A Far Gone Night (28 page)

They stepped boldly into the doorway, the taller guy with a shotgun and the other man with a small handgun of some kind. They walked in a few feet and called for us to surrender, that they wouldn’t hurt us, that they just wanted to work out an agreement. They had smirks on their young faces and I realized they didn’t think we were armed, probably assured of that lie by the Chicago shooters. After all, we had been unarmed at the Pony Club. The younger man giggled a little and said, “Come out here,
muthafuckers
!” and waved his pistol around, aiming it sideways.
Pathetic.

As close to me as they were, I used my shotgun to drop the man with the broken finger, standing up and pumping two rounds into his torso, the majority of the pellets in a snug grouping that blew his chest open, the force of the impact lifting him up and slamming him backward onto the dirt floor of the barn. His pal cut loose with his shotgun in my direction, firing wildly, but I had already ducked down behind the hay bales, which took on the blasts, two of which went into the hay. Another blast, wild and panicky, peppered the wall high up behind me to no effect.

After the third discharge, I stood up and, extending my hand with the Anaconda in it, calmly squeezed off one round that struck the man in the face, dropping him backward to the ground. Both men were dead, and just as I fired the.44 Magnum, gunfire broke out at the other end as the two Indians began firing at me, rounds going everywhere from their handguns. I could hear one round buzz by my head and I was suddenly taken back to an episode in the Sudan which had turned out well, despite some serious opposition. It was a sound I never got used to, but I have learned to accept and consider the bright side, which was that they had missed.

It made me
angry,
and Clancy more so as he shot Ray Old Turtle, the one who had ruined the Packard’s windshield. The short burst from the M-16 stenciled his chest and he slumped to the ground, dead. Ivan disappeared around the door. Clancy approached the dead man and made sure he was dead. I heard Moon drop down from the hayloft and take off out the door at the other end of the barn, Clancy having moved and gone down on one knee just inside the door, providing cover outside as Moon left the building.

Thinking maybe Ivan was going to get away to the Escalade and escape, I headed back out the door at my end of the barn, popping my head around the corner of the barn door, but Ivan was nowhere in sight. Maybe he was just going to try to escape into the snowstorm that was now looking like another Iowa blizzard. There were only three of the bad guys left and our odds were looking better and better. I could hear pistol shots far off to my right in the direction Ivan had taken, with Moon in pursuit. Then I heard a shotgun blast. I exited the barn, stepping out into the storm.

I wondered where the two professionals were, but I didn’t have to wonder long. Deep in the depths of the snowstorm, halfway between the Escalade and the barn in a small stand of trees off to my left, there was a muzzle flash and a searing, hot pain in my right side. Another muzzle flash nicked me in the same place on the other side and I dropped to the ground, Anaconda in one hand and Elsie in the other.

So I was wounded, but at least I knew where one of the shooters was. But where was the other? What was he doing? Was he seeking out Clancy or Moon? I lay there, breathing heavily, not taking time to glance at my wounds as the snow pelted down, knowing I had to move before any more shots were fired in my direction.

And then I heard the boom of Clancy’s hand cannon, far behind me and to the left, near a collapsed outbuilding, a moan softened by the wind and snow, and then another shot from the Anaconda.
Then, nothing.

I knew now there was just Ivan and the second shooter, and I felt pretty confident that Moon was going to be doing his duty by Ivan, who had done nothing to stop Cindy’s murder. Ivan was a liar and a manipulator, and he had manipulated me. If I got the chance, I promised myself I would take away his privileges for a while.
All his privileges.
Permanently.
Then Clancy called out, his voice to my left.

“You okay, Irish?”

“Never felt better. Isn’t this fun?” I called back, pain stabbing me at both sides.

“You need to get down to their Escalade. There’s one I can’t pinpoint yet, and he’s got to understand that it’s all over unless he can escape, so cut him off if you can. With extreme prejudice, understand?”

“Aye
aye
sir!”
I said.

Two more shots came very close to my position, whistling over my head, and I began scooting as fast as I could to my right, fighting off the pain from my wounds, crawling toward the Escalade. I risked one quick look down and saw that I was leaving a rather vivid red trail as the blood from my gunshot wounds had soaked through my clothes. I decided we could deal with that later. Nothing major had been hit, although I knew that “nothing major” always referenced other people’s wounds. I put my injuries aside, blocking everything from my mind but that last shooter from Chicago.

It was nearly impossible to see the big SUV since the snowstorm had, improbably, gotten even thicker and heavier. It was a full-blown blizzard now, and I nearly missed the figure to my left, crouching, looking around furtively, and slowly edging toward the big vehicle. I came to my feet and began trotting toward the Escalade, my angle working to cut off the man from his objective.

My sides were screaming, pulling me to a bent over position, but I sucked it up and kept on until I was immediately in the man’s path. I could hear him breathing hard and crunching along in the snow, and then he appeared, at first a ghost in a white universe, then a dark shape, vague and indistinct, then a man. And then he saw me.

He
stopped,
looking surprised, then began to bring up his pistol. I shot him, pumping two shotgun rounds into the big target, the torso, nearly cutting him in half. He stood there, wavering, dead on his feet, and I wondered what incredible strength he must have had to keep his feet after a double shotgun blast. He was a big man, wide and thick and swarthy, and he stared at me with surprise as he wobbled. I pumped another round into the chamber of my shotgun and fired again and he just blew apart, blood splatter spraying all over the snow around him. When he fell, he made a heavy, soft, thumping sound. Clancy showed up right behind him in less than ten seconds.

He looked at me, looked at my side, then looked at the dead man, rolling him over, then back, the snow going red where the body lay. He walked up and said, “You okay?”

“I’m fine.
Just a scratch.
Two scratches.
Did you know John Wayne was from Iowa?”

Clancy rolled his eyes and said, “Let’s go find Moon. I count five dead bodies and so far none of them are us, although you look like you might have tried pretty hard. He’s hunting down the Indian.”

“Ivan,” I said. “Let’s go.”

To his credit, Clancy did not ask me if I was “up to it.” He just grinned and nodded and we set off for the barn again, loping along in the whiteout conditions, eyes on the ground ahead of us. At the far side of the barn we found two sets of tracks rapidly being obliterated by the snow, then, farther on, we found spots of blood that indicated a non-fatal wound. We crossed through a field and down into a low spot and then there was another pistol shot followed by another shotgun blast. And another blast, separated by just a few seconds. No more pistol shots.

We found Lunatic Mooning standing over Ivan’s body, the giant Indian collapsed half in a brief stream of gurgling water, his face gone. Moon was just standing there, staring. When he heard us he turned toward us and looked.
At me.
At my bloody clothes.

“Gun
go
off?” Moon asked.

“Something
like
that. Now, since you almost let this one get away, let’s get that hulk back to the barn.”

“What the hell for?” Clancy asked. “I wouldn’t mind leaving him here for the critters. No one will find him.”

“Let’s make this look like something it isn’t,” I said. “We’ll collect the bodies and their weapons, put them in the Escalade, push it into the barn,
then
push the Packard in there, too. Make it look like a drug deal gone
bad
, or a racial thing, or anything but what we were actually doing. What do you think?”

“Ugh,” Moon said, nodding his head.

“A man with a plan,” Clancy said. Then he and Moon picked up Ivan and his gun and we trudged back into the whiteness of the blizzard, back to the barn. We dumped Ivan’s body next to the barn along with the two men I killed and the one Clancy took out. Then Clancy went to get the professional I shot on his way to the Escalade and the other pro he killed by the decaying outbuilding.

Moon and I walked over to the far side of what remained of the Packard. It was as I expected, peppered with gunshot holes. The car was a total loss, but I wanted it moved inside the barn, so Moon got behind the wheel and I brought the Escalade around. They had left the keys in the ignition. The engine sputtered and caught and white smoke poured out from under the hood, but Moon was able to get it to edge along while I got behind the big Packard and pushed, my sides screaming with the effort, Moon steering it for the last time. Together, we got the car into the barn. Moon cut the engine and just sat there for a while, behind the wheel, his head down. Then he got out, no expression on his face.

Clancy showed up with the last two shooters, the Chicago boys, one black and one white, dragging each one by the collar on his coat. We put the three black men in the Packard and the Indians and the white shooter in the Escalade. Then we closed the barn doors and sat down in the barn while the blizzard kicked ass outside.

“Now what?”
I said.

“I think your plan needs tweaking,” Clancy said. “Let me think.”

And then we all fell silent, each of us alone for the moment, each of us thinking our own thoughts.

And as I looked around at the rotting barn, the destroyed Packard, knowing the dead bodies were in the two cars, knowing that I was twice shot, something broke inside of me, and all I wanted in my life was to be with Liv Olson, but I knew she wouldn’t have me and then I realized I thought of her instead of Karen and I was ashamed and then I thought again of Liv and I wasn’t ashamed that time.
Just lonely.

I
t was quiet for a moment there in the pitch-black confines of the decrepit barn. Then I spoke up. “First thing, Crazy Horse, is you’ve got to report your car stolen,” I said.

“Got a cell phone, Moon?” Clancy asked.

Lunatic gave Clancy a look.

“Oh, so it’s like that,” Clancy said. “Good point, though, Irish. But we’ve got to finish what we started.”

“What do you call this?” I asked,
then
I knew.

“Ted
Hornung
lives,” Moon said. “Unacceptable.”

Clancy looked at Moon. “Would you be satisfied with taking out Ivan as long as
Hornung
assumes room temperature? I mean, Ivan was there when your niece was murdered.
Hornung
ordered it, but he didn’t do it himself. ”

Moon thought for a moment, nodded his head
yes
. “
Hornung
must pay.”

Clancy climbed to his feet, grunting with the effort. “You two stay here.
Moon,
take a look at Irish’s injuries. I’ll be back in less than an hour. We can’t waste time.”

“Where you going?”
I asked.

“After I remove the GPS tracking device in that Escalade and take it with me, I’m
gonna
get us some transportation. There’s a working farm about two miles from here, on the right side of the road, and they have half a dozen vehicles, most of them boring, which is good. I’ll be right back. Now, give me the handguns I gave you; drop them in my duffle.”

Clancy opened his duffle bag, reached in and handed out two flashlights. Then he held the bag out in front of each of us in turn and we dropped our guns inside. I thought I saw a SAW in there, and other
bits of metal, but it was
pretty dark. Who knows? Clancy plans well. With our handguns secured, he pulled his gloves tight and reached in and pulled out two clear plastic packages with white powdery-looking substances inside. I gave him a look. He just smiled, walked over to the front passenger’s door of the Escalade, opened it, and threw the package inside, bursting it against the steering wheel, scattering white powder everywhere in the illumination from the dome light.

He said, “Some people would rather have the drugs than the money. It can come in handy.” Then he tossed the other bag on the floor of the back seat, shut the door, and eased himself under the SUV, and muttered under there for a while. Then he came out and grinned. “They already took it out. No tracking.”

With that, he closed up his duffle bag, hung it by its strap over his shoulder, and slipped out the front door into the early afternoon blizzard. He was wearing a black turtleneck sweater, a black leather waist-length leather jacket, blue jeans and hiking boots. He pulled a stocking cap out of his jacket pocket and pulled it over his ears as he edged out the front door of the barn.
And was gone.

When he left, Moon said, “Let me take a look at your scratches, Thomas.”

I slipped off my pea coat and pulled up my sweatshirt, then tugged my heavy t-shirt free from being tucked inside my Levi’s. I rose up from the barn floor and came to my knees. Moon flicked on his flashlight. There was a lot of blood. Moon looked at the front of my belly, then my back. He touched the wounds and I smiled very, very hard.

With a deep sigh, he turned off the flashlight and announced, “One round went right through you. Clean. You are fortunate. Another just singed away a little of your left love handle. No one will ever know. Maybe Olivia Olson if you two ever wise up.”

“I’m planning on surviving,” I said, ignoring the Liv Olson remark.

“But you would be wise to get some medical attention. Maybe Clancy can help you out with that when we get back.
Antiseptic, bandage.
You’ve ruined your clothes. Blood everywhere,” he said, in what amounted to a filibuster in Congress.

“Can’t go to a doctor,” I said. “They have to report gunshot wounds.”

Moon flicked off his flashlight, returning us to relative darkness. The white snow outside helped with visibility, but not much. So we sat there in the dark, silent.

I tried to figure out what to do next. Moon would call in his stolen car when we got back to
Rockbluff
. With luck, the blizzard would obliterate the tracks around the farmyard. We could make sure the gate was closed as we left, and maybe no one would notice for days and weeks that there were two cars in the dilapidated barn with six dead bodies in them. No reason to look in the barn of an abandoned homestead.

Hornung
would be waiting for a report, either on cell phone or in person, about how his men had fared, so it would be important to deal with him quickly. He would be suspicious and more wary than usual if he didn’t hear anything.

I had no regrets about the gunfight. It was self-defense. They came to kill us before we could kill them, but I knew that wouldn’t fly in a court of law unless we had an outstanding defense lawyer. But even if we won, the publicity would mess up our lives for a long time, although Suzanne
Highsmith
would be delighted with the story.

Forty-five minutes later, we heard a car approaching. Moon helped me to my feet and, shotguns in hand, we peered outside, bending the barn door a little to afford a sightline to the blacktop road. A barely-visible gray Toyota Camry eased its way in the drive, obscured by the snowstorm. It had no headlights. It coasted up to the barn. The engine stopped and Clancy Dominguez emerged from behind the steering wheel and came over to us, a smile on his face.

“I want you two to head back to
Rockbluff
and, pardon the expression, chill. Wear your gloves at all times when you’re in this luxury vehicle. Get your stories straight. Moon, what’s the deal with Irish’s wounds?”

“He won’t need to go to a doctor.
Could use some minor attention.”

“Can you arrange for someone to help him and be discreet?” Clancy asked.

“Yes.”

“Okay, now, I have to ask you guys something. Can you trust me to take care of
Hornung
today?” Clancy said.

“You plan on going up there alone?” I asked.

“He knows what you two look like. If he sees you, he’ll know something’s up. But he doesn’t know me. He’s never seen me. I’m boring-looking. I doubt the club will be open due to the weather. The forecast is for much more snow, up to ten inches. I heard that on the radio just now. With your blessing, I’ll go ahead and complete the mission.”

“What about where you got the car? How’d that go?” I asked, stalling. Clancy’s plan made sense. I knew he could follow through, but I wanted to go with him, which was out of the question for the very reasons he gave, plus I was feeling a little light-headed from loss of blood and my adrenalin easing off.

“No problem. The people who live at the farm aren’t home, or at least it didn’t look like it. But this storm is getting noisy and it’s hard to see more than a few yards. The keys were in the ignition of this beauty and I just drove it away. I doubt they noticed even if they were home. I’m going back for my own ride now, got my eyes on a silver Accord, then on to
Chalaka
.
Farm people, keys in ignitions.”
Clancy shook his head.

“Iowan hospitality for strangers,” I said.

“Okay then,” Clancy said. “Moon, you got anything?”

“May The Great Spirit watch over you,” Moon said.

Clancy nodded, looked at me.
“Irish?
Any words of advice?”

“Keep your powder dry, Clancy. I know you won’t keep in touch, but I do want to say thanks. Can we give you a ride down to the farmhouse?”

“No need. Control the variables. I
gotta
get going,” he said. He shook Moon’s hand, then mine, and disappeared once again into the blizzard that had added howling winds to its repertoire.

Not wasting any time, we climbed into the car Clancy had provided. I bumped against the side of the door as I got in. I suppressed a cry of pain, allowing myself a grunt. Moon noticed. “Let’s get you back home,” he said.

The drive to
Rockbluff
was silent, of course. Lunatic Mooning and I had overdrawn our verbal banks back at the barn, and now there was nothing more to say. He had to focus on driving right down the middle of the road, fences on either side of the road barely visible to help him navigate. The Toyota’s heater was working well but the windshield wipers could do little more than shove chunks of accumulated snow to the side. The clock read 2:30 but it was dark enough outside to be the middle of the night.

On several occasions the car slipped sideways, but Moon’s experience in Iowa winter driving conditions came in handy. We never drove more than fifteen miles per hour. We did not meet any cars. No cars passed us. By the time we knocked off the last thirty miles to
Rockbluff
, it was close to 5 PM. But I must admit, despite my pain, I was enjoying the beauty of the snow-covered land.
Rockbluff
itself looked like some kind of Christmas village with Christmas day just a little over two weeks away.

Rachel had closed down The Grain o’ Truth Bar & Grill, its night lighting reflected on the snow. There had to be six or seven inches already with no sign of letting up. We pulled into the parking lot, empty except for my big pickup truck.

“Can you make it home by
yourself.
I’ll drive you if you want,” Moon said.

“Then you’d walk back here?
In a blizzard?”

“Not difficult.”

“I’ll be alright. What are you going to do with this stolen car?”

“I have ways and means.”

“I suspect you do, Moon. So,” I said, easing out of the Camry and onto the parking lot, “how did you spend your day?”

A faint smile flickered across the big Ojibwa’s face. “I spent it at home with one of my wives in one of my homes that no one knows about.
You?”

“Home alone, watching TV, reading a little, playing with Gotcha.”

“
Your
imaginary Bulldog?”

I smiled.
“Yes, that one.
Don’t forget to file the stolen vehicle report.”

I got out of the car and shoved the door shut and watched as Lunatic Mooning eased his ride carefully out of the parking lot and down the street, then took a left across the double-arched limestone bridge that spanned the Whitetail River where everything had started less than a month ago. I could barely see the car’s headlights and taillights, and then it was gone.

The drive home wasn’t bad, and it was shortly after watching Moon drive away that I pulled into my gravel parking area. Home looked awfully good, and when Gotcha greeted me inside with her grinning mug and wiggly tail, I was truly blessed. I slipped gingerly out of my coat and sweatshirt and placed them on a chair. I knelt down and grunted and roughed up my friend as much as my discomfort would allow, but she was more interested in smelling the blood on my t-shirt. I rose to my feet, fetched
her a
giant Milk Bone, and handed it over. She took it and ambled over to the rug in front of the fireplace and set to work.

My plan was to rest for just a minute and then tend to my wounds. That plan appealed to me as I realized how tired I was, how lonely I felt, and the magnitude of what we had done that day. Six dead
men,
and all who needed killing. Still…

The wind picked up and the sound of snowflakes being flung even harder against my windows gave me some comfort as I appreciated the home I had and the privacy it afforded. I stepped over to the fireplace, around Gotcha, and knelt down, yelping a bit from my sore right side. Gotcha stopped eating for a moment, looked at me, then went back to work on her treat that I had substituted for her dinner.