Gun Lake (18 page)

“Yeah. Guess I do.”

“You liked being married?”

“At times,” Kurt said, uncomfortable having the conversation shift on him.

“You didn’t mind being a one-woman man?”

“Wouldn’t have gotten married if I did.”

“Yeah, I guess not. Ever see yourself remarrying?”

“No.”

Sean looked over and chuckled at Kurt. “That was a quick and definitive no.”

“I don’t.”

“Why not?”

“Same reasons you have, I guess.”

“You still have feelings for her?”

Kurt shook his head. It could never be an easy answer, a straight yes or no reply. He shifted in the car and stared ahead at the men exiting Escapade.

“I’d think somebody like you would want to. Marry, I mean. Try again.”

“Nah,” Kurt said.

“Given up on finding love?”

“I’m not looking for it.”

“What are you looking for then?”

“Who says I have to be looking for anything?”

“We’re all looking for something. Lonnie, he’s looking for something. Ossie, Wes—we all are—”

Kurt interrupted. “What if Lon’s not in there? I’m getting bored looking at a side of a building.”

“He’s in there. Probably with eyes wide open.”

“Think he’ll come back with us no problem?”

“I don’t know what Lonnie will do, to be honest.”

“I thought things were going to go bad back at that house in Texas. When the people came home. Lonnie was all jacked up, wanting to go upstairs. He worries me.”

Sean stared ahead, nodded, suddenly lost in his thoughts. Kurt wished he could read his mind, to know what he was thinking about Lonnie and Kurt and everything else. Where did he expect this train to end, and how would it stop?

It was close to three in the morning when Lonnie walked out of the doorway of the warehouse joint with a tall woman wearing jeans and a midriff-baring tee-shirt. He was smoking a cigarette and following her down the sidewalk.

“Wait here, okay?” Sean said.

Sean got out of the car and jogged across the street. Kurt watched from the seat. He’d been dozing on and off, but now he was wide awake. He saw Sean call out after Lonnie, then Lonnie turn around and smile and put up his arms to give Sean a big hug. The woman hesitated for a moment, then shrugged and kept walking. Lonnie turned around to look at her.

Words were said, and Lonnie began to walk away from Sean even as he kept talking. Sean hurried after him and grabbed him by the shoulder. Lonnie turned around and gave Sean a shove, yelling at him. Even from across the street, Kurt could hear some of the curses. Sean stretched out his arms, talking into Lonnie’s face, but Lonnie kept on looking down the street to where the woman walked, probably toward her car. Sean then looked back at Kurt, held out an open hand that meant to hold on, then began walking down the sidewalk with Lonnie. They walked to the end of the building, where there was an alley. Sean and Lonnie then disappeared for about ten minutes.

Kurt got out of the car and walked across the empty street. A couple of men left the club and walked past Kurt without even a
glance his way. Before Kurt reached the alley, Lonnie stepped back into view with fingers over his mouth and nose. His eyes looked strained, squinting, and something wet dripped from his hand. Sean followed and gave Kurt an “everything’s fine” smile.

Lonnie didn’t say a word as he walked past Kurt toward their waiting car.

“You okay?” Kurt asked.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Sean asked, walking past him and following Lonnie.

“What happened?”

“Nothing. Just needed to smack some sense into the guy.”

Kurt stood there, wondering what that was all about, wondering what Sean had done to get Lonnie back into the car. A punch to the nose wouldn’t have done it. It would have only made things worse.

He still didn’t understand this connection the two of them had, any more than he understood Sean’s hold over Ossie.

What was it about Sean’s influence, anyway?

He crossed the street and found Lonnie sitting in the backseat of the car. The guy looked awful, almost bad enough for Kurt to feel sorry for him.

Almost.

Kurt didn’t say anything as he climbed in and heard the music of The Doors playing and Sean singing along in glorious delight.

I CAN END THIS NOW, and I probably should
.

Ossie had heard the first one leave, the dangerous one named Lonnie. Then, not long after, he’d heard the whispers between Sean and Kurt. They too left, probably worried about Lonnie and what he might do out there in the city. Now he was on his own with the big guy and the friendly, talkative one.

His hand gripped the phone. He contemplated his next move.

Lord, give me an answer
.

He’d made a promise, and it was a promise he had kept, one he was continuing to keep. But for how long? And at what price? He wasn’t a part of this group and didn’t want to be. But something in him, something deep inside, made it almost impossible for him to call the police. How could he do that to these men?

They’re killers
.

And they’d eventually get caught.
They might kill again
.

Sean had told him no more, that the killing was all finished. The woman in the sporting-goods store had been completely unnecessary. The three at the Steerhouse were another story. But they wouldn’t get into situations like that anymore, Sean had told him. Not while Ossie was helping them out.

Can I make a difference?
he wondered.
Can I prevent more trouble from happening?

Maybe this was just his mind rationalizing what he was doing. Setting up room and board for escaped convicts and murdering thieves. Maybe his soul was aching because he was sinning and falling back into a normal pattern of actions for a man like himself.

I’m different than I used to be
.

He held the phone and wondered what he should do. What was the right thing to do? Call the authorities and run for his life? What would Sean say or think? Going back to jail, realizing Ossie was a liar, knowing that Ossie’s vow and promise meant nothing more than meaningless air. They’d mean nothing, and so would his God and his religion.

I could try to talk to them
.

He hated referring to talking about his Lord and Savior as witnessing. He knew that’s what it was, but it wasn’t like he was knocking on doors and handing out pamphlets and trying to count the souls won over. He couldn’t even bring himself to talk about Jesus with the people he worked with. But these guys were right here in his apartment, and maybe he could talk to them and
help them. He could tell about the grace of his heavenly Father and how it had made a difference in his life. A difference. An incredible difference. How waking up was different, how the hope of heaven motivated him, how the beautiful Psalms of David made him happy and brought him to tears, how the gospel songs stirred him and made him want to shout, how his brothers and sisters down at Calvary Church made him care about others in a way he’d never cared before.
Yeah, I guess I am different
.

The foul-mouthed, hotheaded kid who strutted around hating whites and feeling like the world never gave him a break—that kid was long gone. He’d had the anger beaten out of him in places like Stagworth. Instead of anger, he’d grown numb and cold and incapable of any sort of change. Until he met a guy named Abe at Stagworth and somehow did change.

Abe liked to call Ossie a “new creation.” And Ossie had always liked that term—probably because it was true. He was a new creation. A new man. Still battling the same sort of habits and problems, still trying to fight those inner demons. It wasn’t like blowing out a candle of despair. One quick puff and boom, you felt happy and joyful and full of peace. It wasn’t like that. But it was a change, and one change led to others. And those things—joy and peace—they certainly came.

And continued to come as he got older.

Ossie remembered getting out of prison and going to see his mother and kneeling before her and asking for forgiveness. She cursed at him because he’d spent much of his life cursing at her. She didn’t believe he was real. But here was a fifty-four-year-old man, a murderer and a crook and a convict for half his life, coming before the only mother he had and asking for her forgiveness. Telling her not in a preachy tone, but to help her understand about all that had happened to him. About how he found Jesus in, of all places, Stagworth Prison. How he had asked Jesus to come into his heart. How his life had started to change.

A new creation.

His mother, in her late seventies and living with one of his sisters in Chicago, had eventually put both her hands on his head
as if she were holding a bowling ball. Then she had begun to cry and kissed his head, his forehead, her words mixed with love and thank-yous to Jesus.

A man like him deserved nothing more in this life after that moment. Yet an earthly mother forgives you the same way a heavenly Father does. It’s something you don’t deserve and something you can never repay.

Witnessing? Telling the world about those sorts of things wasn’t witnessing. It wasn’t preaching. It was just being honest.

He thought again about doing something. Or trying to do something about Sean and the others. He just wasn’t sure
what
to do.

Ossie wished there was a handbook that told him the dos and don’ts of following the Lord. Oh yes, there was the Bible, but sometimes it was just so hard to understand. Some parts were easier than others, to be sure. But what did it say about situations like this one?

He thought briefly of calling his pastor or one of the deacons down at the church and asking for his counsel. But he didn’t think that even those good souls would understand his dilemma—and telling them about the Stagworth Five could put them in danger as well.

Ossie put the phone back down. He was afraid of someone else dying.

What if I call the police and these guys know they’re about to be caught? What happens then?

He thought he knew the answer. Some of them might do anything, absolutely anything, not to go back to Stagworth. Ossie didn’t rule out one of them taking his own life.

And then what?

He knew what that meant.

I made a promise
.

He thought of the vow he made Sean, of the solemn words he had spoken to Sean, and knew that for the moment he could do nothing. He was a prisoner again. But he also had the opportunity to share some of Jesus’ love with these guys, the same way Abe had shared love with him.

It wasn’t about winning a game, this sharing a love. Saving a soul wasn’t his business, and he knew he had no chance of trying such a thing. But he knew that if God could chip away at a hardened heart like his, then maybe, maybe there was a chance for one of these guys around him. Maybe there was a chance for all of them.

IT’S TWO IN THE MORNING. Do you know where your oldest child is?

Michelle Meier sat on the sofa, the television off, the lone light on the table next to her still lit, her hands sweaty as they clasped together, her eyes facing the door.

Why is he doing this?

She thought of Ted and wished he could be here right now, waiting for Jared to come in the door, waiting to take his hand and sit him down and have a little talk. And then, surprisingly, she thought of her brother.

Jared would listen to Evan. Everybody always listened to Evan. Everybody loved Evan, just like they loved Jared. They had the same full spirit, the same fun-loving nature. Jared hadn’t exhibited much of that spirit around her lately, but she knew it was there. His love of life and his love of everything new and exciting—that was what got him into trouble. Just like it had gotten Evan into trouble.

Maybe I should tell him—

No
, she thought.
Not here, not tonight
. They had just gotten there, and he had already disobeyed her rules.

And here, unlike Chicago, she didn’t even know where to look for him.

God, please let him be okay
was the prayer that she kept repeating.
Let nothing bad happen to him. Protect him, Lord. Please protect him
.

The phone call had come eleven years ago, when Jared was only five. Eleven years ago she had gotten that call in the middle of the night, the sort of ring that jerks you awake and tells you something very, very, very bad has happened and you’re going to know what it is in just a matter of milliseconds. The sort she feared she would one day have to pick up and hear about Jared.

“Honey, it’s your father,” Ted had said after picking up the phone.

Strange how a whole life can end with a simple sentence.

Please, Lord, bring Jared back here, let him be okay, and help him—

Then the door opened and Jared walked in the room. His eyes looked tired and glassy. For a moment he stood and looked at her, surprised she was still awake, surprised that she was looking so—well, however it was she looked. Maybe petrified, like an old woman. Like the age she felt. Angry and disappointed. Hurt and dejected. Frustrated and beyond reason. All of those things.

He closed the door, and she stood up. Took a breath. Then another.
Thank you, Lord
.

He waited for her to say something, and she almost did. But that would mean tears. Perhaps yelling. Perhaps a hand on his arm, wanting to shake it and shake it and try to get a response. Like an EMT shaking a dead person for some semblance of life, for a pulse, for the possibility of recovery. But she wouldn’t do this. Tonight she would let him be. Now was not the time.

The truth was, she was too exhausted to talk to him. Waiting and worrying had worn her out, but it was relief that really drained her. Relief that the door had opened and that he had come back. Relief that the phone hadn’t rung the way it had with Evan. Evan, her younger brother, her only brother, dead in some place she didn’t know in a way she couldn’t believe.

Jared looked at her and waited and then finally knew to go on to his room to bed.

Lord, help me. I don’t know what to do
.