Stinking Rich

by Rob Brunet

  Perko wished like hell he knew how to swim.

  Thirty-Two

  When Linette came to, she was staring into a wide brown face, creased more by weather than age. His head fringed with thick black hair, illuminated by a flashlight that kept flickering back and forth, the big fucking Indian looked positively spiritual.

  “Am I dead?” asked Linette. She lay crumpled on her side on bright green indoor outdoor carpeting. The ground under the carpeting swelled gently up and down. She could make out several sets of legs. “Is this Hell? Am I on the River Styx?”

  “You’ve been shot, Linette,” said a familiar voice. “Stay calm.”

  “Shot? What?” she asked, her eyes rolling in her head. When they rolled, they hurt, so she closed them again. “Shot by who? Ernie? Did Ernie shoot me?”

  “What’s she babbling about?” another voice asked, older than the first one.

  “Just relax and be quiet, Linette,” said the familiar voice. She opened her eyes and scanned up the legs to the faces that towered above her and the Indian. They swam in and out of focus, but one of them was Officer Max.

  “I think I’d like to hear what she has to say,” said one of the faces, the one with the older voice. To Linette, the face’s long grey hair and beard made it look a whole lot like an ancient Jesus. Maybe she was dead, after all. Was that a boat engine she could hear chugging nearby? Didn’t they still use those long poles to push the death barges across the Styx?

  Jesus Face said, “Why the hell do you think Ernie would want to shoot your ass?” Linette frowned, thinking Jesus had become more than a little rude in his old age. The bearded guy leaned in real close and breathed beer and barbeque sauce in her face. “You were there, weren’t you?” he said. “Last week. When Ernie was killed.”

  “Yes, I mean, no, I mean...I was there. Max, tell them what I told you.”

  “Tell me yourself,” said Jesus Face. She struggled to remember his name. Scary something. Wasn’t Jesus supposed to be the good guy?

  The Indian seemed a whole lot nicer. He leaned in close with a tuft of dried grass or something; it was burning flameless and he blew the smoke in her face. She closed her eyes again and listened to his smooth voice, chanting now.

  “Nnnaaagitcha wooooo woooo haaaaa naaaaa weeeeoooh,” it sounded like. Then she heard the Indian say, “She’s going quick. Passage is going to be a thirsty one if she dies with lies on her tongue.” He blew more smoke; it smelled sweet. But her throat was dry and cracking.

  “Confession time,” said Jesus Face.

  “Don’t say anything,” said Max.

  Linette felt as though she was passing out. She took a deep breath and choked on the pungent smoke before pushing the Indian’s arm out of the way.

  “I went by Ernie’s cabin on the day of the fire,” she said. “I was up in the attic when I heard him shout at someone to get lost. Next thing I heard was the gun blast. Twice. Then whoever shot him just walked away. No hurry. I didn’t see who it was. And when I finally climbed down, Ernie was there, dead. There was a shot gun. On the floor. Beside him. I was so freaked out, I ran.”

  “You ran?” said Jesus Face. He was so close his long beard waggled on Linette’s chin as he spoke. It tickled. Linette closed her eyes tight, as much to avoid staring into the old man’s face as to lessen the pounding in her skull. Scary. Scary. Skeritt! That was it. She peeked with one eye. He asked, “Didn’t you try to help him? Call an ambulance? Why did you run?”

  “Hey, back off, buddy,” Officer Max put a hand on Skeritt’s shoulder and pulled him away. “The lady was freaked out, alright? You would be, too, finding a man lying in his doorway with his face blown off.”

  The old man wouldn’t relent. “What were you doing there?”

  “I was looking for the money,” Linette said, expelling a lungful of charred air. At the end of it, she tasted blood. “The money Danny stole from the grow op. Ernie had it. I know he did! Max, can’t you make this guy leave me alone?” She squeezed her eyes even more tightly shut and scrunched up her face as if she could shut out the world that way.

  “Fucking hell!” she heard Danny Grant say. “You were supposed to be on my side!”

  Linette peeled one eye open again and looked up to see him elbowing his way into the circle of men.

  “You were my lawyer. If I couldn’t trust you, who could I trust?”

  “Never mind, Danny,” Skeritt said to him. “There’s something else here that’s bothering me.” He leaned in so close she could feel his acrid breath warm her cheeks. Spitting each word’s into her face, he said: “I was there, too, lady. Right after you, I imagine, ’cause Ernie’s body was still warm when I found him. Only he was face-down, not on his back like you’re saying.”

  Linette used her open eye to scan his face. He was back down on one knee, his blackened eye sockets pressed close to hers. She said, “I didn’t say he was on his back. He was face down, just like you said.”

  The Indian pulled Skeritt away and Danny followed them into the boat’s cabin. Linette heard them murmuring to each other a few yards away. Max leaned down and took her pulse. Some kind of animal pushed a wet snout into her face. She tasted barbeque sauce on her lips, like she’d been kissing Jesus Face. She retched at the thought.

  “You’re going to survive this, Linette,” Max said. “You’re going to live and I think maybe you should just shut up, now.”

  “Why, Max? I didn’t do anything wrong. Trespass, maybe. Not call the police? Who cares, the old coot was dead.” The beastie had starting licking her ear. It nipped her when she shook her head. She swatted at it, connecting with a ball of fluff and ending up with a fist full of matted fur. The thing yelped and darted away, yapping.

  Linette heard a woman call out, “Wort. Come back here, Wort. Oh, darn.”

  Skeritt and the Indian strode back across the boat deck. Linette saw Danny reach for the red duffel bag. “Max, stop them,” she protested, pushing herself up on one elbow. “They’re taking my MONEY.” The bag banged against Danny’s knee as he leapt onto the shore and disappeared into the woods followed by Ernie’s nosy neighbor and her dog.

  “STOP,” Officer Max called out. “You two get back here.” He put his hand on his holster, but the Indian stood in his way, arms crossed over his chest.

  “I think we have a little more to talk about,” Skeritt said.

  Max looked from Skeritt to the Indian to Linette, who pushed her pout so hard her lip wrapped around her chin.

  Skeritt said, “Start with how you knew Ernie’s face was blown off.”

  “What are you talking about?” asked Max, standing there, staring.

  “What’s wrong, Max?” Linette said. “You’re letting them get AWAY.”

  “See, when I got to Ernie’s cabin, he was face down,” Skeritt said. “Linette here says the same thing. Yet somehow you knew he had his face shot clean off.”

  The Indian added, “It was you, not her, said that about his face. A minute ago.”

  “The autopsy, they said—” Max started.

  The old man cut him off. “I soaked Ernie but good before cremating him, and that place burned to the ground. You trying to tell me they found buck shot mixed in the ashes and somehow deduced it came from his cheeks?”

  Max started to back away. The Indian stepped behind him and put a hand on his shoulder.

  Skeritt said, “The only way you could have known he was killed by a close range head shot was if you were there when it happened.” Turning to Linette, he asked, “Did you hear voices, arguing, anything?”

  “Just Ernie...shouting...and the gun blast...twice...”

  “What about after the gun? Between the blasts?”

  “Nothing. Like I said. Max? What’s he saying, Max?”

  “Shut up, Linette.”

  “Tell us,” said Skeritt.

  Max’s shoulders slumped. The old man shone the flashlight right in his face and she watched it twist with anger.

  “Nothing but taunts and
humiliations I got when Danny Grant got sent away. Biggest bust of my career it could have been. Wasn’t my fault. Sure, I could have called for backup and maybe I didn’t have a warrant for the farmhouse, but how was I to know what I was walking into?

  “I got over it,” he said. “Did the job well as anyone. Then you,” turning to Linette, “you show up and start digging at me, asking all your questions, all that damn pillow talk, pumping me for information. I knew you were after the money long before you told me. And I figured if anyone had a right to it, why not me? It didn’t belong to anybody. Just drug money. And ol’ Ernie McCann, laughing at us all from the top of the world while my uncle died in a fire that...that you...YOU STARTED!”

  “Sorry, pal,” Skeritt said, “I never set that sawmill fire. I made that up to stall for time. Figure how to get Danny out of here.”

  “Bastard,” said Max.

  “I did know your uncle, though. Good man, that Brad. Rest his soul.” Jesus Face smiled at him. “Can’t say he’d be proud of you.”

  Pain rippled down Linette’s back; she let herself lie back on her good side and shut her eyes tight.

  She head Max say, “I went over that afternoon to try and strong arm him, tell him I’d oppose Danny’s parole, try to make him tell me where the money was. But when I got there, he just laughed at me. Pointed the gun and told me to get off his property. I guess I lost it. I crouched low and charged him, figuring if he fired, he’d miss me. He aimed the gun high, fired a warning shot. I tripped on his step and we both went down. The gun fired again. I was on top of him, flat on his back, his face shot off. I couldn’t stand to look at it. It was me rolled him over.”

  “And left him there to bleed out.”

  “If he wasn’t dead from the blast, he would have wanted to be. You saw him. Saw his face. Doesn’t matter the guy couldn’t see himself in the mirror. That’s no way to live. No matter how much money you have.”

  Max looked from Skeritt to the Indian and back. “So now what? Are you going to arrest me?”

  “Not my line of work, but I believe we’ve got the makings of a pretty simple deal here,” Skeritt said. “You’re not going to say a word about finding Danny. For our part, we’re going to forget what you just told us. Right, Big Fucker ?”

  The Indian nodded, saying, “Besides, you don’t need to be explaining to nobody how in hell you wound up out here in the middle of nowhere with a boatload of Libidos. Never mind your lawyer friend full of bullets.”

  Linette flashed back to images of the rocks rushing up to meet her and started to black out again. Maybe this was just a bad dream. Unless she was dying after all. She opened her eyes again. Everything was blurry and dark. “Do you have any more of that smoky medicine?” she asked.

  “Made all that shit up,” said the Indian. “Not bad, eh?”

  To Max, Skeritt said, “Me and my pal are going to help you convince those biker buffoons they don’t need no cop-killing on their rap sheets. But only after we’re sure Danny has got away clean. Either that, or you can imagine what kind of fireworks we’re all in for.”

  As if on cue, a shower of sparks and flame erupted into the air from the hilltop where the bonfire had been earlier. It was positively explosive, bright red and gold, shooting forty feet in the air, and crackling.

  Linette said, “Fuck me. I’ve died and gone to Hell.”

  Chasing Judy chasing Wort up the path to the fire pit, Danny couldn’t believe the energy she’d suddenly found. Gone was her stupor, replaced with an adrenalized strength that made it hard to keep up. By the time he reached the clearing, she had caught the dog and was holding him, shaking, on a stump by the fire.

  “Help me load on these boughs,” he told her.

  “Why? This is no time for a bonfire.”

  “Just grab some. Throw them on the fire a few at a time.” He’d already loaded an armful and, after appearing to smother the flames, the waxy green boughs were lighting up like a chemical blaze. He threw another armful and another. With each load the fire grew stronger and the fresh boughs caught faster until the flames raged as high as the trees ringing the clearing.

  “Keep loading,” he said, as Judy joined in. Wort dashed under the upturned canoe at the edge of the clearing and barked madly.

  When all the cedar Bif had trimmed was loaded onto the pile, Danny scooped up Wort and motioned for Judy to help him carry the canoe.

  “We’ll go down the back side,” he said. “This is supposed to be the best way to deal with bears. Let’s see how it works against bikers.”

  By the time Terry’s paddle hit rock, the water had started splashing over the dinghy’s rubber walls.

  “We can touch,” Terry said, doing his level best to sound cheerful.

  Perko launched himself over the side of the boat, splashing headfirst into the icy water. Sputtering, he pushed himself upright, seemingly oblivious to the cold. Terry saw that somehow he had managed to keep hold of the bottle of brandy though the bottom had broken off against the rocks underwater.

  He heard some crackling from the island behind him and turned to see the sky lit red over the hill. It looked warm, Terry thought.

  Hawk and Mongoose had the best view of the hilltop fire.

  “Is that a volcano?” asked Mongoose. “I didn’t know we had some around here.”

  “Gimme a break, Mongoose,” Hawk answered. “It’s a fire. A heck of a big one, too. Bet you could see that from the other end of the lake.”

  He told Mongoose to fire the machine gun in the air, telling him, “Let’s make sure that punk and whoever’s helping him know we’re here, we’re armed, and there’s no getting away.”

  “What if they splits to the other side of the island?”

  “And what, swim to safety? Do you have any idea how cold that water is? Naw, we just keep ’em busy until daylight and then figure out exactly what we’re dealing with. Moron thinks this is a good night for a bonfire? A little something special, woodsy cuddling with his gal? Let him enjoy himself. We’ll show him special.”

  Mongoose fired off a few more rounds and sat on the cabin bench. The fire on the island had already burned down.

  “Hawk?” he asked after a few minutes. “What if them’s got another boat? Like we had a dinghy on the cabin cruiser. Think maybe they could have somethin’ like that on the houseboat? I’se just wonderin’.”

  Hawk took a long pull of bourbon and said, “I didn’t see no dinghy.”

  “True,” said Mongoose. “But it’s dark out, ain’t it? I just mean...”

  Hawk looked at Mongoose, emptied the bottle and set it down on the cabin table. He stared without speaking.

  Mongoose lit a smoke and lay back on the bench. “You know, a boat’s not half bad when it ain’t moving,” he said. “Kinda rocks a bit, but if you pretends it’s a waterbed...”

  He never finished the thought. Out of nowhere, the sky erupted in a roar like ten Harleys. Hawk looked out the window to see a floatplane buzz the cabin cruiser. Mongoose leapt to his feet, cigarette dangling from his lip, and fired the machine gun into air after it.

  The plane cut a wide circle behind the island and then reappeared, heading straight at them. This time, there was a blast of gunfire aimed at the cruiser. The plane dipped its wing nearly into the water and veered dangerously close to the boat before arcing back into the sky and disappearing again.

  “I hit it, Hawk! I knows I did. You see that?” Mongoose was giddy.

  “At least now we know what that fire was about. It was a signal.” Hawk sniffed at the air. “You smell that?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “That. Gasoline.” The smell was filling the cabin quickly. “They hit our gas tank,” said Hawk. “Mongoose, put out your fucking smoke.”

  Obliging, Mongoose tossed the cigarette out the window and into the water. The slick surrounding the boat rippled into a bright orange dance covered by smoke darker than night. The fire on water appeared to mesmerize Mongoose until Hawk said, “Fucker’s
gonna BLOW.”

  The rail-thin biker kicked off his shoes, leapt out of the cabin, and did a long deep dive off the bow of the boat. By the time his head came back above water, beyond the ring of fire, Mongoose could be seen running back and forth across the foredeck, shouting, “I CAN’T SWIM. I CAN’T SWIM.”

  The boat was engulfed in flames. Hawk ducked under water when he heard the ammunition start exploding. He felt some shrapnel strike his body, its force blunted by traveling the last few feet under water. The cruiser’s gas tank blew when his head was above water taking a breath. The heat dried his face in an instant and the last thing he saw was Mongoose, hair on fire, hurled through the sky lit up like a fireworks display. He screamed, “Ise gonna get you in Hell, PERKOOOOOO!!!”

  Thirty-Three

  The open water reflected what little light there was from the cloudy sky. It seemed dreadfully dark and gloomy after the bonfire. Danny hugged the island in the canoe, waiting until they were at its southwestern tip before making a dash for the mainland shore. There was less water to cross there and with any luck the wind would be lower and the waves a little smaller.

  Judy huddled in the bow, shivering with Wort under a blanket Danny had grabbed from the lean-to. Danny told her to save her strength to help him paddle when they made the final dash.

  They had gotten only a few hundred feet when the distant buzz of what could have been a cigarette boat grew to a thundering throttle as a float plane cleared the island directly above them. Danny thought he’d heard gunfire just before the sky filled with the engine’s scream. Judy turned toward him, eyes bulged. Danny just grinned.