Quiver (17 page)

Jack never found out who dimed him but suspected the old dude who checked him in the motel. He was watching TV when Jack came in the office, a western-dandy type with a waxed moustache, wearing a lot of turquoise and silver jewelry.

DeJuan said, “Motherfucker got greedy, decide to take it all for his self.”

Teddy grinned, showing a mouthful of beans. He said, “Now you know why he’s over there and we’re over here.”

They didn’t have a clue and Jack wasn’t going to explain it. He felt like a fool for letting these clowns get the jump on him. Never saw it coming. But he had to admit, DeJuan was a lot smarter than he seemed.

What bothered Jack as much as losing his share of the money was finding out he had a kid. Never thought he’d be a dad, marriage not being something he ever wanted any part of. And yet, he found himself studying Luke, checking him out to see if there was any resemblance. Looked at his features: his nose and eyes and ears and forehead and cheekbones. Jack
thought he favored Kate more than him. Had her fair complexion and thick full hair and thin build. But it was Luke’s hands that caught his attention. They were his hands—only a smaller version. Luke being his kid wasn’t going to change anything. It was way too late for that now.

Jack thought about his life and wondered: If he could do it over, would he do it different? And the answer was—no. He pictured himself belly-chained like he was, going back to prison—a two-time loser—doing ten years this time and it scared the hell out of him. He had to figure a way out of this somehow.

He watched the group at the table like some dysfunctional sitcom family. Kate got up without saying anything and moved into the main room.

Teddy said, “Where you think you’re going?”

“Upstairs,” Kate said. “I’ve got to get Luke some clean clothes.”

“The hell you are,” Teddy said.

Kate ignored him. She went to the stairs and started up.

“Hey,” Teddy said, “you hear what I told you?”

DeJuan got up. “I’m on it.” He came around the table and went after her.

She was in Luke’s room, taking a pair of jeans out of his dresser, when DeJuan came in, standing in the doorway, the shotgun in his hands like it was glued to him. He sat at Luke’s desk, watching her.

Kate glanced at him. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

DeJuan smiled. “You not? What a relief.”

“You don’t need the shotgun.”

“Which probably mean I do.”

She opened the closet and took a red and blue flannel shirt off a hanger, draping it over the jeans.

DeJuan said, “What up? What you really doing?”

Kate said, “What’s it look like?”

“Getting feisty, huh? Givin’ DeJuan attitude. What it look like—look like you tryin’ to sneak out, get away. That what you doing?”

“Why don’t you go back down?” Kate said. “I’ll meet you in a few minutes. I’ve got to get something in my room, go to the ladies.”

She walked past him now, out of the room, carrying Luke’s clothes. He followed her down the hall to her room. He got on the king-size bed, leaned back against the headboard, pillows propped under him, laid the shotgun on the comforter.

She went to her dresser, opened a drawer, and took out a brown cable-knit sweater she bought at Nordstrom, remembering the price—$180 marked
down three times to $22. She opened her underwear drawer—not knowing what he could see—and gripped the Smith and Wesson.357 Airweight, bringing it out of the drawer, hiding it in the pile of clothes between her sweater and Luke’s shirt.

DeJuan said, “Now this the kind of bed I like—extra firm.”

She closed the drawer and glanced over her shoulder, saw him grin at her and grab his crotch.

“Yo, girlfriend, I got something else over here extra firm.” He patted the bed next to him. “Got something special for you—never seen nothing like this.”

She started moving across the room toward the door.

He slid off the bed, leaving the shotgun where it was and caught her before she got to the door. Stood in front of her, acting like he thought she was interested.

She gripped the handle of the Airweight under the clothes and said, “Let’s see what you’re so proud of.” Wanting to pull the trigger, get it over with, but knowing she couldn’t. It was too risky with Luke downstairs.

DeJuan dropped his pants to his ankles standing there posing—his thing hanging out—a sly grin on his face.

Kate said, “That’s all you got?” She stepped past him and he tried to grab her, tripped over his pants and fell on the floor. She ran along the upstairs hall and went down the stairs. Celeste met her at the bottom, pointing the Ruger at her chest.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she said and slapped her across the face with an open hand.

Kate had her finger on the trigger. Jack was still in the same chair like he was paralyzed. She didn’t see Luke, and that was what kept her from making a move. Don’t be dumb, she told herself.

“Put it on the floor,” Celeste said. “Let’s see what you’ve got there.”

Kate bent down and placed the clothes on the rug.

Celeste shuffled through the pile and the Airweight fell out. Celeste picked it up and aimed it at Kate as DeJuan appeared at the top of the stairs and said, “Yo, we got company.”

Teddy came in the room now, pulling Luke by his shirt collar, and said, “Cop just pulled in. Sheriff ’s deputy.”

Celeste said, “How many?”

“Looks like just one,” Teddy said. He glanced at Celeste. “Stay here and watch ’em.”

“You stay here,” she said. “I’m gonna take care of this one. It’s my turn.”

Celeste watched him get out of the car with the shotgun. He was wearing his two-tone uniform and a brown baseball cap with a gold star on the front. He took his hat off and rubbed his brush cut. He looked around and went to the front windows and looked in.

Now he walked along the west side of the cabin. Staring at the tire tracks in the grass, following them, then stopping, looking through a side window into the main room. He held a shotgun in his hands, looking alert, and came to the far edge of the cabin almost in the backyard.

Celeste came around the corner and met him. She said, “What’s up, Officer? Remember me?”

He aimed the shotgun at her. She could tell he was nervous. He looked left toward the woods, turned and looked behind him.

He said, “Mrs. McCall here?”

“She’s inside,” Celeste said. “Want me to get her?”

“You look familiar,” the deputy said.

Celeste said, “Would you mind pointing that scattergun somewhere else? It makes me nervous.”

He aimed the shotgun barrel at the ground.

“What’s the problem, Officer?” She had the Ruger tucked in the waistband of her jeans, could feel it pressing against one of her butt cheeks. “You expecting trouble?”

The deputy stared at her.

Celeste said, “Carrying a shotgun and wearing a vest?” She could see the impression of it puffing out his shirt.

“Don’t leave home without it,” the deputy said.

“That’s clever,” she said. “Ever considered a career in advertising?”

“Yeah,” he said, “that’s why I became a cop.”

He grinned, showing he was a fun guy.

She saw DeJuan appear, coming around the south side of the cabin, moving toward the deputy, leveling his twelve-gauge.

“You aren’t by chance an Aryan, are you?”

DeJuan was getting closer—thirty feet away now.

“My parents were committed, but I never bought it myself,” the deputy said. “Why do you ask?”

“I had a feeling,” she said. “I don’t know.” But she did. It was the muscles and the brush cut and the
blue eyes. He looked like one of Richard Butler’s Ayran Warriors. “How do you feel about blacks?”

DeJuan was closing in—twenty feet now.

“I don’t dislike anyone ’less they give me a reason,” he said.

“How about city jigs with shotguns, who want to do you great bodily harm?”

“I’d take issue with that,” he said.

“ ’Cause there’s one behind you right now.”

The deputy turned like she knew he would and brought the shotgun up, but he was too late. DeJuan fired. Boom. The first blast hit him in the chest, blowing the shotgun out of his hands, sending him backpedaling.

DeJuan racked the twelve-gauge, moving toward him. The second blast hit him in the head and he went down, body twitching. Celeste pulled the Ruger from her waistband and shot him twice and he lay still.

Celeste said, “Think he told dispatch where he was going?”

DeJuan said, “Why you asking me?”

Teddy appeared now, walking up behind her, and looked at the deputy. “O death, O death, won’t you spare me over for another year,” he said in a singsong voice. “I guess not.” He glanced at her. “I’m death, I
come to take the soul. Leave the body and leave it cold.”

Celeste said, “What the hell’s that?”

“Them’s words from a song my uncle used to sing when somebody passed away.”

“This motherfucker didn’t pass away,” DeJuan said. “He blown away.”

“Where they at?” Celeste said.

“Locked up tighter than a jaybird’s ass,” Teddy said.

“How about Jack?”

“Dumbass setting there in his bracelets,” Teddy said, “tryin’ to figure out what the hell happened.”

Teddy picked up the deputy’s shotgun, which was now pocked with buckshot, the pump lever hanging from the barrel. “That’s a damn shame—ruined a perfectly good Hi-Standard Flite King twelve-guage.”

“We through with the small talk now? Got to get the deputy out of here,” DeJuan said.

Celeste said, “What if he told the station where he was going?”

“What if he did?” Teddy said.

“They don’t hear from him,” Celeste said, “they send reinforcements out here to have a look.”

“I think we’ll be gone by then,” Teddy said.

“What if we’re not?”

Kate heard the first shotgun blast and then another one, followed by two pistol shots and she knew somebody was probably dead and hoped it wasn’t Bill Wink.

If she had any doubts about what Luke had said earlier, she didn’t now. If these lunatics had no qualms about killing a police officer, they weren’t going to debate too long about Luke and her.

They were locked in the storage room. It measured twelve feet by fifteen feet, with a high ceiling that had exposed log beams like the rest of the lodge. There was a window up in the peak behind the rafters, letting in afternoon sunlight.

One side of the room had shelves stocked with canned goods and kitchen supplies. The other side had hooks in the wall where coats and jackets hung. Under the hooks were shelves for shoes and boots.

She stared at Owen’s bloodstained camo jacket hanging there and his hunting boots that were
covered with dry brittle mud. Some of it had come off and looked like gray dust on the wood shelf. She pictured Owen that last morning, Owen with his low-key manner, surprised by her fearful intuition. Yeah, she’d thought something was going to happen but had no idea what. She thought about how his death set into motion a whole series of events that led to their current situation. There was no way anyone could’ve predicted it—it was too bizarre.

Owen’s compound bow was in its case, hanging from a strap behind the camo jacket. Teddy’d either missed it or hadn’t considered it a threat when he checked the room and locked them in. He’d gone through Owen’s field pack and found his buck knife. He took it out of the sheath and held up the eight-inch blade.

He said, “Will you lookit this pigsticker? Bet you could gut a whitetail, huh?” He grinned at Kate. “Or anything else you please.”

He slid the knife back in the sheath and glanced at Luke. “Hey, what’d it feel like to kill your old man?”

Luke stared at him, gave him a hard look, but didn’t say anything.

Teddy said, “Do it on purpose, did you? Tired of him messing with you?”

She saw Luke’s body tense, knowing Teddy’s cheap shot had hit a nerve.

“You want to take a swing at me, don’t you?” Teddy said, still grinning. “Have at it, you got the guts.”

Luke took a step toward Teddy and Kate wrapped her arms around him, holding him back from doing anything stupid.

Teddy said, “Well, okay, I’ll check back with you later.”

He walked out of the room and closed the door and she heard the key rattle against metal as he locked it.

Kate let go of Luke and said, “Don’t listen to that lunatic. He wants you to give him a reason to hurt you.” She went over and lifted the bow case off the hook and put it on the floor and opened it, staring at Owen’s Browning Mirage with its built-in quiver of razor-tipped arrows.

Luke said, “What’re you doing?”

Kate said, “Giving us a chance. You were right, they’re not going to leave any witnesses.”

She closed the bow case and handed it to him, but he wouldn’t take it.

He said, “I can’t.”

Kate said, “Do you understand what’s going on here? This might be the only way.”

He seemed to consider what she was saying and reached out and took the case and slung it over his shoulder.

Kate glanced up at the window. “You’ve got to get out of here and go to Autry’s, tell Elvin to call the sheriff ’s department.” The Autrys were their closest neighbors—about a mile and a half away.

“I’m not going to leave you,” Luke said.

“You’re not going to have to—I’ll be right behind you. But you’ve got to go first and not worry about me.”

She watched him climb up the shelves to the top. He stood up and swung his leg over the center beam—a log that had to be two feet in diameter—and balanced himself on it, the log between his legs like he was riding it, the strap of the bow case slung over his shoulder across his chest. He shimmied to the other side of the narrow room and climbed up into the rafters and made his way to the window.

Kate said, “Be careful.”

He said, “I’m not leaving till you come up here.”

Jack looked out the window and watched DeJuan and Teddy lift the deputy, put him in the backseat of the patrol car. DeJuan drove off in it and Celeste
followed him in the Camaro. He watched Teddy go around behind the lodge, standing on the lawn, smoking a cigarette, staring out at the lake.

This was the opportunity he was waiting for. Jack got up and moved into the kitchen, looking for a carving knife. He remembered being in the yard one day talking to a biker named Lunchbox who lived in C Block. Box had a gut and looked like an extra in
Hell’s Angels Forever
.

He’d said, “With the right tool, you can open a pair of handcuffs in a matter of seconds. The locking system in every handcuff made in the last hundred years is the same pawl-and-ratchet mechanism. You want to defeat it, you got two ways to go: you can jimmy-jar it or you can pick it. Me, I’d pick it. Get myself a paper clip, bend it in the shape of an
L
. Then move it in a circular motion to disengage the pawl from the ratchet. Or even easier—get yourself a knife with a slim blade, drive it into the keyhole and move it aggressively in a circular motion till you hear the pawl and ratchet break.”

That’s what Jack did.

He started working on the left cuff with his right hand. Put the tip of the blade in the keyhole, pushing and turning the knife till the pawl and ratchet broke and the cuff popped open.

God bless Lunchbox.

He freed his other hand and unhooked the belly chain.

Before DeJuan left, Jack saw him lock the money in a heavy oak armoire with a skeleton key and put it in his pocket.

Teddy said, “What’re you doing?”

DeJuan said, “Protecting my capital.”

Teddy said, “Huh?”

Celeste said, “Why don’t you let me hang on to the key?”

DeJuan said, “What’s the matter, girlfriend—don’t trust me?”

“Would you?”

DeJuan grinned at her, took the key out his pocket and tossed it to her.

For Jack, it came down to money or freedom, and freedom looked pretty good right now. He’d made his decision. There was nothing he could do for Kate and Luke. He had a slim chance of getting away himself and he’d take it and be grateful. The good Lord showing him the way, giving him another opportunity, as Chaplain Uli might’ve said.

He opened the door to the garage and saw the Corvette in the first space, Kate’s Land Rover parked next to it, and the Lexus next to that. He found the keys to the Land Rover in Kate’s purse in the kitchen, got in the SUV, and started it up. He looked at himself in the rearview mirror. Couldn’t believe this turn of events. Considered it an omen, a sign. He pressed the remote on the sun visor, and the garage door went up. He put it in gear and accelerated, pulling out across the gravel drive.

The deal was: DeJuan and Celeste would get rid of the deputy and his car; Teddy’d stay back, do the mom and kid. He’d never shot anyone before, but knew it had to be done and knew he could do it. He didn’t want to spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder. And with the money he had, it looked like it was going to be a pretty goddamn good life.

Teddy decided to practice in his mind what he was going to do, kept going over it again and again: picturing himself unlocking the door—not saying a word—and just shooting them, two bullets each, in the chest or head, unless he missed or they were still twitching. He had to have a cigarette first. Stood out
back, staring out at that beautiful water. When he finished his butt, he’d go in there, get it done.

Luke turned the handle on the window, pulled and it swung open into the room. He stuck his head out and looked down and saw Camo right below him, smoking a cigarette. He could see a gun in the waist of his Levi’s. Luke ducked his head back in and sat there, trying not to make noise. His mom looked up and he signaled to her with his index finger over his mouth, telling her not to say anything. He motioned that somebody was out there. From an angle inside the rafters, he watched Camo walk about ten feet, take a final drag on his cigarette, and throw it toward the tree line and move toward the back door of the lodge.

Luke said, “He’s gone.”

He waved to his mom and went through the window and stood on the sill and reached up for the roof.

Kate was about to climb up and follow Luke when she noticed the trap. It was in the corner leaning against the wall, a Sleepy Creek number 6 coil-spring
bear trap. Owen bought it but never used it, thinking after the fact that it was cheating. You hunt a bear, you don’t trap it. Where’s the sport in that?

She went over and picked it up, surprised how heavy it was. The trap was three feet long and must’ve weighed fifty pounds. She positioned it on the floor near the door, used her feet and the weight of her body to push down on the springs, and the cast-iron jaws opened, exposing jagged metal teeth. She remembered Owen saying a trap was risky ’cause you could forget where you put it and step on it yourself and God help you if you did. The force would break your leg and probably send you into shock. It might even kill you.