Off the Beaten Path (27 page)

The flash-light struck Gerard on the left side of his face just below where he was shielding his eyes. The force of the blow knocked him off balance and he stumbled backwards onto the balcony. As he tried to
regain his equilibrium he took another wild shot with the pistol. The stray bullet found a victim and Gerard heard a howl of pain that wasn't human, it had to have been Rover.

Kristin dropped to the floor and pulled Sam back out of the line of fire of the dark figure stumbling backwards toward the balcony rail. As Gerard hit the rail he felt a couple ribs snap but he was starting to regain his vision and his bearings. Through squinted eyes he could see the God Damn cowboy standing in the middle of the room directly under the sky-light. The moonlight made him look like a glow in the dark target in a shooting gallery.

Gerard brought the pistol up and aimed it straight at the Cowboy. Gerard smiled and said with sour triumph, “Good Night Tex.”

The crack of the gun and the force of the bullet spun Gerard around and over the rail like a rag doll. Jack looked down at his chest expecting to see a gaping hole with blood spurting out of it, there was neither. He realized that the gunshot had come from outside but not from the intruder’s gun, it was much louder and farther away than the balcony.

Kristin grabbed a towel out of the bathroom and pressed down hard against Sam's wound. Jack walked over and knelt down next to the two of them. He stroked Sam's head and assured his old friend that she was going to be okay. Kristin looked at Jack and smiled, it was a smile that told him that she was also going to be okay. Jack reached over and lifted the pistol off the floor next to Kristin. He tucked it in the back of his jeans and smiled, “I think I will hold onto this for a while.” She didn't argue.

When Jack was sure that they were both safe and neither one of them were in shock he stood up and stepped out onto the balcony. He walked over to the edge of the railing and looked down into the darkness. He could see a man lying in a heap on top of what used to be his favorite BBQ Grill.

A flash of light caught his right eye and he jerked the pistol out of his belt and pointed it in the direction of the light before he drew another breath. As he pulled the hammer back on the pistol he heard a calm familiar voice say, “Easy Jack. It’s just us.” In the wash of moonlight he could see two men coming around the side of the house, both of whom
he recognized. The big man with a 30-06 rifle slung over one shoulder and a flashlight in his left hand was the sheriff, Don Clausen. The old guy bringing up the rear was his Father-in-Law, Ben.

When the two men reached the spot where Gerard was lying in a heap on top of the BBQ grill Don shinned his flashlight into the man’s face, they all a heard a groan. At the sound of the groan Jack looked down at the two men in amazement and said, “I'll be right down.”

Jack made a quick stop on his way back through the bedroom to make sure Kristin and Sam were alright then he bolted out of the bedroom and down the stairs two at a time. When he got around back of the house where Gerard was lying he noticed that not only did he have a bullet wound from the Sheriff's rifle just under his left arm pit he had part of the BBQ grill sticking out of his stomach. Jack knelt down and almost screamed in Gerard's face, “Who sent you?” Gerard opened his eyes and looked at the three men standing around him. His gaze stopped at the Sheriff, “You’re a Cop?” he said with a pained smile on his face. The big Sheriff knelt down next to Gerard on the opposite side from Jack, “Yes, Son I am.” Don repeated Jack's question,

“Who sent you?”

Gerard let out a gasping laugh.” You have to try and save me.”

The Sheriff pushed his cowboy hat back on his head and smiled,

“Yes, son, I am an officer of the court sworn to uphold the law.”

This made Gerard relax a little, “However.” the Sheriff continued.

“It is thirty miles to the nearest hospital, and I can either drive you to that hospital at the posted speed limit, or, he paused, I can put on my flashing lights and drive like a bat out of hell to try and save your life, You decide, now who sent you?”

Gerard took less than a second to answer their question,

“Clarence Palmer,” He said through a spray of blood.

Jack didn't know what made him look up to where the man had gone over the balcony, he thought he felt someone looking down at him, he was right. Kristin was standing at the balcony looking down at Jack with a look of composed relief and total gratitude. He smiled at her and she smiled back, then she turned and went back to take care of Sam.

The Sheriff looked across at Jack and Said with a sigh of obligation and duty,

“Okay Jack, help me get him to the Car, we'll see if we can save this guy for the courts to deal with.” The Sheriff and Jack gently lifted Gerard off up off the ground with Ben holding an old handkerchief over the man's stomach wound. They made it about halfway to the front of the house before they felt the life drain out of the killer. The Sheriff said softly,

“Set him down boys, I'll call the coroner.”

“You knew that he wasn't going to make it.” Jack asked as a Question.

“Ya, but he didn't know that.” he said, as he pointed to the guy laying ground.

As they waited for the coroner to arrive Jack asked his father-in-law and the Sheriff how they happen to come along at just the right time. Ben explained to Jack that he and Mary had come by earlier and no one was home. Jack looked puzzled, Ben continued,

“Jack, Mary pointed out to me just as we were about to leave that your truck was still in the driveway, the horses were still in the corral, and Sam was all alone on the front porch. She told me that she had never seen you go anywhere without either, your truck, at least one of the horses, and the very least Sam.

Jack turned his attention to the Sheriff, “I know that it's awful bright out here tonight, but how did you know that it wasn't me leaning against the railing when you pulled the trigger on that elephant gun?”

The sheriff smiled, “I heard him make that idiotic statement, something about, Good Night Tex. No one around here would say something that stupid.”

Jack grinned and agreed with the Sheriff, “I see your point.”

As the sheriff pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit it one up Jack had an idea that he wanted to run by the Sheriff before the Coroner arrived. Don, I know that you just saved my life but could I ask a favor of you?”

The big man took a long drag off of his cigarette and asked,

“What did you have in mind, Jack?”

Clarence sat in his office and sipped his coffee as he scanned the web page of the Missoulian, the only local newspaper of any size in western Montana. If there was a news story about some local Cowboy being murdered anywhere in that part of the country it would appear in that paper. He had been watching the newspapers web-site for the last three days and so far he hadn't seen anything more exciting than a the minutes of a city council meeting, ranchers and environmentalist fighting over water conservation and a group of fifth graders that had built a park bench.

“Christ, were these people boring.” He said out loud.

Clarence hadn't heard anything from Gerard in over a week, but that wasn't unusual. Gerard was cautious to the point of being paranoid. Clarence knew that if Gerard suspected the slightest hint of something being out of place he would do whatever he had to do to keep from being discovered. Hell, he could see Gerard going north into Canada and driving across Edmonton then into British Columbia and dropping back down into Seattle at Vancouver Canada if he thought that things didn't look right. The man was absolutely psycho, but it worked in his favor.

He refreshed the screen and smiled a broad smile. There it was on the front page of the newspapers web page, Man murdered in rural community. He clicked on the Read More tab and read just enough of the story to confirm that Gerard had performed the task to his satisfaction. There was no mention of a woman, or the man's name. It
was the usual vague pile of B.S. That all newspapers put out these days. News had become a disposable commodity in our twenty first century, twenty four seven news cycle. It didn't matter one bit about getting all the facts or even being accurate. The only thing that mattered in today's accelerated news cycle was getting the headline first, the facts would come later, if at all. Clarence clicked the web site closed and wired the rest of the money to Gerard's bank account.

Clarence strutted into the courtroom like a peacock in heat. He was decked out in a five thousand dollar Armani suit and all the trimmings that went with it. Including Italian loafers and his favorite Rolex watch. Clarence had spent the previous day at an exclusive spa getting the full treatment. Which included a haircut, manicure, pedicure, and an old fashion hot shave with a straight razor. Clarence was not interested in looking like a victim, he wanted everyone to see that he was a class act and that what that hick cowboy had done to him in public had hurt his professional image and not his personal persona. 

Between shaking hands and schmoozing with people in the gallery it took Clarence more than twenty minutes from the time he walked through the massive double doors at the back of the courtroom to his seat at the front of the courtroom. All of the schmoozing took place on the left side of the gallery. The line of spectators was as defined as a church wedding, with the friends and family of the groom on one side and the friends and family of the bride on the other side of the aisle. Clarence kept his back turned toward the side of the gallery that was there to support his ex-wife for several good reasons. First, he wanted them to know that if they were there to support his ex-wife he considered them traitors. Second, there were a couple of people on the opposite side of the aisle that Clarence was inwardly scared of. One person in particular, Becca.

His fear of Becca stemmed from an incident that happened just before Kristin had filed for divorce. Becca had never totally bought off on Kristin's marriage to Clarence, and she had let her know in no uncertain terms that there was just something “Just not right' about Clarence. But after Becca's initial objections to Clarence Becca backed off and didn't say another word about her suspicions. At first she was very supportive of their marriage, especially since Kristin looked to be happier than she had ever seen her.

Over the years Becca had maintained a cordial but distant relationship with Clarence. But after the broken nose and the fractured wrist Becca became unhinged. Becca had sat calmly by Kristin's bed-side and held her hand in the private hospital room until the drugs took effect. Then she slipped quietly out of her room and down the hall like a women possessed.

By the time she had reached the hospital waiting room where Clarence was playing the role of the concerned husband she was almost running. Clarence didn't see it coming, Becca rounded the corner of the open waiting area and crossed the floor before knew she was in the room.

He was sitting on one of the plastic faux hospital couches and clasping both of his hands over the hands of one of the young models that worked at the agency. It looked more like Clarence was trying to seduce the young girl than comfort her. The sight of Clarence holding hands with the young gorgeous model only served to enrage Becca
even more. If Becca had any last minute doubt or hesitation about what she wanted to do to Clarence, every scrap of uncertainty exploded in her mind like a puff of smoke out of a cannon. Clarence was staring straight into the young models teary eyes and smiling with as much charm and sympathy as he could muster. He had no clue what was bearing down on him until he heard a loud crash just to the left of him and he saw the cheap hospital coffee table where his black coffee spiked with a little Jack Daniels go flying like it had been launched from Cape Canaveral.

Becca's high heel pump had connected with the coffee table and removed the only physical object standing between her and Clarence. She was on top of him in a split second and she had him pinned against the back of the cheap couch. Her left knee was buried in the middle of his chest and she had a death grip around his neck, via the two-hundred dollar Gucci neck tie he was wearing. Her other hand was pressed against the back of the couch for stability and her right foot was still on the floor providing support and leverage. Despite the fact that Clarence had been a vicious fighter in college and he was a good fifty pounds heavier than Becca he was not going anywhere. It wasn't Becca's death grip on his neck or her knee planted in his chest that paralyzed Clarence, it was the look of utter hate and contempt he saw in her eyes. Being the first rate defense attorney that he was Clarence had always talked about and used Crime of Passion as a defense, but until that very moment he had never really witnessed what that statement meant. He was now seeing it first hand and he was truly terrified for his life.

When Becca had his undivided attention she leaned down into Clarence's face and snarled with a combination of hatred and spittle oozing from between her lips and said, “If you ever touch her again, I will cut of your dick and shove it down your throat.” Clarence believed her.

A nurse had heard the crash of the coffee table and had called for a couple of orderlies to see what all the commotion was about. They reached the waiting area just as Becca was releasing her grip on Clarence and pushing him deeper into the couch as she backed off of him. As a final parting shot she dropped the knee that had been in the middle of his chest into Clarence's groin. When Becca stood up straight Clarence rolled off the couch and lay on the floor clutching his groin and dry heaving.