The Mysteries of Soldiers Grove (19 page)

“Then you better figure how you can get it the fuck out of there so you can give it to me and save your ancient carcass. I want
all
of it!”

“I spent some of it.”

“Don’t give me that shit!” I wince because I think he is going to grab me again and start shaking. “What were you spending it on? Viagra? I seen you running around with that old cutie. I want all that goddamned money, geezer.
All!
Get it?”

I am thinking—how can anything so big and evil stay hidden? But Balaclava seems to manage. Apparently he can tuck himself away like a mortal sin in the darkest places, and then come out of the wallow to strike again.

I thought again about the small gun against my ribs. But I’m so slow and fumble fingered, I would die surely if I tried to reach into my shirt and pull it out. Everything would go.

“I can’t get the money now,” I say. “It’s in the bank in Viroqua, and it’s closed until tomorrow morning.”

Balaclava looks like he’s going to pitch another fit, so I lower my head. But he manages to calm down. “Okay, Pops. Then I’ll spend the night with you, smelling your stale piss. And that is not going to put me in a better mood. Hanging around in the boonies watching old shitheads fall down all the time is not my favorite thing to do. So we are going to move this thing along; in the morning you
will
get your rickety ass over to that bank and withdraw the dough, and give it to me.”

“I don’t have a car. How am I going to get to Viroqua?”

“Get the goddamned limousine to take you! Get your little honey to drive you over. I been watching this place for a while. Don’t screw around with me, gramps! I know how it all works and how you work. No tricks! You wouldn’t want your sweetie to get all messed up, would you? I could make her look like mangled red cabbage.”

He’s really got my attention now. He looks at me carefully. “I seen how much you like her,” he says slowly. Lights are going off in my head, I feel my heat going up. I almost go for my gun right then. My blood is pumping and my old claws are twitching. But if I die, it will only be hell to pay for Louise. I watch Balaclava thinking and it scares me.

I remember then the sheriff’s little warning mechanism. What the hell have I done with it? I think I put it in the drawer of my bedside table, but I can’t be sure. How can I get to it now? I can’t be rooting around in drawers. I should have carried the thing with me. What a hopeless old idiot!

I can almost hear the gears meshing inside Balaclava’s huge, oily head. The cogwheels finally click into place. My back hurts and my legs are cramping now. I am so angry and afraid,
knowing
what he’s going to say next. I feel so helpless.

Balaclava says very slowly: “In fact, I think you better go get your little cookie jar right now and bring her back to this room. She can spend the night with us, too. That will make the cheese more binding. Isn’t that what they do in Wisconsin? It should be real cozy, the three of us together for the night.”

Why don’t I just reach under the mattress and give him the money right now? I don’t know. My God, I
don’t
know! Because he would just knock me off anyway before he takes off with it—and kill Louise as a witness on his way out. Because it’s the most money I have
ever
had in my life. But mostly because I have decided to use it to surprise Louise and treat her with a trip to France. That’s the biggest reason of all. They gave the money to me because I was brave. If I’m so goddamned brave, then I don’t want this perverted ball of hairy dung to have a dime of it!

He shows me his weapon then, slides it out of a long pocket in his boot, under his fat pant leg.

My God, that gun! Everything changes in the room when that gun comes out. I’ve never seen anything like it before—a long pitiless thing that looks like the devil’s penis, with an attachment on the end of the barrel that seems to be a silencer. As he slips in a long clip of bullets, the darkness in the room consumes even more light. Everything is dimmer and seems more hopeless.

He says, “If you aren’t back here in five minutes
exactly
, I’m coming after you. I mean it, geezer; and while I’m coming I’ll kick down some doors and start taking out a whole lot of other old lizards. Remember, I’ve got
nothing
to lose. Then I’m going to blow the two of you away, too. But slow, one at a time, her first, with shots in the legs and guts before she really gets it in that pretty face. So you can watch. Does that make you know I’m serious, geezer? Think of your baby’s face caving in when I blow it off with my cannon. You
know
I mean it!”

I grind my stubs of teeth. My ancient eyeballs boil in their sockets. I am thinking murder. I am thinking total violence. My gray fists clench painfully. I want to grind this creature up like a hog. But if I went for my pop gun now I wouldn’t get past the top buttons of my shirt. I’d be spattered on the wall like an action painting, and Louise would be next. I have never felt such helplessness. He knows where she is. There are no doors for brutes like Balaclava.

He is nudging me hard with his huge weapon. “Get your ass rolling, old man. I’m looking at your clock. Get her back here in five minutes or everything goes!” Balaclava goes to the door, opens it and checks the hall, then shoves me out on my canes. I almost fall down.

I move as fast as I can, scrabbling along the corridor. I rap urgently below Louise’s room number. I can hear her stirring slowly, getting out of bed. She speaks wearily through her door, “Who is it?”

“It’s Cyril. Louise, please, quick. There’s trouble.” She opens, and I reach to take her arm. “Don’t ask questions now. I’m so sorry. So sorry. Just come with me.” She slips into her robe, takes her cane from behind the door and we slide and shuffle down the hall together as fast as we can. I feel her rising tension when she looks at me. She quickly senses what’s going on.

My room door is slightly ajar; we push it open and falter in. Balaclava is behind it, and shuts it firmly. Now both of us are in his wicked hands. I ask myself again, should I just give him the money? But I know, even if I handed it over, he would shoot us as witnesses anyway, and God knows what else he would do.

C
HAPTER
22

Louise

T
he beast signals us with his gun to move to the dim center of the room and points to the couch. We sit down.

So this is Balaclava. He is everything Cyril has described to me—hirsute and hideous, with a look that would freeze a ticking clock. How did this creature come into our lives? The door is shut, the room is small, and we are ensnared by this reeking monster.

“Hello, sister,” he says, as offensively as possible, “I thought you’d like to join this little discussion. We’re talking about money.”

Some sort of ransom that he’s demanding from Cyril? I look at Cyril and see how wary and pensive he is. He has a bleeding cut over his left eyebrow, a big bruise on his cheek. I reach to comfort him.

“No touching!” the sloth bear snarls. He points to Cyril. “The iceman here, he understands this now; he is going to get the money from the bank for me tomorrow morning. A whole lot of money. So we are all going to spend the night here together before we make the trip to Viroqua to get it. Ain’t that cozy? And we are going to keep our goddamned mouths shut, and we are going to behave ourselves, aren’t we, sister? Because any funny stuff that you try means that I start pulling this trigger, and once the two of you are all chewed up, I’m gonna walk down the hall and knock off as many old fogies as I can find on my way out.

“So we’re going to keep our pretty mouth shut, aren’t we, precious? And we are not going to try any tricks or make any signals. Right?” He turns to Cyril, “What time does that Viroqua bank open in the morning, pee-pants?”

“Nine o’clock,” Cyril tells him. “But there’s something else you should know.”

“What the fuck is that?”

“The money is not deposited in a bank account. I cashed the check when I got the award, took the money in cash, and rented a safe-deposit box for it.”

“What kind of hair-brained bullshit are you trying to give me now? Why would you do that?”

“I just don’t like writing checks. I like cash,” Cyril says.

The brute thinks about this and is greatly agitated. I fear he’s going to assault Cyril again. I don’t know what this money is that they are discussing or whether it exists. Cyril might be taking a big chance, just trying to get the beast out of here. Balaclava is out of his chair and standing in front of Cyril now, waving his ultimate weapon. “Are you playing games with me, gramps?”

“There’s something else I might as well tell you now.” Cyril has lowered his head, as if expecting another blow. “I can’t remember where I put the bank-box key.”

The monster roars and rams the tip of his gun hard against Cyril’s cheek. Cyril slips over against me, but makes no noise. I can see he’s bleeding from another cut and blood is coming from his mouth. I take the Kleenex from my robe pocket and dab at his wound. “You pig! If you keep hitting him, the people at the bank will wonder why he’s all beaten up when he comes in!” I raise my voice. “He’s doing his best!”

Beast thinks about giving me a whack, too, but somehow calms himself. He points at Cyril’s drooping head. “He’s gonna look like he’s just been to the junior prom compared to the way he’ll look like if he doesn’t find that key! Where is it, frosty? Goddamn it! Start thinking fast.”

“How is he going to think if you keep smashing him?” I snap, and continue to pat Cyril’s wound.

“Grandma,” Balaclava says slowly, “you need to understand this
very
clearly. This is not patty-cake going on here. Your lover boy is in a very bad situation. It would be best if you just keep your trap shut tight or you are also going to end up as a very wilted old flower.”

He pulls a chair up to where Cyril is sprawled on the couch and pokes his gun barrel under Cyril’s chin to push his head up. “Grandpa,” he says, “it is time for you to do some serious remembering. You better think where that key is soon or I will really bring the curtains down. You aren’t fucking with me, are you, geezer?” He pushes Cyril in the chest with his gun, but doesn’t strike him again.

Cyril is slow in response. “I’m an old man. No matter what you do to me—I will forget things.” Beast is tapping the tip of his huge weapon in his palm and breathing hard. Finally Cyril says shakily. “You’ve got to let me look around this room. There are some places where I might have put it.”

Balaclava reaches down and takes Cyril by the arm, and yanks him to his feet. Cyril teeters but manages to hold his footing. “Pops, you better look
real
careful. If I pull this trigger, everything goes. Remember that. Everything. You’ve got a lot riding on this.”

Cyril begins a slow search, opening bedside table drawers, a small desk against the wall, the kitchen drawers. As he searches, he says to Balaclava, “I don’t know how we’re going to work this if I do find the key. You know a person has to sign in at the bank and show identification to get into a safe box. They’re not going to just let you go walking into their vault even if you have a key.”

Balaclava thinks about this. He seems so frustrated I fear he is on the verge of just pulling his trigger and commencing the slaughter. But he says, his voice shaking with fury and impatience, “Then you’re going to have to make the trip with the key, gramps! Cash will be easier for me anyway. And I’ll just stay here with your delightful friend until you come back with the dough. That should make you move fast—thinking about all the dead bodies that are going to be here if you don’t get back here quick—especially granny’s here. I’m going to do her up real pretty. She’s got a smart mouth, and she’s already pissed me off.”

“How much money are we talking about?” I try to intervene—to divert his cruel talk. I know nothing of Cyril’s award.

“Fifty thousand big ones!” Balaclava snaps.

I express true amazement. “That is a
lot
of money!” I am trying to shift emphasis and draw the beast’s attention away from his murderous thoughts. Saying that amount out loud seems to calm him for a moment. It reminds him that what he
really
wants is the money, not a lot of dead old bodies.

Cyril is rattling things around in kitchen drawers now. He slams a cabinet door shut, and shuffles back into the room. His head is down, as if expecting still another blow. “I don’t think I will find the key here,” he admits slowly.

Balaclava is turning the color of a cured ham. He’s going to explode. Quickly Cyril says, “But I remember where it is now.”

“Where the hell would that be, you fucking mummy? Don’t try any more shit with me!”

“The key is in the bookstore in Viroqua. The Brontë sisters have a locked cash box in the back of their store. I gave the key to them for safekeeping when I received the award. I knew if I kept it myself I would forget where I put it. The bookstore is right next door to the bank. It won’t take a minute more for me to go into the store tomorrow morning and get that key from them. They open at nine, too.”

Balaclava is percolating again, but he manages to control himself. There’s too much at stake for him now—and he is beginning to realize this. If he starts shooting everybody, he’s only going to end up with dead bodies. He’s taken a big chance to come back to Soldiers Grove—and he wants that money in his hands. He is obviously a slow thinker, but he’s getting the idea. Cyril is nudging the beast’s nasty thoughts around an uneasy corner to this realization. But I am not sure what Cyril is up to with this bank box thing, and it worries me.

“Okay,” Balaclava says finally. “No goddamned limousine ride then.
All
of us are going to take a ride to Viroqua in grandma’s blue Dodge tomorrow morning. I’ll be watching from the truck with her when you go into the store. If I see anything fishy, just the slightest hint of a trick—everything’s going to go down. This gun fires probably sixty bullets a minute. I’ve got two extra clips. I can do a whole lot of damage pretty quick. Half the town should be out on the streets by that time of the morning. I’ll take a lot of people with me, and your old lady here is going to go first. Just remember this. I’ll
do
it! I don’t care, got nothing better to do.” He sits down on the edge of the bed again, breathing hard.