“Did you hit him back?”
“Not yet. Where’s your mom?”
The boy pointed at the closed bedroom door.
“Gotcha.” Chance stood, wobbling a bit. He’d slept in his clothes. “What’s your name?”
“Alex.”
“Chance.” He put out his hand. The boy shook it solemnly.
They sat at the kitchen counter eating Cap’n Crunch. The boy watched him and didn’t say anything. Chance heard the bedroom door open and Amy say, “Good morning.”
“We’re just having some chow here. Need a bowl?”
Amy was dressed in a long T-shirt and shorts. She stood with a hand on the counter, regarding the two boys. She glanced out the window. “You remember getting here? You were pretty drunk.”
“Yeah. Sorry about that.” Chance stole a look at Alex, who grinned through a mouthful of Crunch.
“I just didn’t want you leaving town like that.” She folded her arms and stared into the sunlight.
She drove him to Black Eagle to pick up his truck. They put jumper cables on it and sat in her idling car. Snow fell against the windshield.
“So what’s your plan?” She fiddled with a loose bit of trim on the dash.
“I don’t know. I can’t stay here if I want to keep breathing.”
“What’s your dad say?”
“As little as possible. Wants me to work for him at the shop.”
“I always liked him.”
“Swing by and say hello. I’m heading there now.”
“Nah, I have to pick up Alex in a bit. Say hi, though.”
“I will. He’s a cute kid.”
“Yeah.”
Chance stepped into the snow and fired up the truck. He pulled off the cables and leaned into her window. “Well, I guess that’s it.”
She stared. “Yeah, that’s it.” Then her hand was around his neck, pulling his mouth to hers. It was the first warmth he’d felt since he’d been home.
Chance pulled up on the office side of the shop. The Open sign wasn’t on yet, so he unlocked the door. He flicked on lights as he worked his way into the shop.
His father lay facedown on the floor in a mirror-dark pool that wasn’t oil. Chance knelt and felt his father’s neck: cold. His eyes were half open and the wound at the temple had congealed to the concrete. Chance sat down, and then eased onto his side to gaze into his father’s eyes. The dead man’s mouth looked like it was preparing to say something.
Chance kept his fingers on the wheel as he drove past the missile silo. The gun was in his hand when he reached the farmhouse. He parked in the yard and slid out of the truck, the pistol hanging at his side. Chance walked the perimeter of the house before going in.
No one was there. He set the .357 by the sink. A blinking light caught the corner of his eye: the ancient answering machine his grandmother would not give up. He walked over and pressed Play.
“Chance, it’s your dad. You remember that spot at the farm you used to hide as a kid? I put something in there for safekeeping. If you don’t hear from me for a few days, go check on it. No big deal but I thought you should know just in case. Talk to you soon, pard.”
He rewound the tape and pressed Play again, hearing his father’s voice. He rewound it again and understood — why his dad had sold the ground around him, and what was now hidden in the secret place.
He slid to the floor against the pine paneling. Some time went by. The mantel clock ticked. And he remembered hiding in the little place his dad had built for Ranger.
Chance walked to the side of the barn and it was there in an overgrowth of weeds. The little swinging door was rotting at the bottom, but painted red it blended with the shape of the barn. He pushed the door open and crawled inside.
Ranger had loved this spot in winter, and in the remains of the straw Chance’s father had put there he could still see where the dog had dug in against the cold. In the farthest corner sat a five-gallon bucket of feed.
Chance dragged it out by its handle and pried off the lid. The bucket was full of money.
He sat drinking coffee at the kitchen table that night with the pistol near his hand and a single small light that would not be seen from the road. He wrote slowly on a yellow pad, working on a draft he’d started several times.
When dawn came, he sealed the pages in two envelopes. Then he took the gun and walked to the barn.
The truck started grudgingly, warmed in the sheltered space. He drove it onto the road. More snow would soon fall under the gray pall of sky. At the county road ran a line of mailboxes. He placed the letters in his grandfather’s and put up its flag.
The town wavered on the horizon, a gray line in the air. Great Falls, his town, the place he was from. He’d never left here, really, and now he never would. The five-gallon bucket guaranteed that. He took another look and got back in the truck.
Matt’s phone buzzed and he glanced at the number. “Hello, Chance.”
“I have your money. You can come get it. You know where I’m at.”
“Better if I pick the spot, Chance.”
“We’re doing this now or I’m gone. Come get your money.”
“Okay.” Matt ended the call and turned to his brother. “Let’s go get him.”
On the far end of the line, Chance opened the pistol and loaded the sixth round.
The red Suburban cut through a light snow. Matt and his brother Donnie rode in front, two men with rifles behind them. Matt’s yellow jacket was stained with Chance’s blood despite a hard cleaning. He drove calmly, gazing ahead. The day had turned warmer despite the snow; a Chinook wind was on the way.
They turned off the county road toward the farmhouse. Matt spotted the truck parked in the yard by the house. He stopped at the cattle guard and took a hard look. Nothing moving.
They drove in and parked. The four men got out and walked toward the house. Matt called Chance’s name.
“I’m here,” he said from behind them. He stood in the barn door and they saw his leveled pistol.
Matt stopped. “I just want the money, Chance. Then we’re square.”
“Is that what you told my dad?” He walked forward.
Matt hesitated. “He offered to pay me a couple months ago. When I went to collect he flew off the handle. That wasn’t part of the plan.”
“You forgot to mention that tidbit to me.”
“It happened after I saw you last night. I figured you’d disappear.”
“I’m here.”
Chance cocked the pistol and watched the men slowly spread out in front of him.
Two days later, after she’d seen the news, a hand-addressed letter arrived.
Amy, I’m sorry to send you this, but you probably understand by now. I fucked things up bad but you deserve to have something good. Wait till things quiet down then come out to the farm. The address will be in the news. On the south side of the barn you’ll see a little door. There’s something in it for you in a big white bucket. Don’t worry, it’s not stolen. It was my dad’s and he’d want you to have it. I also sent a letter to my lawyer. It’s a will and I’m leaving you the place. I don’t know if that will hold up but we’ll see. Obviously my lawyer sucks. But this will help you out. There’s a small chance you may hear from me again and if so I might need some of it to pay him. Thanks for everything.
Matt spoke: “Chance, put that money in my hands right now or I swear I’ll blow your new girlfriend’s brains out.”
Chance aimed the muzzle of the gun at Matt’s chest. “I’m not fucking around.”