Take Me There (30 page)

“I killed Jack Golden.”

“How old were you at the time, young man?”

“Six and a half.”

“So you’re claiming you killed a cop when you were in elementary school?”

I look up at the clock. It’s already ten past six. “My father
taught me how to shoot. Please, you have to call Huntsville and tell them to call off the execution.”

The governor is staring across the room at something, and when I turn to see what it is, I notice the rusted box, sitting with the lid open. I know what is inside.

The gun that killed Jack Golden.

“It’s been a busy couple of days. Sunday night your father confesses to the murder. Monday night your mother confesses, and now here you are telling me you’re the one who is responsible.”

“They’re just trying to protect me,” I say.

“And who are you trying to protect?” he asks.

“Innocent people.”

“You can’t protect everybody, son. Believe me, I know. Innocent people die every day.”

“You know my father isn’t a cop killer.”

“Not according to him. Besides, whether or not he pulled the trigger, he was still involved in a felony in which a law enforcement officer died, and his entire family confessing to the crime doesn’t exactly exonerate him. There’s no way you can convince me that a six-year-old killed a veteran cop with a .22.”

I look at the clock. Wonder how long the execution process takes and how much time I have. “Okay, what if it was my mother? You can grant a stay of execution for my father and investigate. If you still think he’s worthy of the death penalty, you have plenty of time to kill him.”

He shakes his head. “Think about what you’re saying, son. Is that really what you want?”

“If it was an accident, if she thought it was self-defense …”

“A jury might not see it that way.”

“But what if that’s what really happened?”

“What is true and what you can prove to be true aren’t always the same thing. It’s possible a jury would see it otherwise. We got a war on drugs going on. It’s possible the DA would say your mother was in on the whole cocaine trafficking operation with your father. He might even claim premeditation. She could conceivably get the death penalty. Even if she didn’t, how long do you think she’d last at the women’s prison in Gatesville?”

“I don’t know,” I say, realizing what my father must have realized long ago. There is no way to win.

“Your father was granted one phone call today at two o’clock. Did he call you?”

“No.”

“Did he call your grandmother?”

“No,” I say sadly.

“No, he didn’t, and I’ll tell you why he didn’t call you, it’s because he called me. He called me and he said he was afraid someone in your family would do some fool thing to try to save him. He begged me to ignore them. He said he was ready and willing to die for what he did.”

I look at the tattoo of the cross on my hand and imagine my father, strapped down as we speak. “He’s dying in her place. Don’t you see what my father is trying to do?”

“It’s out of my hands.”

“You’re the fucking governor of Texas. Don’t tell me it’s out of your hands,” I say, rushing toward the rusted box, throwing open the lid, grabbing what’s inside. I don’t even know I’m holding the gun until I see it in my hands.
My God
, I think,
what am I going to do now?

“Whoa, boy, let’s not get excited.”

“They’re about to kill my father for a murder he didn’t commit. Don’t tell me not to get excited,” I yell.

“You’re not a killer, young man. You and I both know that gun isn’t even loaded.”

“Really? You sure about that?” I say. The gun probably isn’t loaded, and there is no way I would shoot this man, but I’m at the end of the road and desperate. “I want you to pick up that phone right now and call Huntsville. I want you to tell them you’re granting a stay of execution. You have your people reopen the case. You check it out. If you can prove my father pulled the trigger, then fine, kill him, but don’t let him die if there is still any question in your mind.”

“The facts in this case—”

“Forget the facts,” I yell, trembling now, realizing that when the cops eventually catch up to me I am going away for a very,
very
long time. “You know the facts don’t always add up to the truth. Just look in your heart and tell me what you
believe
about my father. You’ve met him. You know him. And somewhere in your soul, I think you know the truth. When you talked about mercy on the news the other night, was it real or was it just politics?”

“It was real,” he says with a sigh, and I realize that underneath the title and the suit and the name is a man who really does want to do the right thing.

“You’re right. I’m not gonna shoot you,” I say, slipping the gun into my back pocket and holding up my empty hands. They’re shaking so badly I’m sure he can see it. “But you already know that, just like you know my father didn’t shoot anybody. So think about that. Then decide what you gotta do.”

He looks at me. Looks at the phone. Glances at the empty box. Looks back at the phone. Reaches for the receiver, but before he can pick it up, it rings.

We stare at each other.

It rings again.

He picks it up. “Hello.”

He listens to a voice on the other side.

Looks at me.

Nods.

Hangs up.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “Your father died at six twenty-one p.m.”

I collapse on the couch. I would cry if there was anything left inside of me, but it’s all over now. All for nothing. I’ve come all this way, a journey of a thousand miles through hell, and it hasn’t made any difference.

Maybe one difference. I know my father was innocent. But that doesn’t make him any less dead.

“Go back to Quincy,” the governor tells me. “Get your mother and get out of Texas … as fast as you can. I’m sorry, but that’s all the mercy I have to offer tonight.”

I nod my head.

He looks at the empty box. “And just to make sure you don’t hurt yourself, I’m going to give you an escort.” He reaches for the phone, and I know he’s calling security.

I run out of his office. Avoiding the elevator, I take the stairs, and then sprint as fast as I can to the truck.

Set the gun on the dash and drive. Don’t know where I’m going.

It’s all over now. Just a matter of time.

Time.

How much will I get now that I’ve threatened the governor with a weapon?

I come to a busy, noisy place called Sixth Street. It’s lined with nightclubs, with live music blaring out of the opened doorways.

Park in an alley.

Open the chamber and find five bullets.

Close it.

I threatened the governor with a
loaded
weapon.

It’s all over now.

I hold the barrel up to my head.

Hope it’s loud enough on Sixth Street so that no one will hear the sound of the gunshot.

Imagine the police finding my body in the morning.

Picture them asking my mother and Jess to identify me and when they can’t, because my face is gone, calling for my dental records in California.

“Damn it!” I say. I can’t do that to them.

I put the gun in the glove box.

Get out of the truck.

Walk out of the alley, onto Sixth Street, into a nightclub called Lucky’s. Catch my reflection in the mirror behind the bar. I look a hundred years old. The bartender doesn’t even ask for ID when I order two shots of tequila.

I have learned there is more than one way to die.

THE HEART OF TEXAS, 4

In the heart of Texas nighttime falls,

and there is silence in the WALLS,

for there will be no mercy here.

No second chance. No words of cheer.

The prisoner says his last good-byes.

He cannot hear his mother’s cries.

Then flows the sodium pentothal,

chromium bromide and his broad chest falls.

The third drug comes to end it all

from a henchman back behind the wall

who sends the deadly killing drops

that wrench and twist and squeeze and stall

and stop

the Heart of Texas.

I
’M SO PATHETIC I CAN’T EVEN MANAGE TO GET DRUNK
, because I end up in the alley, puking my guts out and crying. I go back to the truck. Look at the time on the dash. It’s nine o’clock.

I’ve got to get to a phone and call the farm. Tell Jess to get out of there before the cops show up, if they haven’t already, and meet me somewhere. I walk over to a pay phone at the end of the alley, dial the farmhouse, and am surprised when Jess picks up on the first ring.

“Dylan, is that you?”

“Jess, I don’t have much time to explain, but I need you to leave the farm, now. Is my mother there? Has she come back?”

“Run, Dylan. Don’t come back here. They’re going to kill you!”

I hear a slap. Jess screams, and somebody says, “Stupid bitch!” then a man’s voice is on the phone.

“We havin’ a chillin’ li’l party with yo mama and your pretty girlfriend, Dylan. I’d hate for you to miss it.”

“Eight Ball?” I feel like a gambler who has just had all his markers called in.

“Oh, and don’t think ’bout droppin’ no dimes to the po-po. Dis here’s a private party. Besides, we already got us one pig to carve up.”

“How did you find me?” I say, hoping I’m having an alcohol-induced nightmare. Pretending that what is happening isn’t really happening.

“We was scopin’ the garage. Saw your ho talkin’ to Gomez. Followed her to Texas. Lost her for a couple a days, but we finally caught up.”

“If you hurt her or my mother, I’m going to kill you.”

“See, that’s the thing, Dylan. You done wasted my brother. Now it’s time for payback. So while you’re driving here, you kick around which one of ’em it’s gonna be. We’ll let the other one live. We ain’t no animals, after all. ’Course, we goin’ have a little fun with her first. But if we smell any pigs, they both done.”

“You bastard!” I say, but he’s already hung up.

I get back into the truck and drive. I should call the police. The police know how to handle these things. But what if Ajax and Eight Ball see them coming and kill Jess and my mother before the cops even get to the house?

I wish Wade was here. The truth is, he did cover my back a lot of the time.

But now I’m on my own.

Not totally alone. I do have a gun.

When I get to the farm, I park on the side of the road so Eight Ball and his gang won’t see the headlights. When I reach the house, I look inside the window so I can size up the situation. My mother and Jess are sitting in the middle of the living
room, tied to kitchen chairs. Mouths covered in duct tape. Ajax and Eight Ball seem to be the only ones with them. They’re sitting behind them, though, so I can’t get a clear shot. If I go around back, I might be able to take aim at them through the kitchen window.

I round the corner, spot a trail of blood, and nearly let out a yell when I see what’s waiting there. Charlotte is lying on the ground, her side slit open, blood pouring out of her gut as well as out of a wound in her leg. She squeals pitifully and I feel sorry for the helpless pig, and for my grandmother, who loves that animal more than she cares for most people. I wonder where she is. Pray she decided to stay the night somewhere in Huntsville. I stick close to the house, edging inch by inch to the kitchen window, afraid even to breathe. Terrified I’ll give myself away.

But it’s another sound that gives me away. Baby Face whimpers at me from under the back porch. When she sees me, she tries to come to me, but she’s dragging one of her back legs behind her. I slip the gun into my back pocket and crouch down low, hoping no one has heard her. See that she is tied to a length of rope. Know I’ve been set up.

“Nice of you to join us.” Spider steps out of the shadows with a Glock he points at my head. I raise my hands, praying he doesn’t see the gun in my back pocket. “What you say we go inside for a little reunion?”

We walk into the house and Ajax smiles. “Just in time.”

“If you have harmed either one of them …”

“Chill, partner,” Eight Ball says. “What kind of hosts would we be if we started the party without you? These sure are some damn fine women.” He runs his hands across the side of my
mother’s face, and she tries to pull away from him, but the ropes hold her tight. Then Ajax runs the barrel of his Beretta up and down the buttons of Jess’s shirt. He leans in close, and she glares at him in disgust.

I take a step toward him, but Spider jerks me back and pushes his gun into my back. “You move, you die.”

Eight Ball holds a Beretta to my mother’s head, and she starts to cry softly. “Here’s your choice, Dylan. Which ho dies and which ho stays for the party?”

I calculate that I have a gun with five bullets in my back pocket. Consider that by the time I reach for it, Spider could easily blow out my brains with his semiautomatic. I wonder if that would be vengeance enough to satisfy Eight Ball, but I doubt it. I will have to take out Spider first. But then what will Ajax and Eight Ball do? The smart thing would be to shoot me, but the crazed look in Eight Ball’s eyes tells me he might not do the smart thing.

“Choose!” Eight Ball yells.

I look at my mother, a thin frail shadow of the beautiful woman she used to be. “I’m so sorry,” I tell her. “I wanted to make you proud, but everything is catching up with me.”

Eight Ball rips the tape from my mother’s mouth. “Any last words?”

“It isn’t you, honey. It’s me,” she says. “It’s what I’ve done. It’s catching up to me. I thought I was protecting you, but I was wrong.” She looks at Eight Ball. “I don’t care anymore. Go ahead. Shoot me. I deserve to die.”

“No. It can’t end this way. A good man gave his life for us,” I tell my mother. “He died so we’d have a chance at a future. We gotta find a way to go on from here.” I know this sounds
ridiculous, considering the desperateness of the situation, but I mean every word. When I think about how much my father loved us, how far he was willing to go, something changes inside of me, and I feel stronger than I’ve ever felt.

I think of his words,
If you’re breathing, there’s still hope
,
and I know that as long as I’m still breathing, I will
never
give up again.