BULLETS (29 page)

“Fuck you, nigger,” Collins said right before he went lights out.

Slick released the unconscious deputy and got to his feet. Looked down at him.

“Fuck you right back, friend.” Slick stamped on the bigger man’s throat, crushing it. He spun when a flashlight behind him lit him up. Javier stood there, blood pouring from a wound in his chest, aiming a pistol at him. After an instant, he lowered his weapon, breathing heavily.

“Is that all of them?” Slick asked.

“Yeah, except for fucking Delbert, he’s still alive—but not for long.”

Javier limped over to his car. Del was stretched out on the ground next to it, his belly open and splattered. He was pale and gasping, trying to talk.

“I’m going to make him tell me what they did with Camilla,” Javier said.

Shots echoed again in the darkness, this time coming from the Carlson house.

“That’s a shotgun,” Slick said. “Doris Carlson is fighting back.”

“Here.” Javier handed him his pistol. “You go, I’m not gonna be able to make it that far in this condition. I’ll take care of fucking Del, you get them.”

Slick jacked the slide. “When this is all finally over, I’m going to kill you.”

“If Camilla really is dead then I’ll welcome it.”

S
lick ran hard
and fast for the ranch house. Shots echoed again, this time both pistol shots and shotgun shots. He made it to the front door. One of the deputies was sprawled out on the kitchen floor, his chest cratered by a shotgun blast. Slick moved past the kitchen and through the living room.

Brower and the other deputy stood at the hallway leading back to the bedrooms, leaning around the corner to fire at Doris, barricaded somewhere in the back. A shotgun blast took out a piece of the wood paneling near his head. Brower stayed calm and assured as he reloaded.

“Brower!”

Brower and the remaining deputy saw Slick in the kitchen. Each man brought their weapons up simultaneously and opened fire. Brower took a shot in the shoulder and in the chest. Slick dodged, still firing. He hit the other deputy in the head and dropped him. Brower stumbled forward, bleeding, unloading almost his entire clip at Slick, who dived behind a kitchen counter. He dropped his pistol when he hit the floor and it skittered away. Brower raced around it to take his shot, but before he could even gloat, a shotgun blast turned Brower’s entire head into a big, red mist.

Brower’s headless body went to its knees and then collapsed.

Doris Carlson stepped into the kitchen, her face white with shock and determination. She looked to Slick, who raised his hands and got to his feet.

“They broke in with bad intentions,” Doris finally said.

“They certainly did.”

“I had to do it, I couldn’t … I had to—”

“You had to. They were the ones who killed Roger, Doris. They wanted the farm, that’s why they killed him and why they were going to kill you.”

“It was them that did it, murdered my Roger?”

“Yeah. They murdered your husband and you flat out killed both their asses.”

Doris looked at him for a moment, her eyes blinking and emotions welling. She stuffed it back inside and finally nodded.

“Good,” she said. “For Roger. Good.”

T
here was a
state trooper SUV parked near the police cars and carnage by the time Doris and Slick made it back to Javier. Del lay on the ground, now dead and sporting considerably more damage than he did when Slick left him. Javier sat with his back against his car, blood pooling on the ground near him. Navajo Joe crouched near him and raised his gun when they approached. He lowered it when he recognized Slick.

“Joe,” Slick said.

“Slick, Mrs. Carlson,” Navajo Joe said. “Good to see both of you in one piece. Mrs. Carlson called me when she first heard the shots. Quite a mess we got here. Javier was just filling me in on the whole sordid scheme and voluntarily confessing to a number of crimes he’s responsible for personally.”

“I have evidence, in my car,” Javier said, his voice weak. “There’s a flash drive with the goods on all of them behind it—George, Ted, Del, the board of directors. It was my insurance policy in case they tried to double-cross me. Take it, burn the whole shithouse down. Do it.”

“He won’t let me call in an ambulance for him,” Navajo Joe said.

“No, don’t. Slick’s gonna take care of me. He promised,” Javier said.

“You get answers from Del about Camilla?”

Javier didn’t speak, just nodded.

“Tell me.”

“I can’t—”

“Fucking tell me, Javier.”

“Brower and Collins picked her up at the office this afternoon, after we secured you. George called them. They took her out to the desert.” Javier swallowed. “They made her dig a hole, shot her and buried her out there.”

Slick had known that intellectually, he’d known it ever since he caught Del’s first lie, but hearing it out loud hit him harsh in the gut. He turned away and screamed at the desert. He screamed and let it all out. Navajo Joe and Doris just stood there.

Javier didn’t hide the tears streaming down his face. “It’s all fucked up, I’ve been such a fucking idiot. I got greedy. It should have been me, not Camilla. Anyone but her.”

Slick took a deep breath, let it out and turned back to Javier.

“You promised me something,” Javier said. “Keep your promise. End it for me, right here and right now.”

“Hey now, hold on—” Navajo Joe said.

“Do it, Slick. I’ve been a fool, put me out of my misery.”

“No.”

“Slick—”

“You’ll be dead any minute as is, way you’re bleeding out. You lived as a fool, true, but you didn’t go out like one. You stood up at the end. Not everyone can say that. Take that with you as you go.”

Javier thought about that and finally nodded to Navajo Joe. “Don’t call this in until I’m gone, understand?”

The trooper nodded. Javier sighed as if finally unburdened and, after a few moments, died where he sat.

“You can call it in now,” Slick said.

“I will, as soon as I figure out how the hell I’m going to explain this tale of woe and sorrow to my bosses.”

“You open to suggestions?”

“Why not?”

“Here’s how it can play. Camilla collected evidence on Del and the deputies and gave it to Javier and let him know they were coming after Doris. He got here just in time to stop them, killing them all but dying from his wounds. His gun killed most of these men. He’s got powder burns on his hands. He told you what they did to Camilla. I was never here. She’s the hero.”

“You were never here?”

“Just fucks everything up, me being here. You probably have a good idea of what I do for a living besides playing cards. I don’t want my name public and, besides, it’s a lot simpler my way. I left when I was told to leave. Camilla kept on the job, cracked this criminal conspiracy, she gets the credit for the evidence on the flash drive and for tipping Javier off, everything, and I walk away. Local papers will eat it up, it works into the narrative that had already been going on with Ted, it’s a much better story than the reality. You got your villains, your dying heroes, it’ll play.”

“I can’t argue with that.” Navajo Joe took his hat off and rubbed his head. He looked to Doris.

“Would you be all right with that, Mrs. Carlson?”

“Is that what you want?” she asked Slick.

“Yeah, it’s what I want.”

“If it’s what he wants, then I’m fine with it. If not for him, I’d never have known who really killed my Roger. I’ll say whatever he wants me to say.”

“Camilla’s name comes out of this all good, but are you comfortable with Javier also being the hero, after all he’s done?” Navajo Joe asked.

“He knew what the truth was before he died, so I can live with it. But I want something in return,” Slick said.

“What’s that?” Navajo Joe asked.

“K
eep digging,” Slick
said.

He sat on the hood of Doris Carlson’s truck. The headlights lit up the desert as George Hanson dug a hole in the sand and begged for his life. Slick had borrowed her truck, driven back to town and snatched George when he came out to investigate a noise he’d heard in his garage.

Slick had tied him up, stuffed him into the back of the truck and driven out into the deep part of the desert. Slick tossed him a shovel and ordered him to dig. Told him if he didn’t he would kneecap him and leave him for the coyotes. He fired a few shots into the ground near his feet to motivate the man. George cried and dug his hole. It was nearly chest high and the older man was slowing down, trying to prolong the inevitable.

“Okay, George. Out of the hole.”

“Please, don’t do this. I have money, I’ll pay you anything—”

“I don’t want your money. Out or I make this very painful.”

George crawled out of the hole, blubbering.

“Turn around,” Slick said. George did as he was ordered.

“Please, I’m begging you, I have a family—”

“Camilla Leon had a family. She had a mother and father, brothers and sisters. She had a family and now she’s dead because of you, she was brought out to the desert and forced to dig a hole just like the one you just did. She did that and she was killed by your men.”

“Please, I had no choice—”

“Everyone has a choice, George. You know who else had a family? Pedro Garcia. He had a mother and a girlfriend he loved. Your daughter.”

“Listen—”

“And he had a child on the way. Your daughter was pregnant and because the father was an undocumented Mexican, you set him up to be killed.”

“What?” George turned around. “Jenny’s pregnant?”

“You didn’t know?” Slick lowered his pistol as he examined the older man’s face. “How about that, you really didn’t know.”

“She didn’t tell me,” George said. “I had no idea. I knew who she was seeing, yes, she told me finally. I admit that I him set up so he’d leave my daughter alone, but Ted wasn’t supposed to kill Pedro and I had no idea she was pregnant. I sent her away up north, away from this mess, when it got out of control. She took off the morning after … after he died, and I don’t even know where she is. I’ve called and called her and she won’t have anything to do with me.”

“Can you blame her?”

“Please—”

“Turn back around. Do it!”

George did as he was ordered. Slick put the pistol to the back of his head. George sobbed for what was to come.

“You killed the father of your unborn grandchild, George. You also killed a woman I could have loved forever.”

Slick pulled the trigger and the pistol hammer fell upon an empty cylinder. George cried out loud when he realized he was still alive and soiled his pants. Slick shoved him into the hole with his free hand. He stood at the edge of it.

“This hole is too good for you. Going out the same way Camilla went out, far too good for you. I ain’t gonna do that. You’re going to do life in a federal prison, a prison like the one you sold your soul for, and you’re going to die cold and miserable and publicly humiliated. That’s what Camilla would’ve wanted.”

Slick turned back to the truck, got inside, started it up and drove away, leaving George there alone in the desert. Either George would find his way back or he wouldn’t, but Slick had a feeling the old man would.

J
enny hoped beyond
hope that she was done throwing up for the day.

She’d puked at least five times before noon as it was, twice since coming to work and she still had at least eight hours of her ten-hour shift to go. She hadn’t eaten anything since the previous night, so hopefully there was nothing left inside that could some out. Nausea rose again as she cleared a table and wiped it off. She swallowed it back down and hurried to the front.

Her manager, Rob, had already made a couple comments about her trips to the bathroom, but the other girls told her that he did the same thing to them when they started out, too. He was just an asshole, especially to new girls.

Rob dressed like a hipster, mostly to fit in with the collegiate ambience that was common not just in coffee shops like this one but throughout the city of Portland. Rob even had the man-bun and pierced tongue, but Jenny quickly found out that his heart was as cold and hard as any capitalist robber baron. He’d sack her in a second if given any excuse, the other waitresses had warned Jenny. He liked firing new girls and he was at his most dangerous when he acted nice.

Jenny used to love the smell of coffee, too, especially in the morning. Now it just made her ill and she didn’t think she’d ever be able to drink the beverage again. The smell was in her clothes, her hair, everywhere and followed her home at night, staying with her even after a long shower.

She caught a glimpse of herself in one of the mirrors. She had new wrinkles around her eyes and her face was harried, her blonde hair a perfect mess. It’d only been a few weeks and she thought she already looked ten years older. She wondered how long she’d be able to keep this up.

Rob snapped his fingers at her and Jenny rushed to pick up an order of coffee. “This has been here for at least a minute already. Move faster. And you have someone at table four, he’s been waiting,” Rob said. “We don’t let our customers wait, we’re the wait staff, not the customers. We wait, they don’t, understand?”

“I understand, I’ll take care of it,” she said.

“I’ve got my eye on you,” Rob said as she balanced the coffee on the tray and threaded through the maze of tables to deliver it to a group of college students, who took it without even saying thank you. Jenny remembered when she was just like them. If she ever got out of this place, she’d never look at a waitress in the same way ever again.

She sighed and hurried to the man sitting in the back. She couldn’t believe she’d missed him, he was a very large, very black man dressed in a loud pink shirt. He tapped away on a computer tablet. She took out her pad.

“Hi, what can I get you?”

He stared at her for a second, and then put the tablet away. “A moment of your time, Jenny Hanson, nothing more or less.”

Jenny froze for a moment, shocked, but then she figured it out and glared at him. She put her hand on her hip, indignant.