The Devils Punchbowl

“Oh, I'm sure you can. I'm just making the point for Penn.” Walt gives me a piercing look. “Your old-time American dogfighting fraternity is a tough bunch of boys. And from what you say about these Irish bastards, they could be worse. If they figure out Kelly’s close, there’s gonna be gunplay, no doubt about it.”

I look around the ring of faces, sensing that everyone agrees with Kelly and Caitlin. “I'm not forgetting Annie,” I tell them. “But I'm not forgetting Tim Jessup either. This isn’t up for debate. If we can take Tim’s killers down tonight, I'm going to be there.”

Caitlin uses her eyes to plead silently with me, but the men are watching my father. Dad rubs his chin for a while, then says, “Peggy was right about Annie needing you. She was right that we’re getting old. But she

isn’t

right that nothing’s more important than your children. Sometimes you have to take a stand. I'm not saying this is that time. But Tim was your friend, and I understand if you feel you have to go.”

“I'm getting two boats,” I tell them. “End of discussion.”

Kelly nods once in surrender. “Okay. We’ll put in upstream and take our directions from Danny in the chopper.”

“What about comm?” McDavitt asks.

Kelly reaches into his back pocket and takes out a small, black box like a cell phone, with a short, fat antenna. “These walkie-talkies are encrypted and guaranteed across ten miles. We call them Star Treks, like the ‘communicators’ on the old TV show. I brought four with me. For God’s sake, nobody lose one. They’re army-issue, Special Forces only, and it’s my ass if I go back to Afghanistan short.”

“What kind of weapons are you taking?” Carl asks.

Kelly looks as if this is the least of his concerns. “I'’ll decide that later. I’d like to avoid violence, if possible. But if they start the party, I'’ll be happy to bust their pińata.” Kelly gives Carl a frank look. “You down with that?”

The sniper turns the question over in his mind. “Somebody shoots at me, I gotta shoot back, don'’t I?”

“What if they shoot at

me

?” I ask.

Carl grins. “Just think about that insurance commercial, the one with the red umbrella. I got you covered.”

“How big is your umbrella?”

“In daylight, over a thousand yards. Nighttime’s a little different. But I won'’t be far away. You just focus on staying quiet while Kelly does his job. Danny and I will take care of the rest.”

“All this testosterone is certainly reassuring,” Caitlin says, “but what if you don'’t

find

a dogfight?”

Kelly shrugs. “We pull back, regroup, and wait for more intel. From what we know about Sands, I don'’t think he’s worried about being caught by the locals.”

“They’ll be fighting tonight,” Walt says with confidence. “Go outside and smell the air.

Feel

it. It’s football weather. The blood is up. Animals are getting itchy, starting to move. Bucks are fighting in the woods. Fighting and fucking’s what it’s all about this time of year.”

I think Caitlin is actually blushing.

“What about you, Mr. Garrity?” Kelly asks. “I know you didn't come all this way to twiddle your thumbs.”

“That'’s a fact,” Walt says. “I came because my old comrade-in-arms was in trouble.” He nods at my father. “And I do have a plan. But I tend to play a long game. I like to move slow and careful and let my prey come to me.”

Carl is listening closely. Undoubtedly, a sniper can relate to this philosophy.

In a good-natured voice, Walt says, “I'm sure that after tonight, I'’ll be redundant personnel. But no matter what happens, this is the last time you folks will see me. I'm like an actor playing a part. Once I get into the role, I don'’t break character. I almost didn't come tonight, but I wanted to see what this mess was really about. I'm glad I did.”

“Is there anything we can do to help you?” Kelly asks.

“I have only one request, and it’s for you.”

“What’s that?”

“I rather you not tell your employers about my involvement.”

“No problem.”

“Why not?” asks Caitlin. “You don'’t trust Blackhawk?”

Walt spits on the concrete floor and looks off into the shadows. “Blackhawk is a Texas outfit, and they have some good men over there. But after 9/11 they ramped up pretty quick—sort of like deputizing a bunch of laymen for a posse. It’s tough to know who you’re getting when you hire that fast.”

“I wouldn'’t argue with you,” says Kelly. “Don’t lose a second’s sleep over it.”

“I appreciate it.”

Walt stands and stretches, and within twenty seconds everyone else has followed suit. As he lowers his arms, I see a leather string around his neck that triggers a powerful memory.

“You still carry that derringer with you?”

Walt smiles, then pops open the top mother-of-pearl snap on his Western shirt and lifts what looks like a child’s toy from where it lies against his chest. Kelly and Carl lean forward. The derringer is smaller than a woman’s hand, with burled-wood grips and metal dulled by years of sweat.

“Two shots?” Carl asks.

Walt smiles. “That'’s one more than you generally get, ain’t it?”

“But I'm firing a .308 round.”

Walt pulls a pin from the gun and removes its cylinder, exposing the brass tails of five bullets. “Two’s generally enough in the kind of situation where you use this thing, but you never know.”

Carl puts his hand out and touches the gun like a talisman, but Kelly says, “I thought Texas Rangers carried Colt .45s.”

Walt chuckles. “Pretty hard to hide my old Colt. I’'ve been patted down many a time without anybody finding this little lady. She’s loaded with .22 long-rifle rounds. They do the job just fine.”

While Carl studies the gun, Kelly looks at me. “What’s your day look like?”

“I'm scheduled to present a citizenship award on the bluff at the Ramada Inn at two p.m. There’s always a big crowd there on Sunday, watching the balloons. Barbecue, lots of city employees, kids.”

“It’s public knowledge that you’re doing this?”

“Sure. Printed in the paper. Why?”

“I may stop by to get a look at whoever’s covering you.”

“You going to give me one of those Star Treks?”

Kelly laughs and passes me the one from his pocket. As I take it, he turns to Walt and says, “How about you, Mr. Garrity? You want one?”

The old ranger smiles. “Where I'm going, they’d just take it off me. A gun they might not mind, but radios are a big no-no.”

“Just making sure.”

“Thanks, but I work alone. Kind of a habit.”

Kelly laughs suddenly, as though at Walt’s expense.

“What is it?” Garrity asks, a little edge in his voice.

“I’'ve been trying to remember something all night. Something my uncle used to say.”

“What’s that?”

“‘One riot, one Ranger.’ That'’s the motto, isn’t it?”

Walt sighs like a man who’s heard this line a thousand times too many. “That'’s the myth, not the reality.”

Kelly says, “I understand,” and offers his hand.

Garrity takes it and shakes firmly. “Good luck to you, soldier. And keep your eyes peeled for dogs.”

“I'’ll hear the dogs,” Kelly assures him.

“No, you won'’t. Dogfighters are like the dopers now. Once upon a time, they used guard dogs to warn you away and alert them to run. Now they sever the vocal cords so there’s no bark to warn you.”

A chill races across my skin.

“My God,” says my father.

“They’re on your throat before you even know they'’re there,” Walt says. “A lot of cops have been hurt like that this past year. Some killed.”