Sweetgirl (11 page)

Arrow never even screamed. There was only the hiss and pop of the flames as he ran onto the open hillside, the blackened, flailing core at the center of a ball of fire. He was like a comet streaking across cold sky until he stopped and was wholly consumed—a felled star on the white snow burning.

Portis waved at me to stay down and he put the rifle on Krebs, who had stood up and was slack-jawed staring.

“My God,” said Krebs.

“Easy now,” Portis said. “I got the rifle on your chest.”

“He lit it,” Krebs said. “Then burst straight into fire.”

“The fucker only got to five,” Portis said.

“He was going for the element of surprise,” Krebs said.

“He was going to gas this baby,” Portis said.

“He went up like a Roman candle,” said Krebs.

“It was an end he has long been destined for.”

“I've never seen anything like it,” said Krebs.

“I am fine with it,” Portis said. “I have never liked him one bit.”

“What the hell was in that can?”

“I don't know,” Portis said. “But you're lucky the wind is blowing the other way.”

“I am going to cut my losses and go back down this hill,” Krebs said. “Do not shoot.”

“I won't shoot,” Portis said. “Because you're going to help us push that truck out.”

“Fine,” Krebs said. “But then I am through with this mess.”

I was still huddled with Jenna in the corner of the blind and put my back to the window to shield her some from the cold.

“Should I come?” I said.

“Don't yet,” Portis said. “Let that smoke clear a bit and then come down. Give us five minutes.”

Jenna was still crying, but softer now. Portis finally set his rifle down and drank from his whiskey.

“Did you see it?” he said.

“Most of it,” I said. “I think.”

“You should try to forget the image,” he said.

“I don't think that's likely.”

“I have never seen a thing like it in my life,” he said.

“I don't smell anything,” I said.

“I don't either,” he said. “Perhaps he absorbed all of his brew into his own skin, like a sponge. Maybe that's why he went up like that. So quick.”

“It only took a second,” I said.

“I am not a scientist,” Portis said. “And I am glad to say that I do not understand the physics of what just happened.”

He took another knock of whiskey, then took the bottle and the rifle and stepped outside. He whistled as he stared at the fire, already diminishing in the snow. I closed my eyes and breathed.

“The flaming Arrow,” he said.

I did not grieve the death of Arrow McGraw. It shocked and upset me, but when it was contrasted to the idea of handing Jenna over
I viewed it more favorably. I was also comforted by the fact that he had done it to himself, that while upbringing and genetic code could not be entirely ignored, in the end it was Arrow himself that lit the fuse.

It is a terrible thing to see a man burn down in front of you, but you would be surprised by the things you can walk through when it is necessary to keep walking. Besides, I had Jenna to attend to. Her face was blushed red and now there was real heat on her forehead when I put my cold palm against it.

I waited for what seemed like five minutes, then hurried down the hill with my gaze held straight ahead. I was not interested in glimpsing whatever remained of Arrow, and kept my focus on Jenna—who hadn't done a thing wrong in the entirety of her existence, who hadn't asked for any of the insanity that surrounded her.

I heard the rumble of Krebs's sled, but he was already out of sight and the truck was still submerged when we got to the base of the hill. I could not see Portis, but when I called out for him he answered with a grunt from behind the truck.

I hurried to find him on his hands and knees. He was bleeding from the stomach and trying to crawl forward, but he gave up when he saw me and slumped against the rear tire.

“Portis!” I shouted.

“He shot me,” he said. “He didn't even mean to, which I think makes it worse. I was kicking some snow away from the tires when he came back to help. He was walking with that pistol swinging and then he dropped into the snow where it falls off and shot me on accident.”

Portis looked at one of his blood-streaked hands, then replaced it over the wound in his stomach and groaned.

“That fucking idiot,” he said, and knocked his head against the tire.

“You're bleeding bad,” I said.

“He was more afraid than I was. He shot me and then I sat here and watched him piss in his pants. When that was over he got on the sled and took off back down the trail.”

“Do you think he went for help?”

“Krebs?” Portis said. “Hell no. He's on probation and probably high as a kite to boot. He's beelining it for home. That fucker will be in Canada by nightfall.”

Portis reached for his whiskey and had a long slug. He emptied the bottle and then threw it off into the snow.

“People will reveal themselves to you, Percy,” he said. “In single moments they will show you what they are, and Krebs is exactly the coward I have always suspected.”

I leaned closer and told Portis he was going to be fine. I said he just needed to try and get up. I said all he had to do was put one foot in front of the other and walk.

Jenna was hollering and I must have been talking a streak because Portis finally waved at me to shut up. He told me to concentrate on the baby.

“You got to try and calm that baby down,” he said.

“We got to get you out of here,” I said.

“I ain't going anywhere,” he said.

“Portis,” I said. “Please.”

“You done good,” he said. “And I'm proud of you.”

“Don't be proud,” I said. “Just get up.”

“Go fix that baby a bottle,” he said. “Then light me a cigarette and bring me my whiskey. There should be a pint stashed beneath the driver's seat.”

I did what Portis said. I mixed the bottle in the cab, though I spilled most of the formula with my shaking hands. Then I got the whiskey and the cigarette. I sat beside Portis with Jenna in my lap and put the cigarette between his lips. I opened the whiskey and handed him the bottle.

“Where's the baby?” he said.

“She's right here,” I said. “She's in the papoose.”

“She's calming.”

“She's okay,” I said, and looked down at her.

“You're good girls,” he said. “The both of ya.”

“Just try and get up for me, Portis. Please.”

“Lighter is in my pocket,” he said.

I lit the cigarette and he took a few deep draws before I pulled it out and let him exhale. He coughed out the smoke and groaned from the pain. He drank some more whiskey and then called for the cigarette. I went to put it in his mouth but he reached out with his hand and smoked it himself.

“We didn't end right,” he said. “Me and your mother. But we had some good times, didn't we? The four of us.”

“We did,” I said.

“You remember that time we went bowling out to Victories? When Starr kept slipping and falling on her butt?”

“I remember.”

“You do?”

“I do.”

“I don't believe you.”

“She wouldn't put the shoes on,” I said. “She liked some boy and she was convinced he was going to come in and see her in the clown shoes so she bowled in her socks instead.”

Portis shook his head.

“She was boy crazy,” he said. “Hormones, like
zow
.”

He laughed, then gripped his belly and winced. I turned away when the bile came, but it clung to his beard when he coughed and stretched in a long line from the corner of his mouth. He swiped at it with his hands and I could feel the tears welling in my eyes.

“I think about them days sometimes,” he said. “The old days, or whatever. I think about you girls.”

“I think about it, too,” I said.

“We had some good times,” he said.

“We did,” I said. “We had the best times.”

“I ain't going to make it,” he said.

“You've got to try.”

“I'm going to die right here where I sit,” he said.

“No, you are not,” I said.

“Please don't argue with me,” he said.

“I'm not going to let you die, Portis. That's not what's going to happen.”

“I wouldn't bother with that rifle,” he said. “Travel light and be smart. We bought you a little time but you got to stay off the road now. Get back in them woods.”

“I'm not going anywhere,” I said.

“Whiskey,” he said.

I put the bottle to his lips and he took another gulp.

“There's an element of relief to it,” he said. “There truly is.”

“Just get up, Portis. Please.”

“I'm not getting up. I can't.”

“We need you,” I said.

He turned off to the side and started to mutter. I made a fist and thumped him on the chest but he never turned back to face me. I kept pounding and then I grabbed at his coat and tried to pull him toward me, almost like I thought I could yank him back somehow—like death is just some edge you can keep someone from falling off.

Portis didn't come back, of course. He was gone and I screamed out as I watched the life leave his eyes—like the light going down on a dimmer switch.

Shelton had just put the gun on Hector when the buzzing in his chest began. He thought he was having some sort of indigestion, or perhaps a heart attack, until he heard the ringing and realized it was the cell.

He took the phone from the front pocket of his snowsuit and kept the laser sight on the boy. They were far enough away from the bike path, two blocks at least, so Shelton wasn't worried about Hector slipping away again. He was perfectly happy to keep the boy frozen there for another minute or two while he took his call. First and foremost, Shelton was a businessman.

It was Krebs. Krebs never bothered to say hello, or ask Shelton how he was. He just launched right into his story about how Arrow had been burned to a crisp.

“Do what?” Shelton said.

“He's burned up,” said Krebs. “He's dead.”

“You say Arrow McGraw has been burned up dead?”

“That's what I said.”

“Goodness,” said Shelton.

“We found that goddamn baby. Portis had her in a fucking deer blind. We could hear it crying.”

“You found the baby?”

“Yeah,” he said. “And then Arrow set himself on fire.”

“Why did he do that?”

“What do you mean, why? It was a goddamn accident.”

“Did you get her? Did you get Jenna?”

“Hell no,” he said.

“Why not?”

“Because Arrow burned and then I run.”

“What did you run for?”

“'Cause Portis had a rifle! He had the position in that blind, too. Wasn't nothing I could do.”

“So what you're saying is that Portis Dale has the baby?”

“That's what I'm saying.”

“So this doesn't have nothing to do with Little Hector or the Mexicans?”

“There weren't no Mexicans. I don't know nothing about no Mexicans.”

“Thank God.”

“Yeah, thank God Arrow didn't get killed by a Mexican. That would have made all the difference, you fucking dipshit.”

“It's not like that,” Shelton said. “It's complicated.”

“Not for Arrow.”

“Arrow's dead,” Shelton said.

“I know, motherfucker. I'm the one that called and told you.”

“What now?” Shelton said.

“Now?” said Krebs. “Now nothing. Now, I'm going home. Clemens is still out there somewhere though. That sonofabitch is hell bent on that five thousand dollars. He told me he planned to shoot Portis Dale dead if need be. Thing is, I borrowed that sonofabitch my little six-shooter last week.”

“You're saying Clemens is still out there looking? And that he intends to shoot Portis Dale if need be?”

“With my gun,” Krebs said.

“Well,” said Shelton. “That sounds like a plan.”

“It ain't no plan,” he said. “You fucking moron. You ain't never had a plan in your life and this whole thing is so fucked I'm going to go home and spend the rest of the night wishing I'd never met your stupid ass.”

Krebs hung up the phone and Shelton was not unbothered by his tone and accusations. Krebs had a right to be upset, that much was true, but his anger had seemed a touch excessive, a bit too personal in nature, if you wanted Shelton's opinion.

Shelton let his own gun fall to his side. Little Hector looked at him for a moment, his eyes wide and unblinking. Poor bastard, Shelton thought.

“Go on home then,” he said.

The boy turned and ran and Shelton watched him until he reached the path at the end of the road, until he disappeared into the smudge of trees Shelton could see through the gently falling snow. He was relieved he did not have to kill Hector after all, and hoped they might remain friends when all this was over.

Shelton got back in the truck and gassed himself a balloon. It was time to refocus. Arrow was dead, but Shelton didn't have any ideas about what to do about that fact. Clemens was still out on the prowl but he was damn near sixty years old and on his second hip. So Shelton wasn't exactly sure what the next move was. Times like these made him doubt his abilities as a leader. He did a balloon, and then another. His head went
wha-wha-wha.

He put the truck back in gear and all of a sudden recognized the song playing on the radio. It was the one about a rocket man, and being gone a long, long time.

Shelton flipped his blinker on and made the turn back onto Gibbons Road. The clouds had dropped again and the gray sky had gone bright with snow. Revelation indeed, Shelton thought. If there was any doubt before there could be none now. This was a blizzard with the feel of biblical retribution.

Shelton was headed for the highway and then the north hills. It was time to find Portis Dale and the baby. Little Jenna had been gone long enough. He hummed along with the radio and reached for the pint bottle. He drove through the quiet streets in the storm.