scare ’em a bit. Otherwise, they’d just come after us on the water.”

  “And exactly how do you propose we scare a bunch of mean-as-shit bikers?” Danny asked.

  Skeritt rolled the shotgun in the palms of his hands and grinned. Then he jerked his head toward Bif who somehow made a rifle materialize over his shoulder.

  “You’re going to shoot them,” said Judy.

  “More like shoot near ’em,” Bif answered. “I only shoot at things I intend to eat. But if Skeritt and me each take shots over the boat from opposite corners of the cove as they make their way in, it’ll seem like there’s more of us. They’ll back off. Give us time to figure out how to get you out of here.” He arched his eyebrows and looked straight at Judy. “My people have used this island for a long time. We haven’t always outnumbered our enemies, but we’ve almost always outsmarted them.”

  Judy broke his gaze and her eyes scanned Danny’s from six inches away. Her body seemed to weaken in his arms, the fight draining out of her. Danny looked from Skeritt to Bif and back again. He said, “Do as they say, Judy. If Skeritt trusts Bif, then so do I.”

  “Now you’re talking sense, Danny,” Skeritt said. “And you tell your friend here, I did not kill Ernie. Found him dead on the floor. I may have torched his cabin with him in it. But I did not kill him. Someone else did.”

  “Why? Why did you burn his place down and him in it? What kind of sick man are you?” Judy sobbed into Danny’s chest.

  “It’s what he would have wanted,” said the old man. “Purifying. Birth and destruction and all that shit.”

  When George Meade’s cabin cruiser arrived at the locks at Bobcaygeon, Mongoose was there to meet it. With him, he brought a ski-sized duffle bag crammed with enough guns and ammunition to take down a herd of bison. From all appearances, Mongoose was very much alive. Perko nearly shit his pants.

  “You is distinctly pissing me off, right about now,” growled the burly biker. “First, you takes off on your own and then when I get back to the cabin they’s this huge motherfucking crater where the shitter used to be. No Perko, no money, no nothing.”

  “How did...where did...” Fighting to control a sudden onset of the shakes, Perko stared out the boat’s windscreen. Hawk shot him a dark glance and nosed the Sea Ray into the channel before the lock gate had quite finished its deathly slow swing open. Terry was still tied to the foredeck. Perko visualized tying Jonah and Mongoose and Danny Grant up there alongside him and then sinking the whole fucking mess to the bottom of the lake.

  Mongoose said, “All’s I know is I’m getting pretty much tired of this here stupid wild goose chase. I like my hogs on dry land.”

  “Shut up, Mongoose,” Hawk told him. “Perko says the kid’s got the money. We run him down and we’re done here. He gets away and we’re nowhere.”

  “Yeah, well, alls I know is how come he let the jerk-off get away again? After we’re done with the punk, I says we kill Perks under pain of aggravation.”

  Perko’s brow furrowed until his eyes were dark slits. He turned his back on the ape. If Hawk had called Mongoose without telling him, his hours were numbered. It was his own damn fault for trusting a bomb-happy backwoods dumbfuck like Jonah.

  George Meade’s floating home was littered with the trappings of biker glory. Bottles of brandy, tequila, and Southern Comfort taken from The Boathouse were tucked into cup holders; a couple of empties rolled around on the floor. Mongoose dug right in. No sooner had Hawk navigated the boat from the lock than the bigger biker staggered out of the cabin and leaned over the starboard railing. He spray-puked a brown stream of improvised Irish coffee to the wind, shouting how he was going to make Perko pay for dragging him out on the water.

  Inside the cabin, Hawk killed all the boat’s lights and spoke to Perko in an abnormally soft voice. “Tell me again why the hell you let the little shit get away from you.”

  Perko fumed. “Like I said, the cops showed up. I couldn’t very well let them arrest him and haul his ass back to the joint, could I? I mean, he’d never get out and then what’d we do about finding my...ahhh...our money. I figured if I distracted the cops, sort of, for a couple minutes—”

  “And then we’d follow him.”

  “Get the money. Yeah, that was my plan.”

  “Did your plan involve swimming?”

  “Hey, how was I to know he’d go out on the lake?”

  Hawk scratched his cheek against his shoulder and stared at Perko. “And if he’d run into the bush, what would you have done? Tracked him, maybe? Like a moose or something?” He paused, his eyes cold, unblinking. “After you were done entertaining the cops, I mean?”

  Perko held the glare as long as he dared and then looked down and spat on the indoor-outdoor carpet
ing. When he looked back up, Hawk was still staring him down.

  “So how’d you get all covered in shit?” Hawk asked.

  Perko scowled. He’d done his best to rub off the composted crap with some bull rushes and more had scraped off when he skid out on his bike, but there was still crud stuck in his hair and in the fringes on his chaps. “He, uh, he threw some at me. That’s why I throttled the fucker.”

  “Uh huh,” Hawk looked back out the windscreen. “And then you saw him grab the money.”

  “I saw him grab a bag, yeah. What else would it be? It’s not like he’d be carrying fucking luggage on the run.”

  After a long pause, the elder biker said, “See, Perko, I think you’re shitting us. And I think I’ve given you about as much rope as anyone is due.” He nodded at Mongoose bent double outside the window. “That man has been fixin’ to kill you for the better part of four years and he’s got half the clubhouse convinced he’s right.”

  Perko winced. “Okay, so he got away from me again. Fucker had help. Someone came up behind me and knocked me down. Must’ve hit me with a log or something. Would’ve knocked just about anyone out cold. By the time I got straight, the cops had pulled up. Three cruisers full. I jumped on my ride and did a couple of donuts to kick up a little dirt before taking off and dragging their asses after me. Then I, uh, I took off southwards first, eh, to shake ’em off, like, and, uh, well then I came back,” he held Hawk’s gaze, feeling him warming, he thought, “to The Boathouse, I mean. Where I found you. And this Terry guy. Remember?”

  Hawk sighed, clenching and unclenching his fist. Perko was about to start embellishing his story a little more when, seemingly out of nowhere, a fishing boat roared up behind them and streaked by, skipping across the choppy water. Hawk immediately floored the twin engines, but there was no way for them to keep up. When the driver of the fishing boat killed its own lights, Hawk throttled back.

  Mongoose staggered into the cabin, his face green. “I thought we was ’sposed to be looking for a houseboat. That was a fishing boat went by.”