American Crow (13 page)

‘Mother of a whore…’

I pulled Bunny’s plate closer and
continued its demolition trying to suppress my exasperation. Why in the hell
hadn’t I been more careful? Why hadn’t I just refused the lift from the woman
and just waited for another? I got up and wandered over to the counter and
waited patiently for the waitress to return.

‘Hey,’ she said, as if sensing something
was amiss.

‘Look, Candy. I’ve got a bit of a
problem. My lift has driven off without me.’

‘You serious?’

‘I’m afraid so. They’ve obviously
forgotten I was riding along with them. And my coat and wallet are still in the
cab…’

Her face dropped then transformed into
one of suspicion.

‘I’ll get the manager.’

She disappeared for a few minutes then
returned with an oriental-looking guy wearing a crisp tie and a sour
expression.

‘What is the problem exactly, sir?’ he said,
looking me up and down with as much mistrust as his employee had.

‘The ride I took has just pulled away
without me. All my cash is on board.’

‘It’s not a problem, sir. There’s a
Western Union just a couple of miles up the road. Someone can wire you some
money through.’

‘Yeah…the thing is, my wallet was in the
cab along with all my cards, so I don’t have any I.D now too.’

‘Do you have a phone?’ he pushed sharply
with a slight air of condescension.

‘I think so,’ I replied feeling it in my
trouser pocket.

 ‘Then ring your friend who’s
driving the truck and get them to come back and pick you up.’

‘I would if I had their number, but it
was just a ride...’

The manager placed his hands on hips,
beginning to look flustered.

‘Then ring another friend and ask them to
bring you some money.’

‘Thing is I don’t know anyone in the U.S.
I’m travelling alone on a business trip. You know how it is...’

‘What about the people you are doing
business with?’ he replied smartly.

I fought the temptation to slap him and
raised my hands in the air in defeat.

‘Okay okay...how much do I owe you?’

‘Sixteen dollars.’

‘Why don’t I bring you twenty when I head
back this way in the next couple of days? How does that sound?’

‘What, like all the other guys who don’t
want to pay for their food?’ he pushed.

I felt another presence loom at my side
and glanced right. The moustached guy had now walked over feeling that he
needed to get involved.

‘Where you headed?’ he said, like some
gnarly old sheriff.

‘Kentucky.’

‘That’s a long ways from here, son. And
you say you’re going to come back along this same route and pay this man when
you do?’

I stifled my annoyance at the stranger’s
interference and nodded blankly.

‘What business you got up there?’

‘What business is it of yours?’ I
replied, my patience thinning.

The moustache man licked his lips and
tilted his head to one side, trying to work out how much of a threat I was.

‘Looks like you’re gunna have to get your
people in Kentucky to drive on up here and dig you out of a hole, mister,
because we don’t like free-loaders in these parts.’

I returned his steely gaze, eliciting a
nervous twitch in response, then pushed passed him and headed for the toilets.

‘I’m going for a piss. When I return
we’re going to sort this out, okay?’

In the toilets I leaned my head against
the wall in frustration and closed my eyes as I urinated, then slammed my hand
against the tiles several times as another wave of anger coursed through me.

‘Idiot!’

‘I reckon it might be best if you just
paid up, then headed onto wherever you’re heading, son, so there won’t be any
more trouble,’ the moustache guy said behind me suddenly.

I looked around slowly, irritated at the
unwanted advice and the untimely intrusion. He took a step back and unbuttoned
his jacket. I knew what was coming.

‘And what business is it of yours...big
guy?’ I pushed, turning my attention back to the urinal.

‘We don’t like strangers causing trouble
around these parts, that’s all. And as a long-time friend of this
establishment, I feel it’s my place to inform you that anti-social behaviour is
not welcome nor tolerated here. You’re in Iowa now.’

I glanced around again. His right hand
was hovering near his belt, like he had some invisible magnet in his wrist that
was being drawn to his buckle.

‘Sure,’ I said spinning around suddenly,
my penis hanging out.

He looked down aghast and I caught him
hard with a sweet upper cut a second later, which sent him staggering backwards
in a daze. As he teetered, I caught him again with a vicious right-cross and
watched him slump to the floor out of the game.

I zipped up my fly, then stooped down and
grabbed his lapels and shook him violently until he flickered open an eye.

‘If you’d had minded your own business,
then it wouldn’t have come to that...buddy.’

I smacked his head hard against the wall
to complete the process, then dragged him by the boots to the end cubicle where
I kicked open the door and hauled him inside.

With great effort I lifted him onto the
toilet, fanned open his jacket, then unbuckled his belt and pulled it free,
allowing a heavy sounding pouch to fall to the floor. I opened it up and eyed
the circular ammo clips inside, then felt higher up and retrieved a chrome-plated
revolver.

I stared at it for a moment, unsure of
what to do, then wiped my prints off the handle and slipped it back into the
holster. If the cops thought I was armed, then they were more likely to fire
indiscriminately if I was cornered, and that was a whole new level of stress I
really didn’t need right now…

Hurriedly, I tied his hands together
using his belt then wrapped the rest around the cistern pipe, hoping that it
would prove enough of an impediment to allow me time to get away. Next I
checked his inside pockets and found a set of car keys and a couple of wallets.

I opened the smallest and studied the
card inside for a moment, then the shiny badge above it. It belonged to one,
Willy McDougal, registered Fugitive Enforcement Officer from Iowa. The guy was
a god damn bounty-hunter.

‘For Christ’s sake...’

I hurriedly pulled some cash from the
other wallet, took the keys, then yanked his jacket down over his upper arms,
before stepping back out into the washroom calmly as if nothing had happened.

I closed the door gently and eyed the
toilet for customers. We were still alone. I breathed a sigh of relief, grabbed
an ‘out of order’ notice from a nearby toilet and hung it on the
bounty-hunter’s cubicle, then walked calmly back out into the diner, and over
to the statuesque manager who was now standing at the service counter with his
arms folded.

‘Your friend has talked some sense into
me there. I’m truly sorry,’ I said handing over a twenty. ‘Keep the change...’

Leaving the manager with his look of disgust
I made my way coolly out into the evening rain. I knew I didn’t have much time
before the bounty hunter woke up and broke free of his bonds, or the manager
realized I was stealing the guy’s truck and called the police. I glanced around
and saw the manager standing by one of the windows, staring out at me. I had to
find the bailiff’s car quickly and smoothly and make it look like it was
mine...

I pulled out the keys and saw that they
were for a Ford Ranger from the key fob. A quick scan of the lot uncovered two
such pick-ups that fitted the bill. Both cabs seemed empty. I continued in the
increasing downpour to the nearest one, illuminated underneath a bright
floodlight, some twenty or so metres away to my right. It was a dark blue model
from the nineties with a double cab, and looked as worn out as the bounty
hunter had. A few metres away I clocked the tale-tale metal grill in the back.
It looked like McDougal’s...

I slid the key into the lock hoping it
would fit, and turned. Nothing happened. I tensed and tried again. Same thing
again. The lock was either stiff or it wasn’t McDougal’s damned pick-up. I
cursed and looked over at the restaurant. The manager was still standing there,
watching me. I took the key out, wiped it on my sleeve and put it back in. I
tried again. This time the mechanism freed.

I swung the door open and jumped in, then
just sat there staring out of the window at the sheet rain wondering if I’d
done the right thing. If I got caught now the cops were going to throw the book
at me. They might even dig deeper and realize that I was wanted elsewhere. But
what in the hell was I supposed to have done in there I reflected. Let McDougal
get the better of me? Wait for the cops to be called?

I sparked up the engine and searched the
glove compartment as the engine warmed, hoping a map might be inside so I knew
where I was going. There wasn’t…I looked at the fuel gauge. There was almost a
full tank of gas. Things weren’t so bad.

I reversed out carefully, looked over at
the café doors to see if anyone was coming to investigate, then drove up the
ramp onto the highway and melted into the blur of headlights feeling mightily
relieved.

I gave myself a half-hour at most before
the bounty hunter woke up and raised the alarm. In that time I would have had
to have dumped the car and found myself a new means of transport, or be easy
prey for any passing highway patrol.

And who knows what sort of trouble that
would land me in if I was taken into custody. There was always a chance I could
be extradited back to Nevada and be made to stand trial. And they still liked
to hang their murderers there...

Chapter Thirteen

‘old friends’

Somewhere in Iowa. Around
midnight.

I
stared into the driving rain then at the illuminated sign
for Waterloo, and wondered if I was about to meet mine if I confronted the
stranger who had been tailing me since I’d left the diner.

For the last thirty minutes or so the
driver had change lanes every time I had, then increase his speed in tandem
with mine so as to remain close in the difficult conditions.

Maybe I was just being paranoid, but my
gut feeling was that it was the same guy who’d been hanging around the
Longfellow’s Gallery in Minneapolis, his Oldsmobile now having been replaced by
a dark green Chevrolet.

‘Shit...’

I clenched my jaw and pumped the gas
again. I was pretty sure that if it was a cop, then he would have made his move
by now, and probably back at the last stop too, when I was alone and easy to
take.

But if he wasn’t official, then who in
the hell was he? Some guy connected with Jed and his operation who wanted to
settle the score? That didn’t feel right - too much effort. He’d claim the
truck damage on the insurance and keep his mouth shut. Lenny had said he’d front
up some money as it was...

I drove for another ten minutes then
passed the State police parked up on the shoulder, waiting to pounce on some
miniscule violation. I tensed, expecting it to pull out. Nothing...

I glanced nervously in the rear view mirror
as it finally faded into the distance then released the breath I’d been holding
onto. The cops obviously still didn’t have my plate. Now that
was
a
miracle considering that the intended half-hour had now multiplied into two. I
knew I had to ditch the pick-up fast and lose the car that was tailing me in
the process. I had a thought. Maybe I could combine the two?

A large white sign advertising farm
produce flashed past me suddenly as if answering my call. Instinctively, I
decided to follow it and took the next ramp off the highway. I needed to make a
move, and one that was bold enough to force the tailing guy’s hand, so that I
could try and lose him somehow, or even better, pull some sort of vehicle swap.

I continued following the signs along the
snaking road for a good few miles until suffocating woodland finally gave way
to a large expanse of freshly-worked fields and a sizeable farm in the
distance. A few hundred yards further I took a sharp left into the entrance,
then a pot-holed track which ran up to a large, dilapidated barn, just about
discernible in the continuing downpour.

I worked my way towards it slowly then
glanced in the rear-view mirror. The tailing car had taken the bait and had
turned into the main drive too...I kept my speed steady, as if unaware of its
presence, then arrived at the barn where I pulled up outside and killed the
engine.

I checked my immediate surroundings for
activity. All seemed quiet...I flicked the interior light on. There were some
yellow waterproofs scrunched up in the passenger foot-well. I stooped down and
hurriedly put the jacket on, then darted out into the elements towards the
building, hoping the barn wasn’t locked, and that no one else was sheltering
inside.

To my relief, the place looked empty.
Unused. I entered tentatively, dragged the heavy door shut and surveyed the
ramshackle contents in the gloom. Inside, were rows of defunct farm machinery,
antiquated tools hanging from the walls, and bales of foul-smelling straw piled
up to the ceiling. I clocked the half-broken ladder leading up to the loft and
decided not to take it. Then I saw the bright headlights of the tailing car fan
their way ominously underneath the doors.

Instinctively, I grabbed a pitch-fork
hanging from a hook nearby, then worked my way deeper in to the darkness, where
I took off the waterproof and stuffed it rapidly with handfuls of straw, before
placing it next to a stack of pallets.

I heard the guy kill his engine outside.
His headlights remained on, focused on the building. I took cover behind a pile
of massive tractor tyres and wondered if this was where my luck was finally
going to run out, then pessimistically, how long it would take for someone to
find my body if it did.

A few minutes later the stranger entered
alone. Slowly, he pushed both of the barn doors wide open so that the
headlights were illuminating the interior of the barn, silhouetting him like he
was some lonesome cowboy coming to clear up the town.

I took him in. The guy was tall. Rangy.
He had dark curly hair and was dressed casually in a roller neck and tight grey
slacks that seemed a bit out of date. I estimated he was in his mid-to-late
thirties, in good shape, and that he meant business from the semi-automatic he
was holding by his side.

I shook my head in muted horror wondering
what in the hell Olivia had got herself into to attract such trouble, then
ominously heard the sound of thunder rumbling far off like a barrage of
misfiring cannons.

The guy edged forwards and scanned the barn.
I eyed him anxiously wishing I hadn’t been so damned holy and taken McDougal’s
Thirty-Eight. At least I could have offered up some sort of resistance if
things got heavy. God, I couldn’t remember the last time a job had gone tits-up
so damned early...

‘I know you’re in here,’ the guy said
confidently, ‘All I want to do is talk,’ he pressed, creeping closer.

I felt some drips on my head and looked
up. The roof was leaking badly now, the rainwater splashing onto my collar and
running down the back of my neck in an uncomfortable trickle.

I cursed and shifted my position slowly
trying to avoid its trajectory, trying to not make a sound, then went down on
my haunches and peered through a gap in the tyres to check on my new admirer.
Now, he was eyeing the loft some ten to fifteen metres away, edging slowly
towards the ladder as if intent on scaling it. 

‘All I wanna do is talk,’ he said again
in a southern drawl, pointing his gun upwards, then down over the rusting
machinery in sweeping arcs.

I kept my mouth shut and watched him melt
slowly into the shadows then disappear completely from view as he searched a
different corner of the barn. A minute later, I heard footsteps work their way
back up towards my position, five or ten metres to my right. I clutched the
pitch-fork tightly, knowing I probably had one chance and one chance only, to
get the upper hand using the element of surprise...

Gradually he birthed out of the darkness
like a bear on its hind legs, lowering his automatic in my direction as he
shuffled closer. Now he was just a few metres away at most. I tensed. I could
almost smell the guy’s aftershave, smell the guy’s fear.

He stopped suddenly, as if sensing I was
there. I drew a shallow breath then flinched as another thunder-clap crashed
directly overhead, vibrating a shovel off its hook. He span around and stared
at the pallets to his left, then eyed the yellow waterproofs through the wooden
slats.

‘I know you’re there, fella, so you
better come on out with your hands up. I’m not going to harm you. I just wanna
talk...’

Whenever I heard that line in the movies,
the innocent guy always got dusted, and I certainly wasn’t going to find out
for real...I kept quiet and watched the gunman inch his way towards the
pallets, his automatic outstretched, his hammer cocked. It was now or never. Do
or die. There was only one chance to get it right. A mere second between life
and death...

I took a final breath and crept out of
the shadows. The guy was crouching down now. He had the jacket in his hand. I
saw my chance and raised the fork. A floorboard creaked...The stranger spun
around. I thrust at his gun hand. Missed. He fired an instinctive shot. Missed.
I jabbed again, and punctured his wrist. He screamed, fired several wild shots
that slammed into the tin roof. Then he swung around trying to disgorge himself
as I held on like I was trying to land a damned shark.

‘Fuck you!’ he yelled.

‘Fuck you...’ I yelled back.

Seeing the stack of straw behind him
suddenly, I lunged again, this time ramming the fork fully home. The gunman
yelled out in agony, tried to released himself, then dropped his gun...I came
at him with my fists as the thunder boomed above us, felt the crunch of bone on
bone, and his total submission.

I drew a breath and picked up the gun,
then found a pail of water to bring him back to reality.

‘What the...’ he cried out, as if raised
from the dead.

‘You’ve been following me since
Minneapolis. Why?’

‘Fuck you,’ he said wincing, trying to
free his skewered hand.

I edged closer and pressed the gun against
his forehead.

‘Why?’

‘You’re as stupid as you look if you
think I’m gunna tell ya, fella.’

‘You’re going to look pretty stupid when
I blow your head wide open...fella,’ I said, beginning to get frustrated.

‘If you knew my boss, then you wouldn’t
be threatening me, pal. So if you’re gunna shoot me, you better get it over and
done with right now, cus you aint getting nothing out of me.’

I stared at the guy and saw the defiance
in his eyes. He wasn’t going to tell me a damned thing, no matter how much he was
threatened…

I frisked him with my one free hand,
pulled out his wallet then stepped back and checked the contents. Inside was a
driving license. The name read, Tony Lutz. He was from Louisville, Kentucky. I
raised an eyebrow. He was a long way from home...

Next, I pulled out a picture of some kids
and a plain-looking woman who I assumed to be his wife.

‘One last chance, Tony…Tell me why you’ve
been following me or I’ll get in my car, drive straight to your house and
strangle your kids in front of your wife.’

He laughed through bloodied teeth as if
he knew I wouldn’t. Angrily, I slammed the butt of the gun across his face
rendering him unconscious again, then unloaded the weapon and tossed it into
the shadows.

I needed to get the hell out of there and
fast, in case anyone at the farm could discern gunshots from thunderclaps, then
get the hell out of the state, maybe even the whole damned country before I had
the full force of the law breathing down my neck again.  

I pulled some money from the gunman’s
wallet, released his arm from the pitch fork and bound him tightly with some
bailer twine, before rolling him underneath a hunk of rusting farm machinery
out of view. I stared down at the body at my feet for a second, trying to
absorb the insanity of what had just happened.

The last time I’d had a gun pulled on me
had been one hell of a long time ago. Some polish farmer armed with a shotgun,
as I was escaping over some freshly ploughed fields with the child he’d
previously abducted, clutched under my arm...That job had been a close call.
And I still had some lead shot embedded in the back of my calf muscle as a
souvenir.

I walked over to the doors and eyed the
atrocious weather outside. Another thunder clap slam-dunked the landscape a few
miles away, followed by some intense lightning flashes, which lit up the entire
sky a few seconds later. I stared down the access track. There weren’t any
headlights coming up to investigate...

I darted out towards the gunman’s
Chevrolet and jumped in, then rifled through the doors and glove compartment
hoping to find something that would give me a clue as to why I was being
tailed.

Finding the car pretty much empty, I
stepped back out into the rain and checked the trunk. Nothing in there either.
I ran over to the bailiff’s truck and flipped the bonnet, then yanked a few
important leads out from the engine so that I wouldn’t be followed anytime
soon. Back in the gunman’s car, I spun it around and headed back to the
highway, feeling better for having swapped vehicles, but apprehensive about
leaving someone like Lutz tied up in the barn. A guy who was going to be pretty
damned pissed when he’d finally freed himself, the sort that was probably going
to come after me intent on revenge.

I pulled out my cell and rang Tug’s number.
He picked it up straight away.

‘Good to hear from ya, buddy. How far you
get?’

‘Somewhere in Iowa, but I’ve been tailed
since Minnesota by some hot-head from Kentucky armed with a semi-automatic.

‘No kidding?’ Tug said sounding alarmed. ‘You
sure are a damned trouble magnet, Blake, you know that? Do you know what the
guy wants, who he’s working for?’

‘Not sure. Some ex-con probably, hired to
do someone’s dirty work. He wasn’t the smartest.’

‘Jesus, what in the hell did he want with
you
? Do you think it’s something to do with that burnt-out rig?’

‘I don’t think so. The guy picked me up
at the Longfellow Gallery. He may have bugged your friend, Walter’s office for
some reason? Maybe he’d heard that I was interested in the girl through him? He’s
from Kentucky after all, which is where she is supposed to have gone.’

Tug fell silent for a moment