I resisted the urge to look at Regina. I didn’t know what she’d told them.
“Here’s how I see it,” Emil said. “You show up outta nowhere, peddling some bullshit about land. You go around, asking all kinds of questions, from all kinds of folks. Now you’re back again.”
He removed his hat, scratched his pate. “I don’t want to be cynical, Clay. But it feels to me like it might be more than strictly business. Son? Care to illustrate?”
Beau unfolded a sheet of paper and displayed it.
Rows of typed characters: upper and lowercase letters, numerals, and punctuation marks. She’d covered the whole keyboard, plus an additional three lines for direct comparison.
My pride and joy throw it in the fire.
Dont try to find me good bye
— O
“I don’t know what that is,” I said.
“Why don’t you ask your little gal pal?” Emil said. He gestured to the purse. “It was in her pocketbook.”
Regina remained expressionless.
“You shoulda gotten rid of that contraption years ago,” Emil said to Beau.
“You’re right, Pops. I’m sorry.”
“Live and learn.” Emil sighed and replaced his hat. “I must admit, Clay, this pattern of dishonesty wounds me deeply.”
“Funny,” I said. “I met a whole bunch of folks who feel the same way about you.”
“Ah. Now we’re getting somewhere. Which of those individuals do I have to thank for the gift of you?”
“Bill Arenhold.”
It felt good to see Emil struck dumb, however briefly.
“My word. There’s a name I haven’t heard in a while. How’s he doing?”
“Not great. I’m pretty sure you knew that, though.”
“Be fair, now. You can’t blame me for everything. Billy was a loser and he took the loser’s way out.”
“He couldn’t have been that bad. He helped you find this place.”
“Any idiot can pick up a pencil,” Emil said. “Only one Picasso.”
“What about Kurt Swann? Also an idiot?”
“Inbred moron.” Probably without realizing it, he glanced at Pelman. “Greedy, too.”
“Must be exhausting, having to deal with so much incompetence.”
“It’s a plague,” Emil said.
“We spoke to the sheriff,” I said. “If we don’t check in with him by tomorrow morning, he’s going to come looking for us.”
“I reckon you’d better think fast, then.”
“About what?”
“Coming clean. We’ll give you a little respite to consider.”
He and Beau started out, leaving Pelman as sentry.
Regina lifted her head. “Hey, Beau.”
He turned back.
“You should really call your mom more,” she said. “She misses you.”
A change washed over him, smile twisting, shoulders bunched.
He strode toward us.
“Son,” Emil said.
Beau grabbed Pelman’s shotgun by the barrel.
“No,” I yelled. “No no no.”
He wound up the weapon like a baseball bat and swung, crushing the butt of the gun into Regina’s midsection.
Audible crack.
She gasped and jackknifed. The chair tipped forward. She landed on her face and rolled sideways and vomited in the dirt.
Beau handed Pelman the shotgun and left with his father.
The door rumbled shut.
“Regina,” I said.
She retched and heaved. The towel had fallen off, exposing her.
I began scooting my chair toward her.
Pelman said, “Uh-uh.”
“Then pick her up.”
He said nothing.
“Asshole. Pick her up.”
“Shut your mouth.”
It took a while for Regina’s breathing to calm. She tried to rock herself to a sitting position but couldn’t manage it and lay still.
“Sorry about the typewriter.” She spat blood. “Live and learn.”
Silence amplified all the small sounds: pinecones knocking on the roof, the creak of the chairs as we twisted against our bonds.
Dave Pelman squatted on a milk crate and sucked at his teeth.
“It doesn’t matter what we tell them,” Regina said. “They have to kill us.”
“Hush,” Pelman said.
She wriggled around to face him. A huge purple bruise tattooed her flank. “You really think they won’t sell you out to the cops? They’re using you. Again.”
He didn’t respond.
“There’s two of them,” she said. “One of you. Their word against yours.”
He cricked his neck.
“How many promises has Emil made you, over the years? How many has he kept?”
Pelman propped the shotgun against the wall, approached Regina, and leaned down, his face inches from hers.
“Hush,” he whispered.
He returned to the crate and picked up his gun.
The barn door rumbled open.
Beau went to Regina and roughly set her chair upright.
Emil said, “Time’s up. Have we come to our senses?”
“What do you want to know?” I asked.
“Start with who’s footing your bill.”
“Start with go fuck yourself,” Regina said.
“Right,” Emil said. “I can see you still need some convincing. David? Ladies first.”
Pelman aimed the shotgun at her.
He paused. Lowered the gun.
“David,” Emil said. “Is there a problem?”
“Not in here,” Pelman said. “I don’t want the mess.”
Emil gave a forbearing smile. “Let’s be quick about it, please.”
Beau cut us from the chairs, starting with our legs. He duct-taped Regina’s left ankle to my right, then moved on to our arms, which he bound behind our backs and joined at the wrists.
Cumbersome process, a hint of farce. Emil’s smile grew progressively testier.
My lot in life: abiding idiots!
Finally we were ready to go. Beau gripped me by the biceps and put the S&W to my temple. Emil held on to Regina, the SIG Sauer in her ear. Pelman brought up the rear, goading us with the shotgun.
They marched us out to the junkyard.
Emil said, “Where’s going to make you happy, David?”
Pelman pointed to the forest backing his property.
We started through the trees, the five of us in tight formation. The difference between Regina’s stride length and mine had us tripping over each other.
I tugged at her wrists.
She glanced at me sidelong.
I tugged again, twice.
She blinked rapidly, her jaw pulsed. She didn’t understand. What did I want?
Make a break for it?
To the left?
Before I could try again, Pelman said, “Okay.”
He drove the butt of the shotgun into the soft tissue behind my knee. Pain tore through the joint. It caved, and I sank down in the mud, taking Regina with me.
“Last chance,” Emil said.
Pelman leveled the shotgun at Regina. His finger tensed on the trigger.
A bright-green dot freckled his nose.
His face exploded.
Chapter 42
Stage set slaughterhouse:
Bone and blood and brain, misted like a winter’s day breath; the shotgun arcing skyward, tethered to the dead man by his finger through the trigger guard.
Regina, head averted, eyes clenched.
Beau Bergstrom cowering in the muck; his father, rigid with disbelief, mustache bristling, arms outstretched to ward off the assault, SIG Sauer flung from his grasp and hovering in midair.
Then everything was moving.
Emil’s pistol hit the ground, followed by Pelman’s body. The impact set off the shotgun and blew a hole harmlessly through a patch of dogwood as songbirds and squirrels and raccoons erupted from the underbrush and took flight amid a cascade of white blossoms.