by Eric Beetner
He reached for a more modest 9mm in the middle of the pack. The metal was dull and grey-black. The grip had a simulated woodgrain. Garret eased open the glass door, throwing glances down the hall to where the muffled voices of his parents continued to dig at each other like slivers until he was sure they would draw blood.
Garret lifted out the gun, turned it, and released the clip. Empty. His dad’s service pistol was never far from his side so Garret always wondered why he wanted this cabinet so accessible anyway, especially if the guns weren’t loaded. On a shelf above the rifles, boxes of ammunition were stacked neatly by caliber. Garret reached on his toes for a box off the top of the 9mm stack. As he brought it down from the high shelf, the worn flap on the side gave way under the weight of the brass bullets within. Two dozen tiny bombs fell from Garret’s extended arm, some pinging off the glass, and all of them scattering to the floor.
Garret tensed, his body frozen in fear as the last of the metal casings came to a rest on the hardwood floor. He couldn’t hear his parents’ argument anymore. He held his breath, waiting for his dad, the sheriff, to come bursting in and find his only son stealing a gun from his collection.
He waited for a half a minute. When he heard his mom begin another tired argument, he dropped to his knees and worked quickly to pick up each bullet and drop it back in the box. He got down low and looked under the chair, under the desk, under the bookshelf for any strays, but he found none.
He tucked the gun and the bullets in his coat pockets and stepped out into the hall.
“I’m going to Kyle’s,” he called. He wasn’t asking, just a courtesy call to his parents as he was half way out the door. He knew when they got like this, they wouldn’t plead with him to stay at home and listen to them fight. He had parental guilt on his side. If anything, he would break the tight binding of the argument they were having and the two would settle into neutral corners for the night.
Kyle stepped out on the porch and played a mirror-image version of the scene at Garret’s house. “I’m going to Garret’s,” he called as the door shut behind him. He climbed in the passenger seat and the two boys sat in silence for a moment.
“You ready?” Garret asked.
“I guess. You got it?”
Garret patted his coat pocket, the gun stiff and heavy beneath. The clock read nine-fifty-five. “We gotta go.”
Smart Mart closed at ten. The brothers would spend another ten to fifteen minutes closing up. Another ten to fifteen minutes to live.
The parking lot was empty. A lamp on either side of the lot made two pools of light that missed meeting in the middle by a few feet. Garret parked on the street.
“Shouldn’t we be close,” Kyle said. “Like, to run away?”
“I don’t want them to see us coming,” Garret said.
“Yeah, I guess so.”
There wasn’t much of a plan. As Garret got out of the car, he realized he should have brought two guns. Why didn’t he arm both of them? He held the gun, and it belonged to his father, so by default, Garret voted himself shooter. Now facing the neon front of the Smart Mart, his feet got very cold.
“They’re gonna kill us if we don’t do this, right?” Garret asked, looking for backup.
“Yeah,” Kyle said. “Totally.”
“And they killed Trip.”
“Yeah.”
It was all the justification they were going to get, so Garret took a step forward, then another. Kyle fell in behind.
CHAPTER 9
Tracy went out after their fight. She said she needed air. She meant vodka.
“Just because I’m sheriff doesn’t mean they won’t bust you for DUI,” Sutherland said.
“I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” She let the screen door slam behind her.
He was no fool. He knew where she was going. He felt a pang of guilt. If she was going to see him, hadn’t he just driven her into his arms? His petty fighting, the passive-aggressiveness. They deserved better after nineteen years of marriage. So close, and yet he began to doubt if they’d make it to twenty.
He needed to get it all out. To forgive her and promise to work out their differences. But what he did was get in his car and follow her.
He didn’t keep her taillights in view; he didn’t need to. He knew the address of the man she ate lunch with. An easy enough find with his license plates. He purposely went slow for fear of beating her there and having to explain.
Thinking back on her moods and trying to pinpoint when it went sour, Sutherland started to think this wasn’t her first affair. He could trace it back to a time nearly five years ago when she started acting strange and if he was honest with himself, it was around then he had suspicions. At the time he pushed them to the back of his mind, calling himself jealous and wanting to give her the benefit of the doubt. But whether this was guy number two or number twenty-two, Tracy had let down their marriage. Sutherland doubted any more if there was a thing he could do to get it back.
Even as he turned down the block to the address he’d memorized, he wanted like hell to be wrong. He wanted this whole trip to be a waste of gas.
But it wasn’t. Her car was in the driveway, no attempt to be hidden. She had run from her husband and her home into his arms. Sutherland stopped in the middle of the block and watched shadows move behind the curtains.
CHAPTER 10
They only saw one brother. Garret didn’t know if it was best to wait until they were both up front or not. If one was back in the office, he might have a gun. Garret knew there was a gun behind the counter since it had been used to shoot at him only a few nights ago. He noticed the crack in the glass and the chip in the metal frame around the door.
He and Kyle huddled together in the shadows next to the old pay phone stand. Just a shell now, the phone gone and only the graffiti remaining.
“So do we, like, knock?” Kyle asked.
“I don’t know.”
Garret watched the younger brother, Troy, in the darkened store. The bandage still covered his arm where Trip had knocked him into the rack of bottles. A small light behind the counter lit him as he counted the cash drawer, his brow crinkled in concentration. Garret tried to picture this man luring Trip with an innocent invitation, then pouncing and strangling his friend. Then going to the trouble of stringing Trip up by the tunnel. Premeditation. Murder one, dad would say.
Dad would say the same thing about what he and Kyle were doing. Planned out, but only slightly.
In the shadows Garret had loaded the gun. Nothing else stood in his way. No more excuses.
“Come on,” he said. Kyle followed as Garret stepped into the light.
Garret tapped on the glass door with the barrel of the gun. They kept their faces turned down, away from being seen by Troy who looked up and waved away the late-night customers. Garret knocked again. Annoyed, Troy came out from around the counter.
Garret didn’t want to give him a moment to react or to recognize them. When Troy got close enough that he would have set off the automatic doors during normal hours, Garret fired once through the glass.
Kyle jumped back and almost fell down in the parking lot as the glass exploded out of the door frame. Troy took the bullet in the gut and bent in half before crumbling to the ground. Garret pushed forward through the gaping hole in the door as tempered glass fell around him.
A cramp seized his abdomen like an ulcer had torn a fresh hole inside him. He thought there was a good chance he might shit his pants. His muscles tensed as one, the enormity of what he’d done gripping his body like a fist. He felt a dry heave pass over him and he breathed out until his lungs were empty to try to regain some control.
“Kyle, get in here.”
Garret turned to face the back of the store where the office was, expecting Rafael to storm out any second with his own firearm. Kyle stepped up to the broken doorframe.
“Get the other gun behind the counter,” Garret commanded.
Troy grunted from the floor. He held both hands over his stomach, growling angrily through clenched teeth.
“What gun?” Kyle said.
“The one behind the counter,” Garret said. “Same one they shot at us with.”
Troy writhed, crunching glass beneath him.
“Where is it?”
Garret huffed with exasperation. Rafael hadn’t shown himself. Garret took the gun and held it out to Kyle. “Here, take this one. I’ll get it.”
Kyle fumbled the handoff. The 9mm fell to the floor between them. Each boy looked at the other, both assigning blame and hoping the other would fix it. Troy acted first. A bloody hand shot out from his midsection and pawed at the ground for the gun.
Garret and Kyle both started stomping like a campfire had gone out of control. They kicked at Troy, crushing his arms, spinning his body. Kyle kicked the gun and sent it skidding underneath the magazine rack. Garret and Kyle’s feet met in midair and banged together, sending each boy limping backward. Garret broke away from the melee and retrieved the gun from the floor.
“Go get the other one,” he told Kyle. This time Kyle obeyed. Garret bent down close to Troy who had curled back in on himself to hold his guts in. “Where’s your brother?”
“Not here,” Troy said.
Garret didn’t think he was lying. He’d have come out by now. It wasn’t exactly good news, but it meant there would be no ambush waiting for them. Only one thing to do now…
The gun trembled in his hand. Garret aimed down at the man on the floor, but when Troy turned his head and locked eyes with him, Garret hesitated, his finger coming off the trigger. Troy had the look in his eye of man who knew he was going to die. And a man like that can be dangerous.
Troy flipped up with his hips and flung his leg at Garret. Troy’s shoe hit Garret’s wrist and the gun sailed away again. Troy used his momentum and continued to roll over until he came to a rest in a crouch, one hand still covering his midsection. Garret watched the gun skid away, unsure what to do with the newly upright brother in front of him.
Troy howled a primal scream and scooped a fistful of glass from the floor and flung it at Garret. Garret shielded his eyes with both arms, turning his body to the side. Troy took the opening. He turned for the counter where Kyle was standing a few feet from the register and watching the new mayhem.
Kyle vaulted the counter to help his friend and Troy stepped into it. While Kyle was airborne, Troy reached out and grabbed him by the belt and pulled, throwing Kyle past his intended landing spot and into the end cap of aisle two filled with an assortment of tortilla chips and salsa. Troy turned toward the counter and stumbled forward, grunting like an animal.
Garret turned to see his friend crash into the display, Jars of salsa smashed underneath him and splattered the floor and Kyle with what looked like blood. Garret turned to see Troy make his way behind the counter where they knew a gun was waiting for him. Garret lunged for his own fallen gun, hoping he could move faster than a man who was gut shot.
Down on his knees, Garret picked up the gun. He turned with it wavering at the end of an outstretched arm when the blast of Troy’s shotgun lit the store. The small double barrel was a hell of a lot more firepower than the handgun Rafael had used on them before. Troy was doing his best to free himself from the tightening jaws of death. Luckily for Garret, the first shot seemed to be either a warning or a wild, one-handed blast with no hope of landing on target. Garret saw Troy raise the gun again, this time aiming at Kyle who had taken over the position of writhing on the floor, only he clutched at his back where shards of salsa jar glass had slit his skin in a half dozen places.
Garret wrapped his other hand around the grip of the gun to steady his shot and pulled the trigger three times quickly. Troy never got off his shot. He threw his arms up as he took three shots to the chest. The shotgun bounced off the cans of chewing tobacco behind the counter and pulled down a roll of scratch-off lottery tickets as it went to the ground. Then Troy disappeared behind the counter. The sound of the gunshots faded just in time to hear Troy’s body hit.
Garret slipped back toward the center of the store, gun still out and waiting for Troy to pop up again.
“Kyle? You okay?”
“Yeah,” he said, though he sounded pained. “My back, though.”
“Are you shot?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
Garret kept his eyes on the counter and sidestepped over to Kyle. He crouched down to where Kyle had gone still on the floor. “It’s over, I think.”
“That son of a bitch.”
“Yeah.” Garret stood and peered over the edge of the counter to where Troy lay motionless. “That dead son of a bitch.”
CHAPTER 11
Sutherland had given them enough time. He wasn’t sure what his next move should be. This could be the big blow out, the confrontation. She couldn’t deny it if he caught them red-handed. But he wasn’t so sure he wanted to.
Seeing her car parked in his driveway was, for Sutherland, the same as seeing his dick parked in her snatch. How much more evidence did he need?
But if this was a case he wanted to bring to court, he’d have to do more than rely on the circumstantial. So he stepped out of his car and took the sidewalk until he got to the neighbor’s house. There, he ducked behind a long row of hedge that separated the two lawns. Crouching low, he moved along the side of the house. To keep up appearances, he made sure to wear his badge pinned to his shirt and his gun belt around his hips. He had a flashlight if he needed it and he looked official enough to keep any neighbors from asking too many questions should they see him creeping around their bushes.
There was a light on in the back of the house. Sutherland made it to the end of the hedge row, scooted between the last bush and a cinder-block wall that ran between the backyards, and made his way toward the light.
He thought again about turning around and going home. But then what? Tracy would come home eventually, most likely. This wasn’t the big dramatic move-out or anything—she hadn’t taken a thing with her. So she’d be back and he’d have the question on his tongue ready to ask her where she’d been and ready to hear a lie. Unless she didn’t lie. Unless this was the night she told him everything and said it all like he was such a fool for not knowing all along.
But he did know. And he didn’t want her to have the satisfaction of thinking she’d kept the secret. He was a goddamn lawman, after all.
Back of the house like this, Sutherland knew this was a bedroom. He figured at least it beat them screwing on the kitchen counter or something wildly passionate like that. He and Tracy hadn’t done anything but a weekend night, post-wine, lights off, no talking in about a decade. He knew this guy was getting her A game, even if she was only capable of a B+ on the best day.
Sutherland felt like a teenager in a horror movie, going toward something he knew he didn’t want to see, especially if it was what he thought it was. But, like someone was scripting his movements for the audience, he kept moving forward well past the point people would have been shouting at the screen for him to stop being and idiot and turn around. Some things you cannot unsee, like your wife being plowed by another guy.
He was under the window now. The backyard was nothing but a square of browning grass. No shrubs under the windows like the police recommend to keep intruders away. Before he looked, he tried to hear. He heard voices, quiet and light. Didn’t sound like sex noises, not like he’d heard anyway. He couldn’t tell if it was pre—or post-coital pillow talk. He had to go in for a look.
And what was the smoking gun? Did she have to be naked? Did they have to be in the act, or was simply sitting in another man’s bedroom and talking late at night enough to call it cheating? Could the smell in the air of pending sex be used in a court of law?
Sutherland turned to face the house. He pushed up from his crouch and reached for the windowsill. His knee banged into a water spigot he hadn’t noticed before. There was hose
attached, but the sound rattled the pipes under the house. The voices inside went quiet. Sutherland froze. He cocked an ear to listen. Maybe they’d started making out, something he and Tracy hadn’t done since the 1990s. Really, truly take the time to kiss each other. Proper French kissing and everything. They still gave in to the perfunctory peck on the cheek, but kissing was far too intimate for them anymore.
Sutherland went back to pushing himself up to standing. His eyes peered over the window sill, but the curtains were too thick. All he saw was a gauzy yellow haze. No shadows. No shapes. This wasn’t proof. He’d need to figure out how to see more. If only—
“Hey! Get away from there.”
Sutherland turned. He saw and processed several things at once. There was a man standing just outside the back door of the house. The man was shirtless. The man had a gun. When Sutherland saw a gun, instinct took over. The man was yelling, thrusting the gun out in front of him to ward off the peeper in his yard. But Sutherland wasn’t one to be scared off by a gun, because he had his own. Without thinking, that gun was in his hand. A Wyatt Earp quick draw like he’d practiced countless times but had only used in the line of duty twice before. And a draw is not complete without a discharge.
Two quick pops before he knew he’d done it. Before the echo faded, Sutherland was already thinking, Oh, shit. What have I done?
CHAPTER 12
Garret held a handful of paper towels against Kyle’s back, adding direct pressure to stop the bleeding. He couldn’t tell if Kyle was crying over the gashes in his skin, or the messy murder they’d just committed.
He lifted the towels away. He peeled gently at the last layer so it wouldn’t stick to the blood slowly clotting on Kyle’s back. He watched for a second, Kyle’s back pulsing in and out as he caught breaths in between silent sobs. The blood had stopped. He may need stitches still, but there were higher priorities.