The Coaster (25 page)

Chapter Thirty

The kitchen was empty. I crept toward the living room and stopped outside the open doorway. I could hear muffled voices, one male and one female. From the tone of the conversation, it was hard to imagine Swanson had Sarah in some compromising position, holding a gun to her head and shielding himself with her body. That meant it was go time.

If I ever truly
had
to do something, it was this, right now. So I took a deep breath and walked into the room pointing the gun in front of me. A famous study says a homeowner's gun is forty-three times more likely to kill a family member than a criminal. That number is undoubtedly even higher if I'm the homeowner in question. Accordingly, my first goal was not to shoot Sarah. My second goal was not to shoot myself.

Swanson and Sarah were sitting on the couch with mugs of coffee on the table in front of them. In his usual polo, khakis, and loafers, and to the naked eye unarmed, Swanson looked like a neighbor who just stopped by for a chat. Sarah flashed her eyes at me and since we've been married for almost twenty years, I had no idea what she meant.

Swanson stood up. “Bob, what do you think you're doing? I'm just here to talk.” He took a step around the coffee table.

I started to say I leveled the gun at him, but let's go with I pointed the gun in his general direction with a wobbly hand. “Stay right where you are.”

Swanson took another step. “Or what? You're going to shoot me?”

“Yes. I am.”

Swanson paused and put his hands up in a placating gesture. “Okay, take it easy. I'm not going anywhere.” He snuck a look toward the windows, trying to see if his henchmen were coming to the rescue.

“You're down a couple of linebackers, Swanson,” I said. “You're going to have to go to your nickel package.”

Swanson smiled, which was not the reaction I was hoping for. Quivering in fear, yes. Begging for his life, hopefully. Soiling himself, ideally. Smiling, no.

“So it's just you and me then, Bob.” He took another step, smiling all the way.

“Well, us and Sarah.” I gestured toward her with the gun. “She's right over there. You've been sitting and talking with her?”

“I'm sure you'd prefer to keep this just between us men.” Swanson was now about ten feet away from me.

Not really. I needed all the help I could get, women, children, animals, whatever. But admitting that would have detracted from the manly, commanding image I was trying to project, so I said, “Yes, I would. Do not take another step.”

The problem with holding a gun on someone in real life is there's no reason for them to obey you unless they believe you're actually going to shoot them. The mere fact of holding a gun does not suddenly put the rank amateur in charge. People familiar with gunplay know it's hard to point a gun at another human being and pull the trigger.

Swanson continued to move toward me. I knew the one thing I couldn't do was let him get close enough to grab the gun. Before you even realize what's happening, he'll be clubbing you over the head with it and then raping your wife in front of you while you're tied to a chair.

My hand was shaking, but I knew I had to start shooting before he got any closer. He started to take another step. “This is your last warning. One more step and I'll shoot.”

Swanson stopped and glanced at the gun. “It's going to be kind of hard to shoot me with the safety on, Bob.”

“Nice try, Swanson. Apparently you and I have seen the same movies. We must have a similar Netflix queue.”

He took another step, so I shot him.

***

Or I would have shot him except the safety really
was
on. I pulled the trigger and nothing happened. I looked down at the gun and by then Swanson was taking it out of my hand like a kindergarten teacher taking scissors from a five-year-old. “Here, give me that before you hurt yourself.”

Swanson flicked the safety off and motioned me over to the couch. I sat down next to Sarah. We hugged each other like it might be the last time because it might. Sarah had tears in her eyes, but she looked determined.

“I must say you surprised me, Bob,” Swanson said. “Well, until the end there. That was in line with my expectations for you. But getting past my guys and pulling a gun on me. I have to admit I'm impressed.”

I had another card to play. “Swanson, before this goes any further, you should know that I've taken the precaution of outlining your scheme in a letter to my attorney.”

Swanson burst out laughing. “Oh, no!” he gasped, in faux outrage. “Not your
attorney
. Dan Langham's been doing a
great
job looking out for your interests so far.”

What was that supposed to mean?
“The point is, if anything happens to me, he has been instructed to open the envelope in his safe and contact the police.”

“You're right, I guess that settles things, Bob. I give up.” Swanson held the gun out to me butt-first. When I reached for it, he pulled it back like a kid punking someone on the playground with a fake high-five. “Unsubstantiated allegations against a respected member of the community by a guy who has disappeared. I'm sure the cops will do a fantastic job following up that important lead. ‘We can't find Bob Patterson? Oh, well, dead end!' If they could pin anything on me, they already would have.”

Swanson was crazy enough to believe a white-collar executive could dominate the meth market, but in this case he had a point. The letter wouldn't work. I'd already be dead by the time Swanson was under suspicion. It would only benefit me as posthumous revenge, like a woman who gets a restraining order against her ex-boyfriend but he kills her anyway. Plus, I hadn't had the foresight to actually do it.

“The envelope to your lawyer thing always works in the movies,” I said.

“I hate to break it to you, Bob, but this ain't the movies,” Swanson said. “In real life, the bad guys win.”

***

“Now let's get down to business,” Swanson said. “I understand you've hidden a body on your property.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” I said. We still didn't want Swanson to know we knew about the bug. I didn't know what difference it would make, but we had to hold on to whatever edges we had left. “What makes you think there's a body?”

“It doesn't matter how I know. I just know.”

I looked at Sarah. “I didn't tell him anything,” she said. “Not that there's anything to tell.”

I waved her off. “Don't worry about it. Come on, Swanson. I'll show you.”

Sarah stood up. “I'm coming, too.”

“You most certainly are not,” I said. “Swanson, she can stay here. She won't try anything as long as you've got a gun on me.”

“Do you think I'm an idiot?” Swanson asked. “Sarah's coming with us.”

We went out the back door, Sarah and I leading, Swanson following a few steps behind. We almost tripped over the unconscious mass of steroids on its back on the patio. Swanson took out a flashlight and shone it on Mike's face. “Is he dead?”

“No, just sleeping.”

“How long will he be out?”

“Long enough.”

Swanson walked across the patio toward our barbecue grill. “I want to show you something before we go to the body.” He moved the flashlight beam along the ground until it found a familiar green metal rectangle. “Bob, you remember the Muffin Monster.”

“Yes, I do.” The thing was small enough I didn't even notice it in my own backyard.

Swanson aimed the flashlight a little to the right. “And its partner in crime, the Sanitol sanitizer. We're going to be able to clean up any messes that may become necessary tonight, Bob, if you know what I mean.”

“I knew what you meant before you even said it.”

Sarah stared at the two innocent-looking machines. “These things are the key to your evil plan? I use more dangerous equipment in my garden.”

“Let's hope you never have to find out how deadly they can be.”

I took a step toward Swanson. “Don't threaten my wife.”

Swanson pointed the gun at me. “Back off, Bob. You know, you two should be glad I brought my little toys. It will actually be to your benefit if we can dispose of Dave safely.”

“I'm glad you're so concerned with our welfare, Swanson.”

“I'm not your enemy, Bob. I want us to work together as partners.”

“Then what do you need the gun for?”

“Because it looks like you still need some convincing.” He waved us forward with the gun. “Now let's go take a look at that body.”

***

We marched obediently ahead, just like you're supposed to when someone points a gun at you. “It's Sarah who needs convincing,” I said. “She doesn't fully appreciate the merits of your business plan.”

Swanson smiled at Sarah. “What I'm offering your hesitant hubby here is an opportunity to make a lot of money with virtually no risk and do some good in the process.”

“But you're talking about producing and selling methamphetamine,” Sarah said. “How could that possibly be helping anyone?” We were walking past the barn in the direction I came from earlier, the opposite direction from the pond.

“Because we produce a much higher quality product than the meth monkeys do. And our labs are safer. Fewer explosions and fewer children exposed to the chemicals.”

“But you do intend to sell meth to the general population,” Sarah said. I kept quiet. This was her show.

“Uh, yeah.” Swanson looked at Sarah like she was an idiot. “That's how we make our money.”

“What happens if we don't go along?”

“Now that you know the details of our plan,” Swanson said, “you'd have to be disposed of. If you're not with us, you're against us.”

“You're the one with the gun,” Sarah said.

Swanson looked puzzled. “True, but it's odd that you would feel the need to say that out loud.” He cocked his head like a Labrador and listened intently to the darkness around us. “What's that noise?”

I finally spoke. “I don't hear anything.” But I did. There was a faint buzzing coming from overhead. It could have been cicadas. Sometimes when you walk outside at night it sounds like they're gathering their entire force of insect soldiers for a massive attack on our house. But this was different. It was the wrong time of year, for one thing. And it wasn't nearly as loud.

We all looked up. Swanson frantically searched the sky. It was dark, but you could just make out a form hovering about fifteen feet above our heads. Just hovering. It was made up of four equal circles, like a cloverleaf interchange seen from the air or something you would draw with a spirograph. If you didn't know better, you'd have thought it was a flying saucer. I did know better, but Swanson didn't.

“What the fuck is that?” he shouted.

“That, Swanson,” I said, “is the Parrot AR Drone Quadricopter. It's controlled by an iPhone and has an infrared HD camcorder on board. It's like the drones the U.S. military sends into places like Afghanistan to gather intelligence or assassinate terrorists. It just recorded your helpful synopsis of your scheme. You evil geniuses just can't resist telling everyone how smart you are. I'm sure the authorities will find it interesting.”

Swanson didn't look as dazed and defeated as I had hoped. “That's assuming they ever see it, which they won't.”

He held the gun straight over his head, pointed it at the drone and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. “What the hell?” he said, examining the barrel. “Is the safety on again?” He moved the switch back and forth and pointed the gun skyward again. Click. Nothing.

Swanson ejected the clip and examined it in the darkness. “Jesus Christ, Bob. It's not even loaded?”

“You tell me.” Maybe Corny wasn't such a bad guy after all. He clearly never planned to shoot me if he didn't even bring any bullets. Or maybe he just knew he wouldn't need a loaded gun to handle the likes of me.

“You brought an unloaded gun on a mission to save your wife's life?”

I shrugged. “I assumed it was.”

“With or without a loaded weapon, I'm going to wait for that thing to land and then smash the shit out of it. Are you going to stop me?”

“It's too late for that,” I said. “It's already transmitted a video feed to the iPhone and been uploaded to a secure server in the cloud.”

Swanson stood still, absorbing the information. “I don't believe you, but it doesn't matter anyway. I still need you to show me the body.”

“Why?”

“I need to see for myself what happened to Dave.”

“What do you care?”

“I didn't say I cared,” Swanson said. “I said I need to see the body.”

“Well, forget it,” I said. “There is no body. I just said there was to trick you into coming here.”

“You knew the house was bugged?”

I nodded. “That's right.”

“Bullshit.”

“Why is it bullshit?”

“Because you don't know anything about technology or computers or infrared cameras.”

“I know how to use the Internet.” I said.

“And that's all you know,” Swanson said. “All you do all day is goof off. That's why we targeted you in the first place. We needed someone who would just go along with the plan.”

“But you didn't choose me. You chose Sam.”

“That was just a matter of going where the money was. But Sam was a tough old bastard and it became clear pretty quickly he wasn't going to budge, so we looked around at our options. And lo and behold there you were: the hapless son-in-law. We brought Dave in because he knew you in college. He confirmed our initial analysis that you would be a human rubber stamp and we moved on with the plan.”

“But you couldn't have known Sam would have a heart attack.”