Free Fire Part 29

"Promise me?"

Joe thought he was being asked for too many promises, but he said, "Yes."

"Which hospital?"

Joe asked the receptionist, then relayed the information.

"I'll be there," Lars said. "I'll f.u.c.king be there. My life will mean nothing if she's gone."

Joe felt sorry for him and knew he meant it. In his peripheral vision, he saw the receptionist staying close enough to overhear most of the conversation.

"Pickett?" Lars said.

"Yes, Lars."

"I want you to stay away from her," he said, his voice catchingwith a sob. "Don't ever come near her again, or my family. I blame you for all of this."

"I understand," Joe said, feeling as though he'd been kneed in the gut.

"None of this would have happened if you didn't show up."

"You're right," Joe said.

"And if I see you again, I'll kick your a.s.s."

"Kick away," Joe said. "But in the meantime, call your kids and tell them what's going on."

"I mean it," Lars shouted.

"I know you do now now," Joe said, handing the phone to the receptionist.

"Tough," she said.

Joe agreed.

"Maybe you should go home and get some sleep."

Joe shook his head. "I'll go home after the helicopter takes off with her in it. Not before."

He went outside again to get more air. The stars pounded down on him like hammers. The night sky seemed to press on him as if to drive him into the pavement. He'd never smoked but thought he'd like a cigarette right now.

At four in the morning, Joe snapped awake, surprised that he'd fallen asleep on the couch in the clinic lobby. He sat up quickly, tried to clear his head, wondered what had startled him.

He realized what it was when the receptionist cradled the telephone and looked over the counter at him. "Another emergencycall and the EMTs are on their way," she said in explanation."Busy night."

"What about the helicopter?" Joe asked.

She checked her wrist.w.a.tch. "It should be here by five. Anotherhour and you can go home."

Joe thanked her, asked, "What is the new emergency?"

She shook her head. "An a.s.sault victim, apparently. I didn't get many details. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to alert the doctor so we can prep the room."

Joe waited until the receptionist and the doctor were in the receiving station before slipping unnoticed into the room where Demming lay waiting. The light was dim but he could see the spider's web of tubing that dripped fluids into her, smelled the sharp smell of antiseptic and soap and fear. She looked younger and smaller in the bed, which was propped up to raise her head. She was slumped a little to the side. Her eyes were closed and she looked serene, but the china whiteness of her skin jarred him, since it made her look cold. He reached up and gently touched her cheek with the back of his fingers to make sure she was warm. She didn't react to his touch, but he was rea.s.sured by the slight puff of breath on his skin, which remindedhim of the sensation produced by the flamers.

He leaned over her. "Judy, can you hear me? It's Joe."

Did her eyes flutter? He thought he saw something but couldn't be sure. Maybe she could hear him but not wake up. Maybe inside she was shouting, but he just couldn't hear her.

"Who did this to you, Judy? Try and give me a name."

He thought he saw a slight purse of her lips, but couldn't tell if it was deliberate or an unconscious tic.

"Give me a name, Judy, and I promise I'll get him. That's a promise I will absolutely keep. I'll get him."

She didn't, couldn't, or wouldn't respond.

He brushed her hair back, kissed her forehead, and told her Lars would be waiting for her in Billings.

Joe was outside in the predawn, leaning against the brick building, listening for the sound of the helicopter in the utter stillness. His breath billowed with condensation. He rememberedhow he and Victor used to strike tough-guy poses against the fence in the backyard and "smoke" lengths of twig, blowing the steam out like he was doing now. The stars in the eastern sky were losing their pinp.r.i.c.k hardness due to the mauve wash of the coming sun.

Four-thirty. He'd decided to wait until six to call Marybeth and tell her not to come. It was too dangerous. He simply couldn't let her take the chance now, as much as he wanted to see her and his girls.

In the distance, the EMT van sped down the canyon, headlightsstrobing, but with none of the fanfare or sirens that accompaniedDemming's arrival. a.s.sault victim, the receptionist had said. The van slowed abruptly, with a screech of brakes, and Joe saw a coyote in the middle of the road, in no hurry, loping down the center stripe. Finally, the coyote ran into the brush and the van could continue down the hill until it turned off the highwayand wheeled to a stop beneath the alcove.

The driver and a.s.sistant bailed out, the a.s.sistant filling in the doctor who had come outside and nodded at Joe. Joe nodded back.

"What do you mean there's two of them?" the doctor said, annoyed. "The call said one. We prepped inside for one."

"There's two, all right," the a.s.sistant said, lighting a cigarette while the driver strode to the back and threw open the door. "One's in bad shape. The other one might just be pa.s.sed out."

Joe froze as they pulled the gurney out and the legs unfolded,snapped into place, and locked. He saw the a.s.sault victim's face clearly, recognized him despite the lumpy, misshapen appearance and all the blood. It was his father. And the second man, the one still slumped in the back of the van, moaning like a steer, was Doomsayer.

The a.s.sistant rolled the gurney toward the entrance door, the doctor alongside, reaching under the bloodied sheet to find a pulse.

"Somebody entered with a key or they let him in," the a.s.sistanttold the doctor. "The rangers said there was no sign of forced entry. Then whoever it was just beat the s.h.i.+t out of these two old guys with a billy club or a baseball bat. Luckily in this case, both of these birds were too drunk to resist or it might have been worse. It was probably like hitting rag dolls-they just flopped around. But whoever it was just whaled the holy h.e.l.l out of them . . ."

Stunned, joe identified the victims and confirmed that the a.s.sault had taken place in room 231 of the Mammoth Hotel.

By the time he talked to the doctor, Demming had left in the helicopter and the sun had long ago burned off the frost.

His father was in a coma, severe brain damage likely. The chopper was coming back for real this time. Doomsayer had a concussion but would live, and was being left behind for observation.

Joe said, "The beating was meant for me."

The doctor simply looked at him and shook his head.

In the confusion, Joe had forgotten to call Marybeth and by the time he did, no one was home. He tried her cell phone and got the recorded message that she was unavailable, out of range. He thought of trying to send a message to stop his family at the gate, but thought he was likely too late. He thought, What a night What a night.

As they rolled the gurney toward the helicopter, Joe walked alongside. His father was nearly unrecognizable, his lips swollen like overripe fruit, eyes swollen shut, eyebrows bulging like melons. Joe fished under the sheet for his father's hand, squeezed it. No response.

The hot tears came from nowhere as the chopper lifted off for Billings, and he angrily wiped them away.

Joe was bone-tired as he drove Lars's pickup through Mammoth village to the cabins. He was having trouble thinking clearly and was unable to stop his left eye from blinking furiouslywith stress.

Marybeth's van was parked in front of his cabin, doors open. Nate was helping her carry suitcases from the van into the cabin. They appeared to be chatting happily. Neither recognizedhim as he drove up in the pickup, although Nate shot an annoyed glance in his direction because of the burbling noise of the gla.s.s.p.a.cks. He could see Sheridan and Lucy wearing sweat-s.h.i.+rts,their blond hair tied back in twin ponytails, sneaking up on a cow elk and her calf eating gra.s.s in a meadow that borderedthe cabins.

When he parked and got out, Marybeth saw him, beamed, then switched to a fake angry face. Joe could tell she was about to say: How nice of you to be here to greet us, How nice of you to be here to greet us, or or Thank goodnessNate was here to show us our cabin Thank goodnessNate was here to show us our cabin . . . when she saw the expression on his face and became instantly, visibly concerned. . . . when she saw the expression on his face and became instantly, visibly concerned.

"Dad!" Lucy cried, turning and running toward him with Sheridan just behind her.

"One big happy!" Nate said, oblivious.

24.

When the trusty brought his breakfast, McCannsaid, "I want to talk to the man in charge of the jail."

"You mean Ranger Layborn?"

"Exactly."

"I'll tell him."

"You do that. And take the food back. I can't eat that c.r.a.p. Leave the coffee, though."

He waited for twenty minutes, sitting on his cot drinking weak coffee until the plastic carafe was empty. His stomach hurt and he wondered if he was getting an ulcer. He tried to ignore the video camera aimed at him through the bars outside his cell. It was strange how, at times, he felt people watching him. Like yesterday,when he felt the presence of someone quite strongly, someone new. When it happened he did his best not to move so as not to provide his watchers with anything to see. He wanted to look comfortable, and content, even though he wasn't. His goal was to show that he could wait them out, drive them crazy. Of course, he knew, as they did, he could walk out anytime. But that was the last thing on earth he wanted to do.

Out of his view, a metal door opened and closed and he heard footsteps coming. He took a deep breath, straightened his back, set his cup aside.

Layborn stopped short of the front of his cell and leaned forward,his face an annoyed mask. "What now?"

"We need to talk."

"I'm busy."

"I promise you this will be the most important thing you hear today."

"You're an a.s.shole."

"And you, Ranger Layborn, need to know which side your bread is b.u.t.tered. Grab a chair," McCann said. "Let's raise the level of discourse. Which means I talk, and you listen with your mouth shut for once."

Layborn's good eye bulged, and McCann thought for a secondthat Layborn was going to come in after him. Something made the ranger think twice about it, and instead he withdrew his head, turned angrily while muttering curses, and marched back toward the door.

"If you leave right now without hearing me out," McCann called after him, "I swear to G.o.d I'll blow this whole thing wide open and you'll go down with them."

Silence. Layborn had stopped. He was thinking about it.

"I'm not bluffing," McCann said.

"f.u.c.k," Layborn hissed.

McCann heard the legs of a chair sc.r.a.ping against the concrete.Layborn reappeared reluctantly, raised the chair and slammed it down, sat heavily in it, said, "You've got five minutes." McCann noted Layborn placed the chair far enough from the cell that it couldn't be seen on the video monitor if anyone looked. He knew there was no sound accompanying the live video feed, so they couldn't be overheard either.

"That's all I need. Are you listening? I mean, really listening?"

Layborn's good eye bored into him. His mouth was set; a vein throbbed angrily in his temple.

"So," McCann said, "were you the one they were going to send after me? I'd guess so, since you have nothing else to contributeto the deal except your willingness to bash heads. I mean, I wouldn't guess you'd have much to invest with a park ranger's salary, right? And they're not the types who do the dirty work themselves, so they need someone like you, a Neanderthalwith a badge. Your trusty told me about the two old men who got beaten last night. He said they were in a room registeredto Joe Pickett, but no one knows who they were. That was your handiwork, right?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"So when it comes to me, what were you going to do? Come to my office in West Yellowstone, shoot me in the head? Blame it on the angry locals? Was that the plan? Or were you going to bushwhack me somewhere?"

Layborn glared at him, then raised his watch to signal that McCann's time was quickly pa.s.sing.

McCann said, "When they didn't pay or communicate, I knew they went to Plan B. Problem was, they didn't have a Plan B so they had to come up with one. They're schemers, but they're not from the street like I am. I was ten steps ahead of them, as usual. By the time they figured out they had to get rid of me, here I was under protective custody. Maybe they're finallyrealizing they're just not smart enough to proceed without me. That's something I knew all along."

While McCann talked, he watched blood drain from Layborn's face, even though the ranger tried hard not to react to anything that he said. But the lack of reaction was a reaction in itself, McCann knew. He'd seen it in witnesses on the stand, and in his own clients. Outrageous accusations should be met with outraged denials if the person accused was innocent. Lack of reaction meant guilt. He had him.

McCann paused, said, "I need you to get a message to them, and you need to get it right."

"Who are you talking about?"

"I think you know. In fact, I know you do."

"You're wasting my time. I don't like talking to lawyers. Lawyers are the problem, not the solution, is the way I think about things."

"Until you need one."

"I don't plan to."

McCann chanced a smile. "No one ever does."

"You guys are like wolves. You work the edges of the herd and go after the sick and weak."

"Wolves are an important part of the ecosystem, Ranger Layborn."

"I hate wolves."

"Like the ecosystem, our laws are far too complex for mere mortals to understand. That's why we need lawyers. It's not like our laws are moral codes-they're just a set of rules dreamed up by politicians to keep themselves in power and placate their contributors. I'm a lawyer, and I help powerless mortals cope with the rules and sometimes circ.u.mvent them. It's part of our our ecosystem." ecosystem."

Layborn started to speak, then shook his head, sputtered, "That's bulls.h.i.+t."