Risen (5 page)

Haws shoved his half-eaten burrito at Clyde, who went another shade greener at the sight.

"Out of the way, Clyde. I've got work to do."

Clyde took a step back and inertia carried him a couple more. Deputy Haws hit the flashers and siren and gave chase.

Haws didn't like these boys. The Ganger kid in particular was a bad egg, and even the best of them, Tom Culler, was a wiseass. They reminded Haws of the bullies who used to torment him in high school because he carried a few extra pounds and because his slightly upturned nose called attention to his nostrils. The kids had called him "Hawg" of course, and that's why, once he graduated, he took the job as deputy. The uniform and badge gave him status. Now, at least, they had to call him "Hawg" behind his back instead of to his face.

That face was tight with determination as he chased the boys through the middle of town. Galen and Kent led, followed by Darren and Buzzy. Tom pulled up the rear with Haws hot on his tail.

Galen saw the flashing lights in his rear view mirror and mashed the pedal to the floor. Kent dug between the cushions for the seat belt that wasn't there. Galen called him a pussy and screeched around the corner that put them on the road to the highway.

Tom cut that same corner and jumped his Honda over a drainage ditch and onto the access road. He swerved into the far lane and nearly lost it on the turn, but the bike didn't fall and there was no opposing traffic so he twisted the throttle and kicked the gear shift and slid in ahead of Darren and Buzzy.

Tom had no specific plan but he knew he had to close the distance between himself and Galen. He wanted to somehow defuse the volatile situation that was brewing. Galen and Haws were like matter and anti-matter. If they collided, there'd be hell to pay.

Now Darren had Deputy Haws on his ass and he didn't like it one bit. Surely Haws recognized his car even if he didn't get a good look at the driver, and surely Haws knew it was Galen leading the chase. Darren's mind could work fast when it had to and he made a decision. He whipped the wheel over to the right and hit the brakes, nearly catapulting Buzzy through the windshield as the Satellite screeched to a halt.

"What're you doin', man?" Buzzy yelled, bracing himself against the dash.

"Hawg doesn't want us. He wants to nail Galen."

Sure enough, the police car screamed past them and kept going. Haws had bigger fish to fry.

Darren wanted to turn around right then and go home but that would be chickenshit. Instead he waited until the flashing lights had vanished over the hill and then he crept forward. He'd watch the action from a distance, parking in the windbreak if he had to, so he could be there if anything happened. It was possible that Galen would reach the county line and escape the deputy's jurisdiction, but it was also possible that Haws would stop him first.

"Let's get the hell out of here," Buzzy suggested, but Darren shook his head and kept creeping.

Tom shot a fast look over his shoulder and saw the police car bearing down on him. It was faster than the Honda on the straightaway and its progress was relentless. By the time Tom decided to pull over the police car was so far up his tailpipe that Tom was afraid to slow down. Haws was stupid to be tailgating him so close but it was Tom who'd fly through the air and bury his head into a phone pole if they collided. That, or smear his face all over the highway.

Then suddenly the police car squealed as Haws jerked the wheel to the left and floored the accelerator. Tom instinctively steered to the right and the bike wobbled and Tom's heart went up into his throat, but Haws pulled around him with inches to spare. Tom eased back on the throttle and let the Honda slow itself down. When he was down to the legal limit he twisted the grip again and followed. Whatever Haws did to Galen, it should be witnessed. Maybe Tom's presence would avert disaster.

Kent was sweating hard as he saw the deputy closing on them. Normally the Charger would've shut the pigmobile out but Galen had been complaining about the timing and Kent could tell from the sound of it that the engine wasn't running up to snuff. He turned around and watched the steady progression of the flashing lights as they closed the distance between them.

"He's got us," Kent said.

"It ain't over 'til it's over," Galen said. He had the hard, immovable look in his eyes that told Kent they were edge-bound.

Haws pulled alongside and tipped a finger at Galen, telling him to pull over. Galen flipped Haws the bird. Then maybe because he had to take one hand off the wheel and there was a little dip in the road right then, or maybe because he did it on purpose, Galen nudged the wheel to the left and the Charger's front fender tapped the police car's hard enough to leave a dent.

Haws cursed and the police car fell back half a length. Tom saw the incident and winced mentally. "Pull over, Galen," he said, but it was more of a prayer. Galen couldn't hear him and wouldn't have pulled over anyway. Galen was in a Blacklands of his own, a world as narrow in options as the road he raced along. Galen barreled on toward his fate, mindless of consequence, deaf to logic and blind to peril.

Deputy Haws was no less determined than Galen to see this skirmish through to the end. A smarter man, a cooler man, a man with a larger view might have given up the chase and dealt with Galen Ganger in the morning. But Deputy Haws was not smart, his temper was up, and his mind was focused like a lens. He was going to pull that sumbitch over if he had to chase him to Timbuktu.

Haws reached down and unsnapped the leather strap over his revolver. He pulled out the gun and floored the accelerator.

Kent saw the gun raised in Deputy Hawg's oversized fist and he freaked. He ducked, covering his head, and Galen looked over and registered the revolver pointed at his face. He knew Haws was dumb enough to pull the trigger.

Galen pounded the brake pedal and the Charger's tires bit into asphalt. The car skidded and started to spin but Galen pumped the brakes and brought it to a halt nose down in the ditch by the side of the road. The engine was dead and even as Galen cranked the starter he saw Haws up ahead, slowing, turning around, coming back at him. The overheated engine didn't want to start and by the time it did it was too late. Haws' police car was blocking the road and Haws was lumbering in Galen's direction, gun drawn, screaming at him to get out of the fucking car.

Tom decided to approach slowly. He didn't want Galen to get shot but he didn't want to stop the bullet with his own body, either. He had to arrive as a witness, not as another target.

Deputy Haws pulled Galen's door open and yanked him out of the car. He spun him around and threw him to the blacktop, tripping him so he fell on the road face first. Haws whipped around to aim the gun at Kent who cowered against the passenger door, arms raised to the roof.

"You set still!" Haws commanded, and Kent stammered out a "Yes, sir."

Haws strode over to Galen and ordered him to his feet. Galen's palms were scraped and stinging from the fall. He raised himself slowly to one knee, his eyes locked on the revolver that had begun to shake in the deputy's hand. Galen stood and glared at Haws.

Haws yelled at him, his voice cracking. "You must be wantin' to do time, boy!" he said.

"We were just lettin' off some steam," Galen replied.

"You want to let off steam?" Haws asked, and he planted his fist deep into Galen's stomach, doubling him up. "I'll show you steam," he grunted.

Tom pulled up and fixed the deputy in the glare of his headlight. "Cut it out, Haws!" he yelled. The pistol swung in Tom's direction as Haws shielded his eyes from the light.

"Butt out, Culler. This ain't none of your business. And get that goddamn light out of my eyes before I shoot it out!"

Galen took advantage of Haws' momentary blindness to rush him, head down like a bull. He butted the deputy hard in the abdomen and knocked him backwards. Haws impacted against the Charger's door, slamming it shut, the door handle digging hard into his kidney. Haws cried out in pain.

Galen pummeled the deputy with his fists. He laid blow after blow on his body, his face, not planning where to hit, letting his fists find their own targets. Haws raised his arms to ward off the blows but it did no good. Galen was a flesh-pounding machine. He didn't think about the gun in the deputy's hand. He didn't think about anything. He hit and kept on hitting as Haws' knees buckled and he fell to the ground.

Galen kicked the deputy in the belly and Haws curled up into a tight ball, the revolver cupped to his stomach. Galen kicked again and there was a muffled bang that still was loud enough to sound like thunder to Tom, who went instantly white. Even Galen was shocked back to reality. He stepped away from the deputy as Haws slumped and his head fell to the ground.

"Galen, shit," Tom said. Inside the car, Kent fumbled for and found the door handle and gave it a yank, then tumbled into the ditch when the door fell open. He stumbled around to the front of the car and stared in disbelief at the body of Deputy Haws lying by the road like something out of a movie.

"Is he dead?" he asked.

Galen nudged Haws with his foot. "Fuck, yes," he said, and then he kicked the deputy again, meaning it.

Darren and Buzzy arrived, driving slowly like gawkers at a roadside accident. They got out of the car and all five boys gathered around the corpse, jaws slack, their minds trying desperately to interpret events in some way that didn't add up to deep, deep shit.

Kent squatted with his head over the ditch. His body shook and pretty soon all the fear rose up inside him and expressed itself as an eloquent torrent of vomit.

Buzzy paced and flopped his arms as he looked up and down the highway. He kept glancing along the highway and muttering, "Somebody's gonna see us! Can't we just go?"

But Buzzy's ride, Darren, was hypnotized by the sight of Deputy Hawg lying in a pool of blood, dead as road kill. "Jesus," he kept saying, then as if he'd just noticed the body for the first time, he'd say again, "Jesus!"

"Don't tell me we have to tell the Sheriff." Galen's remark was directed straight at Tom.

"I didn't say we did," Tom snapped back. But it was true, his mind had been wondering what they'd tell Sheriff Clark. Would Clark believe that it was an accident? Would he believe that Deputy Hawg blew his cool and actually drew on Galen, and that Galen was afraid for his life, and that they'd tangled and the gun had gone off by accident?

Even if the Sheriff did believe it, could he admit that his deputy was more at fault than Galen, or at least as much so? There weren't twelve people in Anderson who didn't know Galen's reputation. It wouldn't matter what Tom and his friends testified to. Galen would probably go ballistic in court and start screaming at the jury and they'd find him guilty as sin.

Somebody had to have seen them racing through town with Haws on their butts. They'd get tied in with the body somehow. Tom and Kent were definite accessories to the crime. Darren and Buzzy might get off, seeing as how they weren't actually there when the gun went off. If the jury believed them.

Who would the jury believe? Haws had a reputation of his own. There was room for doubt.

They had to make a clean breast of things to have any credibility in the courtroom. Anything they did to cover it up would work against them. They just needed one juror on their side, just one. The worst thing they could do would be to try to hide the body.

"We have to hide the body," Galen said. Kent looked over his shoulder, sickness dribbling down his chin. Buzzy paced back and forth, his eyes on Tom. Darren's eyes tore themselves from the corpse. Tom stared at Haws' body and didn't say a word. He didn't have to see them to know they were looking at him. Him, the good kid. The smart one.

He'd known earlier that things were spinning out of control. This was just more of the same. He was in it now up to his eyeballs. It was no time to get into a pissing contest with Galen.

Galen went on. "We'll take it somewhere and bury it. Come on. Help me pick it up."

"Why don't we just get the hell out of here?" Buzzy said, his voice cracking.

"Because we need time, asshole! A couple of days. Time for it to rot so they can't pin down the time of death." Galen gestured, taking in the scene. "This here's like writing our fucking names in blood on the highway."

So Galen's mind was working, too. It worked differently than Tom's. It took paths that were more devious and treacherous. And yet, who's to say Galen wasn't right? The more confusion about what happened, the better. If the law couldn't absolutely pin them down, there'd be no case. Hell, if O.J. could walk....

"I ain't puttin' him in my car," Darren proclaimed.

But of course they did. Galen said it was because the Plymouth's trunk was bigger but that was bull hockey. He just didn't want any blood messing up his Charger, whether because of the evidence trail or out of plain fussiness, Darren didn't know and didn't dare ask. When Galen got like he was now, you just did what he said.

Haws' spine had stopped the bullet so by keeping him on his back they were able to keep the bleeding down, what with his heart no longer pumping. Darren was still lugging around a bunch of camping gear he'd never put back in the garage, including a sleeping bag that they spread out. They thought they were doing a pretty good job of keeping Darren's trunk clean. They'd think that way until the next morning when Darren could look it over in the daylight. Then it'd look like someone had butchered a hog back there, but right now they were proud of themselves.