The Sheriff of Yrnameer (36 page)

There was a well-attended memorial service, with much sniffling and crying. Orwa spoke eloquently about the heavy toll of violence and hatred. Afterward the townsfolk lingered in and around the town hall, talking quietly in small groups, exchanging hugs and comforting one another.

The bandits might have been the enemy, but they deserved mourning just the same.

Cole was dreaming.

Once again, he was dreaming of the woman he loved, the only woman he had ever loved, and she smiled her radiant smile and all was poetry and songs and spring and wonder, and she spoke to him again:

Cole
.

MaryAnn
, he whispered.

Yes, Cole, it’s MaryAnn
.

And once again he felt the serene warmth filling him and bringing him back to life, and even though a tiny warning bell was going off somewhere he still tried to reach out to her, except someone was holding one of his arms down, so he extended the other toward her dreamy dream breasts—

“Cole
!”

“Wha?!” he
said, just before another pitcherful of water shlapped into his face.

Oh, God, no, he thought.

He apprehensively opened his eyes a crack.

MaryAnn was standing at his bedside, one hand on her hip, the other holding a now-empty pitcher. Next to her were Nora and Joshua.

The band kicked in.

Flashbulbs popped.

Cole closed his eyes again.

There was another party, almost as good as the first, except this time Cole had his arm in a sling and his singed eyebrows hadn’t grown back yet. He also drank much less at this party, and the pats on the back made him wince.

He found himself once again searching for MaryAnn, then spotted her across the floor. As he made his way across, Mayor Kimber got ahold of his arm, pulling him into a small circle with Orwa and the purple rug thing.

“So tell us again,” said the mayor, who looked and smelled tipsy. “Bacchi was part of it from the beginning?”

“Uh, yes, yes he was,” said Cole, looking around for MaryAnn without success. “All part of the plan.”

“How’d you figure that all out?” asked the purple guy.

Cole gave up on MaryAnn for the moment.

“Well, I knew that Runk wouldn’t trust me, no matter what, so if I told him to do something he’d know it was a trap. But someone with a grudge double-crossing me? Runk understands that idea. He trusts it. To him, that person is reliable. You see, you have to understand how the criminal mind functions.”

Ahh
, they all said.

“Excuse me for a moment,” he said, catching sight of MaryAnn again.

He’d gone about a step before Nora grabbed his good elbow.

“‘Understand how the criminal mind functions’—I wonder how you manage that.” She hiccupped and grinned. She seemed a bit tipsy herself. “I guess congratulations are in order,” she said.

“Just pretending to do my job, ma’am,” said Cole.

“You did good, Cole,” she said, and patted his cheek. “You’re a really rotten guy, but you’ve got hongos.”

She gulped some more beer. “Why didn’t you tell anyone what the plan was?”

“Really? You have to ask?” he said. “You know if I told them the real plan, they would have been accidentally shooting each other in the flippers and tripping on one another’s eyestalks. That, or someone would have gone out to the field and planted a warning sign, to make sure none of the bandits got hurt.”

“Why didn’t you at least tell me?”

“Would you have gone along with a plan like that?”

She smiled. “You did good, Cole,” she repeated. “Good kisser, too,” she added. Then she gestured toward the other side of the room. He followed her gaze, spotting MaryAnn.

“I think your girlfriend is waiting for you,” Nora said, then patted him on the cheek again and walked away, glancing back to grin at him in a manner that could only be construed as saucy.

Cole edged through the crowd toward MaryAnn’s most recent location, accepting handshakes and more painful back-pats along the way. He passed Peter, who was describing his contribution to the plan: “Then I went to work on hole number fourteen. I went scoop, scoop, scoop scoop scoop—or was it, scoop scoop, scoop? No, hang on. …”

Cole finally caught MaryAnn’s eye and waved, redoubling his efforts to swim his way to her: “Pardon me. ‘Scuse me. Pardon. Sorry. Thank you, that’s very kind. Ow—arms’s still a bit sore. Thanks. Pardon me. …”

When he reached her he was visited by a sense of déjà vu, as the old awkward feeling welled up again. He slowed, shuffled, hemming and hawing for the last few feet of his approach, casting about for the right words.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” she said.

“Sorry about the—”

“Forget it.”

He smiled, did some more shuffling.

“We’ve had this conversation before, huh,” he said.

“Cole, I wanted to tell you this: I’ve never seen anything so brave before. You were prepared to sacrifice yourself for everyone, and I can’t tell you how admirable that is.”

It was nothing, Cole nearly said, or, There was no choice, or, A man has to do what a man has to do. … Instead he said, “Actually, I didn’t think the explosion would be that big. I thought I had a pretty good chance of surviving.”

She smiled again.

“You’re being honest.”

“I’m a little drunk.”

She laughed. “Cole …,” she began.

“Sheriff! Sheriff!”

Joshua came running up, face flushed, excited.

“Hi, MaryAnn! Sorry! Sheriff! Sheriff!”

“Do you perhaps have something to tell me?”

“They found the skimmer! It was in a ravine beyond the foothills, all crashed and burnt up!”

“Ah. Remains?”

“They’re not sure. It looked like a bad fire.”

“Ah.”

“What if Runk survived, Sheriff?”

Cole thought about it.

“He’s right,” said MaryAnn. “What if he did?”

“He might come after you, Sheriff!” said Joshua.

Cole chuckled and put a hand on Joshua’s shoulder. “No. You don’t know Runk. If he’s alive, he’s gone for good.”

“Okay,” said Joshua uncertainly. “If you say so, Sheriff.”

“Joshua!” boomed the mayor. “Come here, young man!”

Cole and MaryAnn watched as the mayor dragged Joshua off to receive his own share of adulation. Cole turned back to MaryAnn, suddenly feeling very tired.

“You know, I think I’m going to head out,” he said.

“You want me to walk you home? It might be dangerous out there. Bandits, you know.”

He smiled. “Sure.”

As they turned to walk out, she said, “You really think Runk is gone?”

“Long gone,” he said.

They walked at an aimless, leisurely pace for a few minutes, the lively sounds of the party slowly fading behind them.

There was a lull in the conversation, but a pleasant lull, the expectant pause before something important and meaningful is said. MaryAnn took a deep breath.

“Cole,” she said, “what I’ve been wanting to say is this: I
erk
!”

Cole kept going for a few steps before he realized MaryAnn was no longer walking next to him.

“MaryAnn?” he said, confused, looking about for her.
“Erk
!”

“Hi, Cole,” said Runk.

Cole’s sense of déjà vu returned. He was once again upside down in an alley, dangling by an ankle, except this time it was Altung who was holding him, and MaryAnn was dangling next to him, struggling to free herself.

“Hey!” she yelled. “Let me go!”

The way Altung was holding her, she was facing away from him toward the wall. She twisted, trying to see her attacker and saw Cole.

“Cole? Cole!”

He reached out and grabbed her hand, the two of them steadying each other.

“What is this? What’s happening?”

“It’s all right, MaryAnn.”

“Not really,” said Runk.

“Who is that!” she demanded. “Is this some sort of joke?”

“This is my good friend, Runk.”

“Runk?!”

“Last person you’ll ever meet, sweetie,” said Runk.

Runk was standing on a rain barrel next to Altung, pointing a very small gun at them. It was an act that struck Cole as rather redundant.

“Is that a Firestick 2?” asked Cole.

“Sure is.”

“Let’s see. Firestick 2 …”

“‘Small, but Oh My’”

“Right.”

“Remind you of anyone?”

“Hmm. No one really comes to mind. …”

MaryAnn interrupted.

“I don’t care who you are, but if you don’t put us down right now I’ll scream,” said MaryAnn.

Runk chuckled. “Go ahead and scr—”

“Helllllp!!!
!”

“Go ahead. Scream all you—”

“Helllllllp!!!
!”

“See, it doesn’t bother me at—”

“Helllllppppp!!!!
!”

“Okay, that’s starting to get on my—”

“HEELLLLLLPPPPPP!!!!
!”

“Altung, shut her up.”

“No, wait,” said Cole. “MaryAnn. It’s okay.”

“It is?” she said.

“Yes,” he replied.

His tone was calm and reassuring, with a quiet confidence. It matched what he felt.

“It’s not okay,” said Runk. “I’m going to kill you both. And I’m going to kill her first, and it’s going to hurt, and I’m going to make you watch.”

MaryAnn began breathing faster. Her hand squeezed his.

“Yeah … I don’t think so,” said Cole. He couldn’t remember when he’d last felt so relaxed. “When all this is over, I’ll probably be dead, but I think she’s going to be just fine.”

“Cole, what are you saying?” said MaryAnn.

“Plug your ears,” he said.

“What?”

“Trust me.”

She plugged her ears.

He didn’t have two good arms. He couldn’t plug his. He’d have nightmares for weeks about the sound.

Altung jerked spasmodically, his grip spiking sharply, causing MaryAnn to cry out at the sudden pain. Then his hands relaxed completely, spilling them on the ground, MaryAnn yelping again as they fell. Altung sagged down onto his knees and hung there as if suspended, while Cole and MaryAnn scuttled frantically backward until their backs were against the wall.

“Oh, my God,” whispered MaryAnn.

“Don’t watch!” said Cole, placing his hand over her eyes to block out the horrific scene.

There was a slurping, popping noise, almost as revolting as the first noise. Then, slowly, Altung started to pitch forward, like a tall tree cut down at the base, picking up velocity until he collapsed with a heavy thud in front of Cole and MaryAnn. Before Altung’s face slammed into the hard-packed earth, Cole caught a sickening glimpse of the ragged hole where his left eye had been.

“Ah,” said Kenneth, wiping his ovipositor, “I feel
so
much better.”

Runk had not moved. His tiny eyes were wide with shock as he regarded Altung’s prone form, the giant’s left leg twitching slightly. Then his view was blocked by the dozens of eyeballs that surrounded and scrutinized him from every angle.

“Kenneth,” said Runk, still stunned.

“Runk! How wonderful!” said Kenneth. “An
amuse bouche
for the kiddies!”

A tentacle swept him up. Cole closed his eyes, not wanting to see what happened next.

“Cole, what’s going on?” said MaryAnn.

“You don’t want to know,” said Cole.

There was another wet, popping noise, like a cork being shoved into a watermelon, or a small creature being shoved into a hole in a much larger creature’s head.

“There, that should keep things in place,” said Kenneth, and Cole heard him slapping his tentacles together like a workman finishing a task. “Oh, Cole—I have your change.”

“Full house, jacks high,” said Cole, laying down his cards.

“Crud,” said Joshua, tossing his hand in.

“Mmm-hmm,” said Bacchi, in the tone of someone who had just confirmed something he had been suspecting.

“Why do I keep losing?” asked Joshua.

“Because Cole is cheating,” said Bacchi.

Joshua looked at Cole.

“It’s true,” said Cole, shuffling the deck with his one good hand, his other arm still in a sling. “Consider it a life lesson.”

It was a quiet afternoon, edging toward the evening. The air was getting crisp. They were sitting on the porch of the jailhouse, Cole and Bacchi smoking cigars and drinking shersha. Joshua had a citronade with ice.