The Deputy (14 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

I had to do it fast.

Any other way and I’d lose my nerve or just collapse from exhaustion. There wasn’t much left in me, but I was-n’t going to fold, not yet. This would finish it. I had to make it to the end. So I took a deep breath, dug down deep for that last burst of adrenaline, pushed away every ache and pain that throbbed along the length of my entire body.

Time to kill some guys.

I went through the backdoor and into the alley, pumped a shell into the chamber. I circled all the way around the firehouse at a slow jog, hit Main Street and turned back toward the station. I kept close to the buildings, jogging in the shadows.

I could see them up ahead, two pickup trucks, one facing in each direction, blocking Main Street, headlights on. I saw Jason and Evan standing to either side of the stationhouse door. They both held deer rifles and looked poised to charge in at me. But I wasn’t in there.

I was out here.

And bringing it strong.

I ran at them fast, lifting the shotgun. I got pretty close before Clay saw me. He sat in the back of the closest pickup, foot propped up on an Igloo cooler, white bandages around his wounded leg, a red blotch seeping through. He turned his head and saw me, his eyes going big as hubcaps as I sprinted forward. Home stretch. I ran as fast as I could make myself while still keeping the shotgun up.

Clay overreached for the deer rifle in the bed of the truck and fell off his perch, rolled out of the truck and hit the street with a grunt. He stood, hopped on one foot and reached for the rifle again.

I cut loose with the twelve gauge.

The shotgun bucked in my hands, buckshot splattering across Clay’s torso. He convulsed like he’d been hit with a million volts, shrank to the ground and sat in a bulky pile of dead.

Jason and Evan spotted me. And I looked at them and our eyes met and just like that it was on, as if the eye contact had triggered some primal, animal charge.

I started running again, pumping in shells and firing and pumping. I was a screaming, running blizzard of buckshot, spitting fire. Thunder rattling the whole town. They ran at me too. Both crazy with banshee yells. We were a hell of a collision in the making.

I had the advantage, spraying buckshot. They ran awkward, shooting, trying to work the bolt actions on the deer rifles. Try it sometime, shooting and running at the same time. The shots went wide, and I almost didn’t care if I hit anything or not. I wanted noise and death. Let it all finish here. Pump, shoot, pump.

Twenty feet apart I made Evan’s face disappear in a horrible spray of blood and flesh. I pumped, swung the shotgun at Jason. Everything slowed. He worked the bolt action, eyes like a frightened rabbit’s. I could see all the mistakes in his face. He knew. The fear bringing it home. He knew in that moment it had all been a mistake, that he was going to die bloody and bad.

But he kept trying. I’ll give him that. He was game. He worked the bolt, tried to bring the rifle level for a final shot. Maybe he could get lucky. I shot from the hip, and blood exploded across Jason’s chest. The deer rifle flew away. He fell backward, slowly, like he was falling through cotton. That’s how I saw it. He hit the pavement and bounced. Lay there with his eyes wide open.

I thought he was dead, but he suddenly violently sucked for air. He coughed and gasped.

I knelt next to him, didn’t even feel angry. Didn’t feel anything.

Jason’s eyes focused on me. “You.”

“Me.”

“You … fucking … fuck.” His breath came shallow, blood on his lips. I could almost hear the wrecked machinery of his guts and chest grinding out his final seconds.

“Why do you think I killed Luke, Jason?”

“We all know it was … you … son of a—” He broke off in a fit of coughing, spasms along his whole body.

“Why?”

“Call an … ambulance.”

I grabbed two fistfuls of Jason’s shirt, lifted his head off the road. “Why did I kill Luke? You got me pegged for it, don’t you? Okay then, tell me why.”

“Don’t be s-stupid.” Jason coughed again, more blood foaming out of his mouth, running down his chin, face going so white.

I shook him hard, his eyes pin-balling in his skull. “I asked you a question, Jason.”

“You know why,” he said. “Luke and D-Doris. Jealous, so you … killed …”

He froze, like somebody hit the pause button on his face. And suddenly he seemed plastic, his eyes like glass. I checked for a pulse. Nothing. I set him back on the ground and sighed over him. He looked smaller somehow, like he’d shrunk there on the road when the life had gone out of him.

I looked at his face. I wanted to see that Jordan sneer. I wanted to see the wild eyed rage I’d seen so long ago when he’d beat the hell out of that Mark kid at the Tastee-Freeze.

That was the Jason Jordan I’d hoped to kill, the animal, the reckless bully. The Jason that deserved to be gunned down in the street.

But all I saw was fear. The last expression on Jason Jordan’s face, his gaze fixed into the distance, frozen stare at the big unknown coming right at him. I didn’t even want the answers to my questions anymore. I’d had bad answers to too many questions already. There was nothing left to do but haul away the bodies and hose the blood off the road.

People were coming out to the street, wrapping themselves in bathrobes, putting on glasses. I don’t know why, but I felt embarrassed to have them looking at me. But I supposed I’d have been curious too.

“Back inside, folks,” I yelled. “Everything’s under control.” I stood, made some kind of everything-is-okay gesture, hoping they’d all scoot back inside without question.

“What are you playing at, Toby?” It was Richard Macon, the hardware store owner. “Where’s the chief?”

“The chief’s on his way,” I told them. “By order of the Coyote Crossing Police Department, I’m asking you to all go back inside.”

“I’ve known you since you were six years old, Toby Sawyer,” Macon said. “Now, tell me what in blue blazes is going on.”

“You know me, and I know you too, Mr. Macon.” I thumbed the tin star on my shirt. “But tonight, I’m the law. Now you people get your goddamned asses back inside.”

And they did.

They grumbled and gawked at the bodies in the street, but they went. Soon doors were closing. I saw only a few faces peeking though curtains. Maybe I had some kind of authority they believed in, or maybe the fact I’d lied about the chief being on his way was good enough. Or maybe when a man with a gun tells you to do something, you do it.

I picked up the shotgun and put it on my shoulder, sucked in a big lungful of night air. Night. There wasn’t much left of it. The sun would be poking up over the horizon soon. The night was over. Everything was over. No more Jordans. No more Mexican smugglers. With morning would come the fallout. The State Police with mops and brooms and hard questions that I didn’t have all the answers for.

Hell.

I could use a bed. Maybe a hundred hours sleep.

I went back into the station and tried the phone, but no luck. The whole place still smelled scorched. It was a hell of a mess.

“Goddamn, son, what the hell did you do to this place?”

I flinched at the sudden voice behind me, turned and saw him coming from the back room.

“Been one hell of a night, ain’t it, boy?” said Chief Krueger. “I suppose you might have a few questions.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

I didn’t have jack shit when I came back to Coyote Crossing. Nothing but a dilapidated trailer and a headstone with my mother underneath. Frank Krueger had been like some salty, distant uncle. The chief had known my father, not a lot but some. I told him I’d somehow managed to squeak through the academy and he tossed a part-time job my way, something to keep me in beer and cigarettes until I moved on. He put his trust in me right away, and that gave me a little pride when I didn’t have much else to cling to.

But I didn’t move on. That had been the plan, but it just didn’t happen. I’d stayed. Krueger must have felt like he’d been stuck with some idiot relation, but he never said a word. Never treated me like a charity case. Yeah, I’d pulled grunt work and crap night duty. But the chief never acted like he was tossing scraps to a mutt. Which was more the truth.

Things seemed to have changed since he was standing there pointing a pistol at me.

I shook my head, tried to clear the cobwebs. So tired. “Chief?”

The chief
tsked
, shook his head too but more like in a sad way, like he had to put down a pony with a broken leg. “You just couldn’t go home and mind your business, could you, son?”

Shit.

“Did you really gun down all them Jordans?” He chuckled. “Jesus, boy. I got to hand it to you. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

I looked him over then said, “You’re not wearing your hat.”

“Huh?” He ran his hands through his thinning salt and pepper hair. “Oh, yeah.” He grinned. “It got smudged.”

“I thought the blood … It wasn’t yours.”

“Nope,” Krueger said. “I got my hands dirty and got it on my lid. I guess maybe you got the wrong idea.”

“You burned down your own house, didn’t you?”

“I want them looking through the rubble for my body,” he said. “Give me a little more time to get away, find a place to lay low.”

I felt something like lead grow cold and heavy in my gut. “So you were in it with the Jordans and the Mexicans the whole time.”

“Hell no,” Krueger said. “I’d as soon have a pack of chimps working for me as the Jordans. Just Luke. We paid him to drive sometimes and to keep his mouth shut. Dumb son of a bitch can usually scrape enough brains together to take his pay and go on about his business without causing any trouble.”

“But not tonight.”

“No, not tonight,” Kruger said and sighed. “Horny bastard had to play funny with the sister of one of those banditos. Shouldn’t be surprised. Luke never could keep himself zipped up. But I guess you already know all about that.”

I summoned everything I had into a cold stare. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He smiled sadly, shook his head, and just for a minute the colorful old uncle was back. “No, I guess not. That’s fine. But anyway Luke Jordan got himself dead.”

“With the keys to the truck in his pocket,” I said.

“I got back to Luke with a body bag, wrapped him all up like it was police business. Didn’t want an audience while I searched him. People were looking out their windows. And I didn’t want the keys locked up in the evidence closet. So I took him back to my place. Luke was supposed to give the keys to Billy before he went off drinking at Skeeter’s.” For just a second, the chief looked pained. “I found Billy’s body. You did quite a number on him.”

“He needed it.”

“I can understand that,” Krueger said. “Just a damn shame is all. The whole situation’s just a damn shame, and that’s for sure. If things had turned out just a little different … well, they didn’t, and here we are. A shame.”

“What’s the shame, Chief? That Billy’s dead, or that you can’t smuggle illegals no more?”

“Now you just come down from your high horse, Toby. I care about my people. I care what happens to Billy. I’d care if it was you too. Fact is the smuggling was about to dry up anyway. This Mexican crime gang brings them over the border, and they come through here and get spread all over. Some to work mines out west or other places to work the crops. This was a quiet little nowhere stop to switch drivers and get the wetbacks some food and water. But there’s federal people sniffing around up north and border patrol getting tighter down south. Too risky now. Too bad we didn’t shut down a little sooner. Could have saved some trouble.”

Some trouble. I understood now how Roy reacted when he’d seen his truck all banged up, and I’d said there’d been some trouble. Understatement of the fucking year.

I nodded at the gun in his hand. “So what happens now?”

“Looks like I got to get the hell out of Dodge,” Krueger said. “No way to cover up this mess. You’ve had a busy night. But I don’t blame you. I surely don’t.” He shrugged. “Shit happens, as the saying goes. No grudges.”

“No grudges. That sounds good. So maybe put the gun away.”

“No, sorry, son, but I can’t do that. I’m going to shoot you all right, but it’s purely practical, not cause I’m upset with you. I promise. There’s just no other way this can happen.”

My heart sank all the way down to the bottom, but I couldn’t help thinking at least it would be over. The long hard night would end at last. Maybe somebody would call Doris and tell her to come get the boy. Thinking of my son brought that ache behind my eyes like when I’m about to start crying.

Oh God.

“Sorry, son.” And Krueger really did look sorry. Sorry, old and tired. “But I got to think of myself now, and this is the simplest way.”

He raised the pistol, and I felt a warm, fat tear roll down my cheek.

“Stop right there, Chief.”

Amanda had come through the back, had her pistol aimed at the chief, walking slowly forward. I could have kissed her.

Amanda said, “I’m making a habit out of saving you, Toby. Maybe you’d better—”

The chief didn’t hesitate, spun fast, bringing the pistol around. Amanda fired. The pistol flew from Krueger’s hand. He grunted, clenched his teeth, and brought the bloody hand to his chest. His face went pale, sweat breaking out on his forehead. His breathing went fast and heavy like he’d just run a mile.

“That’s some shot,” Krueger said. It was an effort for him to talk. Blood spilled down his wounded hand. “Just like Wyatt Earp.”

“I was aiming for your chest,” Amanda said.

Krueger chuckled.

She spared me a glance. “You okay, Toby?”

I nodded. “But it was close.”

She edged around Kruger toward me, keeping her gun on him. She backed up against the cell, fished into her pocket for the cell keys. “We’ll put him in here, and then call the doc to come—”

One arm came through the bars of the cell and went around Amanda’s throat. Another arm grabbed her gun wrist, pointed the pistol at the ceiling. She struggled, but the thick arms held her tight against the bars. Amanda went purple, her slim hand pulling uselessly at Karl’s massive forearm.

I turned, made ready to leap for my revolver on the floor.

Even wounded, the chief was too quick.

He was already coming up from the floor where he’d knelt to pull a small revolver from an ankle holster, probably the .32 I’d seen him cleaning once in awhile when things were slow around the station. Not a powerful gun, but plenty enough to make me pure dead.

I watched as Amanda kicked and twitched and then went limp. Karl released her and she slid to the floor.

“She dead?” Krueger asked.

“No,” Karl told him. “I put a sleeper on her.” Karl limped in his cell, held himself up by the bars.

“Can you walk?”

“No way,” Karl said. “Bitch shot me. I’m stiff all up and down one side. Couldn’t take more that two steps.”

“That’s a damn shame.”

The .32 spat fire twice, and Karl’s eyes went wide as he fell back on his cot, bounced off and hit the cell floor.

“Why in the hell did you do that?” I asked.

“I need a pair of good legs, and Karl would have wanted his cut of the money.”

“You could have given it to him.”

“And I would have too if everything hadn’t got so messed up,” Krueger said. “But the situation has changed. I’m going to need every dime if I have to go on the run. I might try to get to Mexico. Hey, that’s probably some kind of irony or something. All this time I been bringing wet-backs north. Now I got to smuggle myself south.”

He looked at the bodies on the floor and sighed. I sighed too. In such a short span of time the station had been torched and wrecked, bodies littering the floor. Surreal. One of Molly’s words.

“Okay,” Krueger said. “Best get this show on the road.” He waved toward the back room with the revolver. “Let’s go.”

“What do you want from me?”

“I told you I need a good pair of legs.” He held up his bloody hand. “And two good arms. I need you to carry something to the car for me.”

“And then you’ll shoot me? Fuck that.”

“Okay, I won’t shoot you,” he said. “You help me, and I’ll lock you in the cell. That’ll give me a head start.”

“And I’m supposed to trust you?”

“I could shoot you now and end all the suspense, make do best I can with one arm.”

I headed for the back room, and he fell in behind me.

“Okay,” he said. “Go to the safe. I’ll tell you the numbers, and you work it.”

He told me the numbers and I spun the dial.

“Open it.”

I opened it.

I didn’t think I had enough energy left to be surprised by anything. I was wrong. The safe was packed top to bottom and front to back with tight bundles of cash. It was hard not to be impressed. I could slave all my life and probably never see so much cash.

“In the last locker there’s a gym bag,” he told me. “Fill it up.”

The bag was cheap, bright red and said
Razorback Pride
on the side with the Arkansas pig logo. I unzipped it and started loading the cash. None of the bills were new. Wrinkled. Various denominations, fives, tens, twenties. The variation made it hard to guess the total amount. A lot. I stuffed in the last bundle, zipped up the bag. The cash barely fit, the bag bulging.

“Good,” Krueger said. “Now go back to the same locker and get that accordion file folder. Lots of names and embarrassing facts in there. I’ll probably burn most of it, but I need to go through it all first.”

I went back into the locker, got the file folder.

“Now grab it all up and let’s go back out to the alley. I’m parked back there.”

I went out ahead of him, feeling like there was a big bullseye target on my back. I’d expected to see his cruiser, but it was his personal car, a big luxury Chrysler about a year old. The chief wasn’t a pickup truck kind of guy.

“Stand over on the other side of the car.”

I did.

He dipped his hand down to his pocket, still holding the revolver, and hooked his keychain out with his little finger. It was awkward going, but he wasn’t about to drop the gun, and he couldn’t use the other hand.

He pulled the keys out and flung them at me. They bounced off my chest and hit the ground. I set down the bag of money and the file folder, bent and picked up the keys.

“Open the trunk,” Krueger said. “Load it up.”

I opened the trunk, picked up the files and money. I felt like I was moving through mud, my arms and legs like cold stone. These were the last moments of my life. Lifting the cash, loading the files, closing the trunk. My last actions on earth. I felt I could hardly breath, like life would leave me all on its own before the chief could even pull the trigger. Part of my brain told me to jump him or run for it or anything. But I didn’t do it, couldn’t make myself do anything but obey.

When the trunk
thunked
shut, it sounded like a cold metal coffin closing.

“Okay, now back away,” Krueger said.

We circled each other in the narrow alley, traded places, him standing next to his car, me backed up against the trashcan near the backdoor. We looked at each other a moment, the sky going a vague orange. The sun was gearing up for morning, light seeping into the world, the color slowly coming back. The chief looked death pale, his hair now completely matted with sweat. I didn’t think he’d last long on the run, unless he knew some doctor someplace that maybe owed him a favor.

But it was hard to think beyond the alley and the .32 in the chief’s fist.

“You’re not talking me back inside to lock me in the cell, are you, Chief?”

He sighed. “No. I guess not.”

“You’re going to shoot me now.”

He nodded. “I like you, Toby. I think you could have grown up and been something. But this is just business. I need to get away as clean as I can, nobody left to answer questions.”

I tried to think of some startling piece of logic to convince him to let me live, but I could only think of one word to say.

“Please.”

“I’m sorry,” Krueger said. “I’ll do what I can. I’ll make it a clean shot. You want to turn around? Maybe it’ll be easier if you don’t see it.”

And right then it didn’t matter how many cowboy movies I’d seen or any cartoon notion I had about being a hero. Right in that moment, I didn’t want to see it coming. The image of a bullet coming straight for my nose sent a wave of nausea though me. I was a coward, and I didn’t care.