“Milo may not be happy with some of the things his youngest does, but he’s still protective of him. Plus, you heard Junior say that Mike and Marty will show up sometime soon. Those two boys of Milo’s are not exactly what you call rational in these types of situations when it comes to family. You’d best not be here when they arrive.”

  “Hey, this was self-defense. You all saw that.”

  “True,” replied Hollis, “but most of your witnesses in this room got businesses in town to take care of. They don’t want to get crosswise with Milo, so you can’t depend on them not to hedge their bet when it comes to testifying in a courtroom.”

  I stopped in the doorway and turned to the lawyer.

  “Del, what’s your take on this?”

  “Book law is on your side, Jack, but Milo’s wife—Junior’s mother—is the judge’s younger sister. You might want to take that into consideration. My advice is to leave town and keep on going.”

  I was hesitating, with half my mind already in my pickup and headed down the road, when Candace grabbed my arm and maneuvered me into the parking lot. A cold damp wind blowing down from the foothills brushed against my neck. I shivered with the chill, but she seemed to be focused on other things.

  “Which truck’s yours, hon?”

  “The black one.”

  It was parked about three spaces away from Junior’s red pickup. His driver’s door hung open and the interior light was still on. Funny how you notice some things at a time like this, things that don’t mean nothing in the wider scheme. Then, how you overlook other items, until you happen to think back on them later.

  Candace turned loose of my arm at the rear of my truck, and I made my own way to the driver’s side. I opened the door, got in and put the key in the ignition. She slid in on the passenger side and closed her door.

  “I don’t want to hurry you, hon,” she said in her soft voice, “but they’ve probably called the sheriff by now.”

  She leaned over and rotated the key to start the engine.

  This was all happening a little fast for me, but the wail of distant sirens out on the highway gave me the sudden urge to get moving. I shifted into gear and stepped on the accelerator.

  With the sirens getting louder on my left, I cranked the steering wheel to the right, got onto the highway and headed into the darkness.

  “Where we going, hon?”

  I glanced at my gas gauge. The needle stood at a lot less than a quarter tank. For right now, I wasn’t going far.

  “There’s a convenience store down the road a couple of miles. I’ll gas up and you can call a friend to come get you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean things have changed. I gotta get down the road fast. There’s no room for extra baggage on where I’m going.”

  “You’re calling me baggage?”

  “Hey, don’t take it personal.”

  “And, you’re actually going to dump me at a gas station on the highway, like I was nothing?”

  In the blackness of night, the bright lights of the convenience store glared up ahead on the right. This was gonna have to be fast. Gas and go. No time for sweet words and holding hands.

  “Look, Candace, Junior’s brothers are gonna be about half-crazy over this. If they find you traveling with me, there’s no telling what they’ll do to you. So, I’m doing you a favor by dropping you off, getting you away from me.”

  “Doesn’t appear that way to me. Tell you what, I been wanting to leave this town for a long time, head for Vegas, or maybe California. That wasn’t possible with Junior and his heavy-handed ideas of what a relationship should be. So, take me with you as far as the next state and I won’t take it personal about you wanting to dump me here.”

  I pulled off the highway, into the store lot and stopped at one of the pumps. Reaching across Candace’s lap, I opened the passenger door.

  “I’m going inside to pay cash for the gas. Don’t be here when I get back.”

  She sat there, mouth open, staring at me.

  “It’s for your own good.”

  Then, I took the keys and left her sitting there with the door open. Whatever I said must’ve worked, because when I came back outside and walked up between the two gas pumps, she was gone. Both doors on my pickup were standing open, but no sight of Candace, only a note from her to me stuck under my windshield wiper.

  I plucked the torn scrap of paper out from under the rubber edge and read the feminine scrawl.

  Shouldn’t have dumped me, Jack.

  When it’s all done, I’ll be the one smiling,

  while you’ll be on your knees tomorrow.

  I wondered what she meant by that. Then I noticed my pickup was setting lower than usual.

  The bitch had slashed my tires and used my own Buck knife to do it. The knife that I usually kept in the middle console was now laying open-bladed on the front seat. I walked around to the other side of the truck. Both tires on this side were flat, too. So much for a quick drive out of town.

  I glanced around. The lot was empty. I closed the blade on the knife and stuck it in my hip pocket. The revolver was still secured in the back of my belt and had been since we’d left the road house.

  Four bullets remained in the chamber. They’d have to do.

  I had my jacket and my hat. Didn’t appear there was anything else of value left in the truck to be worth taking along.

  My options were limited. The old geezer running the convenience store was the only other person around. He must’ve had somebody drop him off at work and pick him up later because there were no other vehicles on the premises. But even if he had one, the grouchy old codger wasn’t going to close up shop to give me a ride, and there wasn’t anyone I could call on short notice to come get me.

  I knew it wouldn’t be smart to start walking on the highway and maybe get caught in the brothers’ headlights. Besides, nobody was passing by at this time of night to bum a ride with even if I did stay on the highway.

  With the Arkansas River and the Royal Gorge to the south, there was no way for me to go far in that direction without being cornered. My only hope for salvation was to head north into the mountains. Maybe buy a ride off some rancher up there.

  I started walking.

  The ground quickly sloped up behind the convenience store. At least with almost no roads back here, anyone trying to follow me would also be on foot. My problem was I was wearing custom-made boots with riding heels and them things aren’t made for walking very far or very fast. Within four miles of humping up and down hills and ridges, through patches of scrub oaks, rocks and pine trees in the dark, I was pretty well wore out.

  Coming out of the scrub brush at the top of one long climb, I paused on the edge of a brown-grass meadow partway up in the high country. At the far end of all this frost-tipped buffalo grass stood a barbed-wire fence and an old weathered barn with an open hayloft door facing the meadow. I caught my breath and watched for a while. There was no house on the premises; no livestock or other animals wandering around the place. This would do until morning. I could keep an eye on my backtrail from the hayloft door.

  As I stepped out of the shadows and onto the muddy, half-frozen dirt, my right boot rolled on a piece of uneven ground. Just enough for an ankle sprain, nothing too serious, but it kept me from walking further than the barn for now.

  At the fence, I put my left palm between the barbs on the middle strand of wire and pushed down. With my right, I pushed up on the top strand, slid my left leg through, then my right, without hooking my jacket on the barbs. Squeaks came from the rusty wire when I turned loose and stood up on the other side.

  I entered the barn through an open double door on the far end of the large building. An old green tractor squatted in the middle of the dirt floor. Three empty horse stalls stood against the left wall, with a couple of storerooms on the right. Everything gave off a feel of long disuse. I climbed up the wood ladder into the loft and found a cozy spot in front of a stack of hay bales where I could look out over the meadow. Loose hay scooped up around me was old and dusty, but it helped insulate me from the chill night air where my exhaled breath hung in small clouds before disappearing. Drowsiness started working around the edges of my mind.

  I fell asleep thinking about how things had gone at the road house. Junior was partially right. Someone probably had cheated that night, maybe more than one person, but it wasn’t me. Of course, I wasn’t going to complain when I was winning. But now that I thought about it, most of the times when I won, either the banker or the lawyer had dealt those cards. Also, to the best of my recollection, Hollis and Del never seemed to have much invested in the pot whenever those good hands came my way. It was like they were working together and had an idea about the potential outcome in advance.

  But why me? Could be that since all the men at the table ran businesses in Canyon City, then the big winner couldn’t be one of them. I was the only outsider, thus a good candidate for the position.

  And, Junior?

  He was the mark.

  They’d probably only intended to get the kid in trouble with his dad in order to move Junior out of their hair for a while. But Junior getting mad enough to go for the rifle was a bonus those two took advantage of in an attempt for a permanent solution to their problem. He must’ve really done something demeaning to get that far on the bad side of these two.

  And me, I was the unlucky stiff picked as the fall guy.

  Nothing for it now. Settling scores would have to wait.

  My last thoughts were of Candace. A pleasant vision in the mind’s eye to drift off on, except for the reality of four flat tires leaving me in the lurch. It wasn’t her fault the brothers were probably out looking for me, but she didn’t need to disable my getaway vehicle out of pure spite. Under other circumstances we probably could’ve had some fun times together. Maybe I’d have to go back one of these days and give her a chance to make up for stranding me on foot. And then again, maybe it wasn’t my brain upstairs doing the thinking. Still, the curves on her body were something pleasurable to dream on.

  Sleep—when it finally came—hit me hard.

  I woke up gradually in the gray-wolf hours of early morning. The wind had died down to a gentle breeze and it was quiet outside. I laid there for a while, listening to the old barn creak with the change in temperature from cold night to coming day, as my brain went through last night’s happenings again. Rolling over onto my side, I looked through the open loft door and back out over the bent-grass trail I’d made on my way to the barn.

  Fog drifted along the clump of scrub oak where I had paused a few hours earlier before entering the meadow, but in the pale light of approaching morning I now saw silhouettes just beyond the edge of the grass. Two men in hunting gear with rifles knelt in the shadows of the scrub oaks and studied the tracks of my boots. Other figures stood behind them. Looked like one of them had a dog on a leash.

  I inched back from the loft doorway and got to my feet. It was on my mind to go down the ladder and hotfoot it out the other direction, but my sprained ankle had swelled up some during the night. It wouldn’t hold me for far. They’d run my slow ass down in no time.

  I’d just have to stay here and hope for the best where I had some cover. Using both hands to help me maneuver along the wall of hay bales, I moved to a spot that gave me a good view out the loft door, but kept me out of sight.

  Two of the men had moved halfway across the meadow and headed in my direction. Both were armed with long guns. The fog was clearing and I no longer saw men back in the scrub oaks. A squeaking noise down below told me someone was already slipping through the barbed-wire fence. Whoever they were, they were coming fast.

  Keeping my back to the loft door, I moved some of the bales on the top row to give me firing portals and protection from any incoming rounds from the opening in the loft floor where the ladder came up. Then I waited. Wasn’t anything else to do.

  After a while, I heard whispering down below in the barn and then scuffling noises on the wood ladder. Somebody was coming up and there was no way to stop them. It was quiet when they got to the top like they were listening to see if they could find out anything before stepping sideways into cover behind hay bales near the ladder.

  More scuffling noises and I could tell another person had climbed the ladder.

  “Jack,” said a man’s voice. “We know you’re up here. There’s no tracks leaving the barn.”

  Damn. I couldn’t catch a break lately.

  “That you, Marty?”

  “Yep. Come on out now and we won’t hurt you.”

  Like hell they wouldn’t. Marty was the middle brother and almost as sadistic as his older brother Mike. Must’ve been something growing up in that family.

  “Where’s the sheriff? I might consider surrendering to him.”

  “He, uh, couldn’t make it. Got other business back at the road house. Told us to see if we could bring you in on our own.”

  “How’s Junior? He die? Or did somebody call an ambulance in time?”

  “Just come on out, and we’ll talk about it.”

  I was so intent on Marty that I almost didn’t hear his buddy creeping around the far side of the hay bales where I was standing. I barely had time to get a shot off as the man stepped out far enough to get a bead on me. The .357 kicked in my hand and the guy went down. His rifle skidded across the loft floor and got buried in the loose hay.

  “Did you get him?” Marty hollered.

  “Yeah, I did,” was my reply, knowing it wasn’t my voice that Marty expected to hear.

  “Damn you, Jack!” He fired several rifle shots in my direction before ducking.

  In the ear-ringing silence that followed, I heard him holler for someone else to come up the ladder. Then he popped his head up for a look-see.

  Through one of my firing portals, I squeezed the trigger and sent a chunk of lead his way, but he dropped down behind his hay bales and my shot went wild.

  I could hear him reloading his rifle as he told whoever came up the ladder to “shoot the bastard.”

  Bullets threw up puffs of hay as incoming rounds laced the top row of my hay wall. Then the shooter stopped to reload.

  “Ow!” I shouted loud enough for them to hear.

  “How you doing over there?” Marty threw at me.

  “Your man winged me in my gun arm,” I replied. “Hurts like hell. Mind if I surrender now?”

  “Not at all.” Marty sounded pleased with these new circumstances. “Just raise both hands and come on out.”

  “You won’t shoot, will you?”

  “No, we’ll hold our fire, just show yourself.”

  I raised my left hand above the hay bales.

  “I’m coming out.”

  “Show your right hand,” hollered Marty.

  “Can’t,” I hollered back. “That’s the arm you guys shot me in. I can’t move it.”

  “Then throw out your gun.”

  “It’s here on the floor somewhere under the loose hay. You find it, you can have it.”

  I stood up slowly.

  That’s when Marty made the mistake of stepping out from cover.

  I quickly raised my revolver and blew a hole in the center of his forehead. Must’ve had just the right amount of fingertip on the trigger this time. At least I didn’t pull my shot to the right like back at the road house. He fell over backwards and I ducked as his man started sending rounds in my direction.

  Scuffling sounds on the ladder told me another man was coming up to join in the fray.

  Didn’t think they’d fall for my I-surrender-trick a second time. And there was no sense in me sticking around here much longer. They had the better firepower.

  Staying low to the floor, I crawled to the loft doorway, took a quick look outside. No one in sight. I stuck the hot-barreled pistol in the back of my belt, placed both hands on the edge of the loft floor, and swung out into the cold air. It was a long fall. When I hit the hard ground, my swollen ankle exploded with pain. I ended up sprawled in the dirt.

  Shakily, I got up on my knees just as Milo and Mike came around the corner of the barn. Both had rifles pointed toward me.

  Something whizzed past my right ear as I clawed at the .357 in my belt.

  One quick thought crossed my mind as I pulled the gun.

  Crap, I only had one bullet.

  Back to TOC

  HARLEY QUINN IS DEAD

  James W. Ziskin

  “She was cruel. Like she took delight in breaking my heart.” Connie rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and drew a sigh. “Laugh, she said. Dry your girly tears and pull yourself together, she said. Act like a man, you clown.”

  Sitting to his right was Jerry Weber, the court-appointed lawyer. A large fellow in a wrinkled suit, Weber had been salivating for a double cheeseburger and fries since before the nice judge ruined his evening by assigning him this client. He leaned his considerable self over and informed Connie in a soft voice that he didn’t have to answer any questions if he didn’t want to.

  “He’s right, you know,” said Bob Howser, the cop across the table. “You don’t have to say a thing. Of course, you don’t have to get out of here tonight either. Cooperation is usually the best strategy.”

  Connie and Weber exchanged looks. The lawyer wiped his perspired brow with a moist handkerchief and offered a silent proceed-at-your-own-peril.

  “She didn’t even try to deny it, you know,” said Connie. “The cheating. She just shrugged and said she was leaving me.”

  “For Harley Quinn?” asked Howser.

  “Yeah. Too bad for her that Quinn had other ideas.”

  “He wasn’t that into her?”

  “For sex, sure. Nothing more than that. Of course she thought it was love. Quinn was going to be the one. The one she’d latch onto before it was too late.”

  The cop squinted at him. “Too late? How do you mean?”

  “She’s always been terrified about getting old and losing her looks. Figures she’d better find a great guy while she’s still hot.”

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26