Gun Lake (37 page)

Lord, help us. Please, Father, help us. We’re in trouble and need something, anything
.

The big guy approached them with a roll of duct tape.

PAUL MOVED THE SUITCASE into the living room and sat on the Berber carpet in a patch of midday sun that leaked in through the drawn curtains. The windows were closed, and the air was stuffy. He looked around to see if there was anything he was leaving behind.

You’re running away. Again. Like the coward that you are
.

It didn’t matter now. He needed to get out of here. He had spent all day yesterday debating what to do, half expecting another visit from Sean. Sean’s appearance hadn’t been completely unexpected

Isn’t that why you left Illinois?

but it still terrified him. He hadn’t been able to sleep the night he saw him, or last night either.

The man who had showed up the other night—that was not his son. Maybe by blood, but that was all. He didn’t recognize him, couldn’t see the boy he’d known inside this good-looking man with the glittering eyes. He knew he had no control, no influence over him.

He had suspected from the beginning that Sean might try to find him. And yes, he was a coward for seeking to avoid that by running to Gun Lake. But he’d thought he was avoiding a confrontation, an unpleasant scene. The guilt. He hadn’t realized just how far his son’s hatred and passion would drive him. To track him down—to Chicago, then all the way up to this lake, all for the sole purpose of what?

Is he that furious, that desperate, to kill me in cold blood?

He found his car keys and slipped on a cap.

You’re running just like you always have and always will
.

But it was either that or go to the cops. And he had no intention of involving the cops.

People might die if they stay on the loose. People have already died
.

But if they died, that was their problem. Sean Norton being out was not his problem, and the only thing he was going to do was get out of here.

And go where?

Paul didn’t know. He didn’t know what to think, where to point the car, where to head to. Sean had found him here. Couldn’t he continue to follow his trail?

Paul stopped for a moment and thought. His gut ached from the worry, from the sickening self-doubt racking his soul.

Stay here and stand up to him. Find some way to stop him
.

He thought of the forty-five, the one that had obviously been left here by Sean. Why had he done that? Was he trying to goad him? Maybe this whole thing was some sort of twisted suicide attempt.

He’s not my son. And he’s not my problem
.

Paul began to head toward the door, but it opened for him.

Sean stood in the doorway.

Paul’s mind raced, realizing the forty-five was packed up in the suitcase. No way to get to it quickly.

A big grin washed over Sean’s face. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he said.

“What do you want?”

“Actually, I was thinking about some lunch.”

“Are you crazy?”

“Oh, come on. Why the hostility?”

Paul didn’t want to bother answering the question. There was no reason to. Sean was playing mind games; he simply wanted to torture him. He had come back on a mission to kill him, but before he pulled the trigger, he wanted to make his father—his biological father—feel as dreadful as possible.

“I just want to talk,” Sean said.

“There are families around here,” Paul said, looking out the window.

“I know. I saw several.”

“Don’t involve them in this.”

Sean wrinkled his eyebrows, looking disappointed. “You got me all wrong. I’m not some bloodthirsty killer.”

“That’s not what the newspapers say.”

“That’s why I wanted you to hear it from the source,” Sean said. “Over lunch.”

“What if I decline?”

Sean stepped into the cottage and closed the door behind him. He noticed the packed suitcase next to a chair in the living room.

“Going somewhere?”

Paul didn’t answer.

“I think you are.”

Paul didn’t react, didn’t say a word. He couldn’t help the sweat beads forming on his face.

“I think you were going to cut this little reunion of ours short.”

Sean moved closer to him.

“And I also think you would be really wise to join me for lunch now.” A hand produced a short automatic handgun, waving
it in Paul’s face. “Thing is, I don’t really care about too much these days. And as much as I’d like to prove those newspapers wrong, well, they’re already accusing me—already convicting me with their words, right? So what’s one more killing? Or a handful more? Another family? That cute blond couple down the path …”

Paul cursed.

“Ooh. Big words from a big man.”

“Where do you want to go?”

“Just down the street. The hamburger place.”

“Fine. Let’s get out of here.”

Sean urged Paul to go first. He stuck the gun somewhere out of sight—Paul couldn’t tell where. And they walked down the path back out to the parking lot. A tiny strawberry-haired girl came pedaling her small three-wheeler past them. Sean bent down and asked for her name.

“Claire.”

“Well, hello, Claire,” Sean said, a huge, likable grin on his face. “I like your bike.”

The little girl continued to pedal on, and Sean watched her go. Paul felt like throwing up.

Sean slapped him on the back. “You know, Pop, you really have to relax.”

Paul exhaled and felt his legs becoming unstable.
I might not need a bullet in my head
, he thought.
Maybe all it’s going to take is my heart seizing up on me
.

They continued to walk to Paul’s truck, where they both got in and drove to the burger place in silence.

“You think I left you and your mother, don’t you?” Paul said, his hamburger untouched, a few fries missing.

“I know the truth.”

“Are you sure?” Paul asked him.

Sean ate as though he didn’t have a care in the world. He didn’t look like an escaped felon on the run, a guy who was heading up a cross-country murder spree. He didn’t look as if he was talking to a father he hadn’t seen for most of his life. He ate his bacon cheeseburger with zest and animation.

“I know that when I was seven, you left Mom and me and never came back.”

“Do you want to know why I left?”

“Couldn’t hack being a husband? Or a father?”

“I went to prison.”

Sean looked surprised, skeptical.

“Lori never told you about that, did she? Like father, like son, huh?”

“You’re lying.”

“No, I’m not. I went to a joint outside San Antonio. Connally Unit. Maximum security joint. Lori divorced me while I was there. Stopped writing and moved away.”

Some of that cockiness disappeared off Sean’s face. Good, Paul thought. He actually was getting to him.

“You were inside?”

Paul nodded. “For almost fifteen years.”

“What for?”

“Conspiring to kill someone.”

“Did it work?”

Paul shook his head, looking down. That was a subject he hated even thinking about.

Sean stopped eating and reached for his glass of Coke. “Fifteen years. So you were out before Mom died.”

“By that time, I didn’t even know where she was living.”

“It’s easy to find those things out,” Sean said. “I know. I’ve tried.”

“Her brother contacted me when she died. I never went to her funeral. But that’s how I knew about you.”

“About how I was following in your shoes?”

“He told me you were in Stagworth.”

Sean nodded. “So you were in the joint too?”

Paul said yes.

“That doesn’t change a thing.”

“What do you mean?”

“Even if everything you’ve said is true—no reason for it not to be, of course—it doesn’t matter.”

“I didn’t abandon your mother and you.”

Sean shook his head, smiling incredulously. “You know, I’ve never understood guys like you. I met them when I was inside, got to know a lot of them pretty well. Guys with families—who just chucked it all away.”

“Having a family makes it worse?” Paul asked, curious at this direction of the conversation.

Sean cursed in agreement. “You bet it makes it worse. A guy on his own doesn’t have a wife to slap some sense into him. Doesn’t have children who need him. Who will
always
need him.”

“They also don’t have pressures of supporting that family.”

Sean cursed again. “Give me a break. Pressures. What did you know about pressures?”

Paul didn’t answer, just shook his head, knowing nothing he could say would answer his son’s question.

“Mom was trying to make her way on her own, and then she got killed in a car accident. Some drunk on the highway just slams into her, smashes her inside a steel accordion, and that was it. They wouldn’t even let me out for her funeral. Doesn’t that just take the cake? I mean, life’s not supposed to work out like that.”

“I’m sorry,” Paul said.

“What are you sorry for?”

“For a lot of things. For losing her.”

“When would that be? When she divorced you and took on her maiden name? Or would it be when she got trash-compacted on the highway?”

“Both.”

Sean nodded. “That’s the way it goes, huh?”

“Sometimes,” Paul said, thinking of Grace, letting her slip into his thoughts for just a brief moment.

“It still doesn’t change anything,” Sean said.

“What do you mean?”

“Me being here. You know, it’s almost civil. You and me, father and son, enjoying a nice burger together. Talking. You could almost think that things could work out for good, you know? Almost.”

Paul stared into Sean’s eyes, saw the glint deep inside, and wondered what he was thinking.

“I came back here for one reason, and one reason only,” said Sean. “It’s what drove me to escape from Stagworth in the first place. When Mom died and I knew I had no one on the outside, something began to grow in me. Something right here.” Sean patted at his heart, seeming almost proud, then sneered. “And I’ve saved it just for you.”

“You’ve been angry at me all this time.”

“Oh, you think? Why would that be?”

“I had nothing to do with Lori’s death.”

“But you had
everything
to do with how it all turned out. How we turned out. We would still be living in Texas probably if you hadn’t left. Hadn’t got yourself thrown into prison or whatever.”

“You don’t know that.”

“What I know is that you left our family. For whatever reason. And you never came back, never even tried to stay in contact.”

Paul couldn’t say anything to that. There were reasons. There were plenty of them. But they would never be good enough.

“You think that going off to prison makes it look better?” Sean said. “You’re wrong. Even after I tried writing—several times—did you ever bother contacting me back? Ever think of your only son? Did I mean
anything
to you?”

Paul looked around the restaurant. Several patrons stared at them after Sean’s outburst.

“That wasn’t my choice. Lori didn’t want me to contact you. She—she was ashamed I was in the joint. And then, after a while, it was too late.”

“Even after she died?”

“Especially after she died,” Paul said.

Sean cursed and glared at his father.

“You’re really a pathetic man,” he said to Paul. “A sad, pathetic man.”

“You going to shoot me down here, in broad daylight?” Sean shook his head, a strange smile twisting the corners of his mouth.

“Then what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to make you sweat a little longer,” he told his father. “And I’m going to make sure you don’t leave town.”

“Going to tie me up?”

“I don’t need to. I already tied up someone else.”

“Who? Those guys with you?”

Sean shook his head, smiled, and then lit up a cigarette. Paul didn’t even know if smoking was allowed in the restaurant, but Sean didn’t care. Paul had seen that look before, on people in the joint. Sean was long past caring.

“Thing is, last night we had a little problem,” Sean said, letting out a cloud of smoke. “And we had a sightseer decide to join us. A young kid who got curious when he should’ve been minding his own business.”

The air in Paul’s lungs vanished, and he felt his gut seize up.

“Oh, don’t worry, they’re fine.”

“They?” Paul asked.

“The kid and his mother. Tourists staying at a cottage around here.”

“What’d you do, Sean?”

“Nothing. And I won’t do a thing. As long as you, sir—father dearest—as long as you stay put and don’t go anywhere. You got that?”

Paul nodded slowly.

“You want me to just stay at my place?”

“Yes,” Sean said.

“And wait for you to come and shoot me?”

“Oh, come on.” Sean’s laugh managed to sound friendly and mocking at the same time. “You don’t know that. Maybe I’ll have a change of heart.”

“When’s this going to be over?” Paul asked.

“Soon. Very soon.”

Sean left a twenty on the table and stood up. “See what kind of guy I am? I even pick up the bill.”

Paul followed his son out of the restaurant and into the bright sunlight. He thought of Bow, and he felt a shiver go through his body.

“YOU GUYS DECIDED to come back,” Sean said after Ossie and Kurt drove up in the car and got out.

“Where’ve you been?” Kurt asked.

“Dealing with a problem.”

“What problem? Why is there always a problem with you?”

“I’m not the one who has the problems. I just deal with them.”

“What’s going on?” Ossie asked as he stepped onto the porch of the cabin.

“We had some kid, a teenager, spying on us last night.”

“When?” Kurt asked.

“When do you think?” Sean asked.

“Where is he?”

“Wes is at his cottage.”

“What?” Kurt said.

“Doing what?” Ossie asked.

“The kid is there with his mother. That’s all. We tied ’em up.”

Kurt cursed. Ossie looked at Sean and grew very stern.

“Sean, what are you going to do with them?”

“Nothing. Nothing. Listen—what should I have done? Just let the kid go tell what he saw? We’d have about a dozen cops and FBI agents swarming around this place in no time.”