The Snow Falcon (33 page)

“Shut your mouth, Red,” Ellis warned.

Red was happy to, since he’d already made his point and Hanson was looking into his beer as if there was something in there that was deeply fascinating to him. Ellis drained his bottle and told Hanson it was his round. That fucking Somers guy was starting to really get on his nerves.

IT WAS LOUISE. He knew her voice immediately, and hearing her took him back six years. The last time he’d spoken to her she’d been

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terrified of him, huddled in the corner, clutching Holly to her protectively.

“My God, Michael, what have you done?”

Until right then, it hadn’t seemed real. It was the horror in Louise’s eyes that shook him: She was scared. She was petrified. Holly was crying, not understanding anything.

There was a big chrome-framed mirror on the wall, and in it he saw this wild-eyed person, his shirtfront splattered with blood. He was holding a gun, waving it indiscriminately. When he paused to reflect on this sight, he wiped his hand back through his hair, and he could still see the faint smears of red he’d left there earlier.

Louise had thought he meant to shoot both her and Holly. He didn’t know even now if that was true. By then he was way over the edge, spinning into the abyss. He knew he’d never threatened her directly. He’d only let the cops believe he was holding them hostage because he was trying to decide if he should shoot himself. Only himself.

The truth was, he would never know what he’d been thinking about doing.

Across the miles there was a faint hum; it was a bad line.

“Hello?” Louise said again, her tone impatient.

He couldn’t speak. There was a silence that must have lasted for five or ten seconds but seemed longer. He could almost hear her thinking, and then there was a soft click as she hung up and the line went dead. A soft click.

It took a moment for him to gather his composure, then he turned to leave. He put his bottle on a table and made his way toward the door, and as he passed along the bar, he was aware of a group of guys drinking beer, and one guy in particular who stared at him. He had angry pale eyes, and his mouth was clamped tight. Michael looked away, sensing trouble.

Outside, he was halfway across the street when the door opened behind him, music spilling out, then fading again as it closed. He reached the other side and looked back. Two men were watching him. He turned and made for his car, fishing for his keys.

By the time he reached it, the men were gone. He backed out of his spot and turned off Main Street onto the road that would take him out of town. As he did, he could see a set of headlights following

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him. For a half mile he told himself that it was just a coincidence, but then he decided he didn’t believe in coincidences that hung back the way this one did. He thought about what might happen if somebody ran him off the road out of town, where there were no lights, or if he was followed all the way back to the house. People around here carried rifles in their trucks. While he was still within the town limits, he pulled over to the side of the road.

He watched the approaching lights in his rearview mirror, thinking at the last moment they would go by, but then an old battered Dodge came alongside and swerved dramatically, stopping at an angle right in front of his car, blocking his way.

He got out and walked around to the front of the Nissan; two men climbed from the truck. They were the same two he’d seen outside Clancys, one of them the guy who’d stared at him as he was leaving. He was the driver and the bigger of the two, squat and thick in the body, brown-gray stubble growing over a head like a medicine ball. There was something about his stance that struck a chord, but Michael couldn’t place it. The other guy was thinner, with a scar beside his eye that pulled the corner down a little. It made him look mean, but there was an uncertainty evident in his posture that belied this.

“Is there something I can help you with?” Michael asked, focusing on the driver. He kept an eye on the other man, who hung back around the tailgate of the pickup, half concealed.

Ellis leaned against the Dodge’s door and lit a cigarette. When Somers had left the bar, Ellis had told Hanson he was going, and if he wanted a ride, to shift his ass. He hadn’t said anything about Somers until he’d pulled out behind him, then he’d passed over the bottle of bourbon that was rolling around beneath his feet.

“See who that is up ahead?”

Hanson had looked puzzled. “Who?”

“It’s that Somers guy. The one killed his wife and kid.”

Hanson had taken a swig from the bottle. “Shit, he didn’t do that, Ellis. It was some guy he shot.”

“Listen, the only reason he didn’t kill ‘em is the cops got him first. That’s what I read.”

“I didn’t know you could read, Ellis,” Hanson had said.

“Very funny.” Ellis had reached over and grabbed the bottle. “I say we have a little fun. Show this guy we don’t want his sort around town. Whaddya say?”

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Hanson had shot him a nervous look, but then he’d grinned and reached back for the bottle.

He hadn’t known exactly what he was going to do, he’d still been thinking about it when Somers had stopped. Now he pointed a finger and narrowed his eyes. “I remember you, Somers.” He nodded, as if this had only just occurred to him. “Your old man had the hardware store. You used to work there.”

“I remember you, too,” Michael said. It had come to him just then who this was. As far as he could see, Ellis hadn’t changed a hell of a lot since they were at school. The question he’d asked himself in the bar came back to him, how Rachel had come to marry a guy like this. But then he reminded himself that people who knew Louise had probably asked themselves the same kind of questions about him. He wondered if this was about him talking to Rachel in the bar.

“There’s a lot of people around here ain’t too comfortable having someone like you living in the same town, you know,” Ellis said. He looked over his shoulder at Hanson. “He was always a strange kid when he lived here. Got that off his old lady, I guess. She was crazy as a fucking loon.”

Michael knew that Ellis was just trying to provoke him, and he didn’t react. He thought maybe Ellis was the type who needed something to spur him on, that if he wasn’t challenged, he would just talk himself out.

“They say your old lady killed herself, Somers. That true, d’you think?” Ellis blew smoke and spat on the ground. He hated the way Somers just stood there calmly. He started to think about the way Somers had been talking to and smiling at Rachel, and her smiling back at him. Who the fuck did he think he was, buying a man’s wife a drink like that? It wasn’t enough he stole that damn falcon, which rightfully belonged to him, now he was sitting in bars with his damn wife, for chrissakes. Maybe that was why she’d been acting so strange lately—except she’d been that way for a lot longer than Somers had been around.

“Hanson didn’t live around here back then,” Ellis said, half turning to Hanson while he kept an eye on Michael. “His old lady was supposed to have taken a load of pills and killed herself. She was always taking pills and all kinds of stuff. You know what people say, though, don’t you?”

“Listen, why don’t you just move that truck out of the way, okay?”

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Michael said. He knew what was coming, and he knew Ellis was only needling him, but Michael could hear the edge in his own voice.

Ellis heard it and grinned. “They say your old man let her die, Somers. They say he came back and found her and he let her die. I guess you and your old man were a lot alike.”

Michael clenched his fists. It bothered him to hear this kind of talk, even after all these years. It hit a nerve, and he knew why. It was because he’d thought the same thing. There never was any explanation for his dad coming home so late that night, after a lifetime of routine. On Wednesdays he was always home at six. So why on that one occasion did he stay out until eleven? Maybe Ellis was right, maybe he had found her and left her to die. Along with being a drunk, his dad had killed his mother.

He started to feel a pulsing ache in his temples. It shot like a needle through the side of his head and lodged behind his eyes.

“Just move your truck out of the way, Ellis,” he said. He started to turn around to get back into his car. Back along the road he saw the lights of a stationary vehicle, and he wondered if there were more around like Ellis.

“Hey, Somers, who said you could go?” Ellis demanded. He hated the way Somers just fucking dismissed him, as if he was nothing to be concerned about. People had been treating him like that all his damn life.

Michael heard the belligerence in Ellis’s tone. The ache behind his eyes was getting worse, and he just didn’t need this. He should never have gone into town, it had been a dumb move.

“Listen, I’m leaving,” he said, raising his palms outward. “I don’t want any trouble.”

“What you want and what you’re gonna get ain’t the same thing,” Ellis told him. He looked to Hanson, who’d quietly slipped his hand over the back of the tailgate.

Michael knew he wasn’t going to get away so easily. He felt weary of all this, and allowed his anger to harden, actually welcoming a fight, a chance to hit back. “Listen, Ellis, let me tell you something now,” he said quietly. “I don’t have to listen to this kind of crap, so why don’t you and your shitkicker buddy over there just climb back into your truck and get the fuck out of my way.”

He was ready for them if they weren’t going to give him a choice. Ellis might be solid, but he had a fat gut. It wouldn’t take much to

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stop him. The guy behind the truck was nervous-looking; he wouldn’t stay to fight on his own. One thing Michael had learned in prison was how to take care of himself, out of necessity, and there had been plenty of time to kill in the gym every day.

For the first time, Ellis showed a flicker of uncertainty. Then his mean stupidity took over and he started forward. Out of the corner of his eye, Michael saw the guy at the back of the truck reach in and come out with something that looked like an ax handle.

A sudden howling whoop sounded loud close by, startling them all. Then they were bathed in light, and a second later Coop’s four-by-four pulled up, the blue light flashing momentarily. Coop sat behind the wheel, his arm resting on the door, and looked them over with a nonchalant sweeping glance.

“Ellis.” He nodded and looked to the other man. “Hanson. Anything I can help you with here?”

The tension eased, and when Michael looked, the ax handle Hanson had been hefting a moment earlier had vanished.

“We were just talking, Coop,” Ellis said.

Coop looked at him silently, then gestured toward Ellis’s truck. “That’s kind of careless parking, Pete. Could be a danger to somebody there.”

Ellis looked at his truck but he didn’t move. “I guess you’re right.”

“I could tow you back into town if there’s a problem.”

“There’s no problem.” Ellis shifted his feet uncertainly, then spat on the ground. “We’ll be going,” he announced. He shot a final resentful stare at Michael, then he and Hanson climbed back into the truck. He backed up and swung around, then headed toward town.

Michael watched the rear lights dwindle, aware of Coop’s silent scrutiny. “I’m glad you came along,” he said. The pain in his head was subsiding.

Coop nodded, almost imperceptibly. “It’s my job.”

“Well, I’m grateful anyway,” Michael said.

“I better follow them. Make sure they don’t get into any more trouble.” Coop made as if to leave, then paused. “I hear Jamie’s been helping train that falcon of yours.”

“That’s right.”

Coop looked as if he wanted to say something else, but then appeared to change his mind and said good night.

Michael watched as Coop turned around. The vehicle he’d seen

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earlier was gone, and he guessed it had been Coop back there. It made him wonder why he’d taken his time to intervene, as if he was waiting to see what would happen.

COOP DROVE INTO town and found Ellis’s truck where he’d expected it to be, parked across the street from Clancys. Ellis was alone now, sitting in the dark, drinking from a bottle. Coop thought he could have just allowed whatever was about to take place back there to happen. He’d considered it, and that bothered him. He asked himself if his dislike for Somers was rooted in who Somers was, or if it was about Jamie. If he was honest with himself, he knew the answer. The truth was, he’d be happy to see Michael Somers just get the hell out of Little River. He had a feeling that if that were to happen, it would be the best thing for everybody.

He went over to Ellis’s window and rapped on it.

Ellis gave a start. “Jesus, Coop, what the hell are you trying to do?”

Coop indicated the bottle Ellis was holding. “You shouldn’t be driving, Pete. I would have thought you had enough problems without causing any more for yourself.”

“Yeah, well.” Ellis looked at the bottle and screwed the cap back on. “I was going to walk home anyway,” he said.

“So what was that all about back there?” Coop asked. He was curious to know the answer. Ellis had been drinking a lot lately and getting loudmouthed with it; Coop knew that, but he didn’t know what ax Ellis had to grind with Somers. Ellis wasn’t exactly the type to get all righteously worked up about what Somers had done; he had too many problems of his own making to be worried about taking care of other people’s.

Ellis didn’t answer right away. Then he muttered something that Coop didn’t catch.

“What was that, Pete?”

“I said, he cheated me, dammit!”

Coop saw the flare of irrational anger in Ellis’s bloodshot eyes. “Cheated you out of what?”

“Out of two thousand bucks, that’s what.”