Gun Lake (41 page)

“What do you think you’re doing?” Sean asked.

“Where are they?”

“They’re fine,” Sean said. “Nothing’s gonna happen to them. Trust me.”

Kurt laughed at that. Ossie began to back off. Sean looked at Kurt and the barrel of the gun he gripped in his hand.

“Come on, Kurt,” Sean said.

“Shoot him,” Lonnie urged. “Get it over with.”

“Shut up,” Kurt said.

“Why don’t you?” Sean said. “Go ahead. Take me out.”

Silence. The barrel still focused on his forehead, dead center. It wavered slightly.

“Do it,” Sean said. “End this all.”

“Calm down,” Kurt said.

“I’m calm. I’ve never been
not
calm. Look at my hand. It’s steady as a rock.”

“Mine too.”

“Then do it!” Sean shouted. “Go ahead. Do it. End this all. Get rid of all that pain you’ve been carrying around. That whole wardrobe of angst you’ve been wearing us down with.”

“Maybe I should,” Kurt said.

“Then do it. I’m tired of your talk. Do something for once in your life!”

“Sit down.”

“What? Next to Lonnie? Maybe you can go two for one?”

“Just sit.”

“The killer awoke before dawn,” Sean chanted.

“Shut up and sit.”

Sean sat on the ground not far from Lonnie. Ossie took in the scene from the cabin porch.

“This whole thing has been what? Some vendetta against your dad?”

“Maybe,” Sean said.

“Unbelievable.”

“What?” Sean asked him. “What’s so unbelievable about that? Don’t you wish you could get your old man in a dark room? I bet you do …”

“This ends now, Sean.”

“It always does. ‘This is the end, my friend—’”

“Would you shut up?” Kurt said. “You’re not some rock star who’s going to change the culture. You know? You walk around thinking you’re the second coming of Jim Morrison, but you’re not.”

Sean’s gaze tightened, his jaw clenched. His eyes lost their humor.

“You’re just a guy sent to the joint for robbery.”

“Yeah, and who are you?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Kurt said.

“I know who you are. It’s not that big of a secret, you know. I read the articles in the paper. They gave information on you just like they did on me. And what’d they say about you?”

“Don’t—”

“A man who beats his own kid—”

“Shut up!” Kurt yelled.

“Gets drunk and ends up almost killing—”

Kurt took the pistol and slapped it across Sean’s jaw. There was a sickening crunch of metal against skin. Sean felt his head snap back, felt himself go sprawling, tasted the metallic tang of blood in his mouth. He pushed himself back up.

“You’re good fighting against the defenseless,” he said. Or meant to say. The words came out garbled.

“Where’s the boy and the mom?” Kurt asked him.

“I’ve told you. They’re fine.”

“Where—are—they?” Kurt asked, aiming the pistol again.

“You have a vein that sticks out when you’re mad, you know that?” Sean asked him.

Kurt cursed at him and pressed the gun barrel against Sean’s forehead.

“I’m not afraid to die,” Sean said. “Tell me, Kurt.”

“What?”

“Are you?”

“You might be surprised,” Kurt said. He pressed the gun deeper into Sean’s forehead, making a deep imprint.

“I don’t think so.”

Kurt just looked at him.

“You’re terrified. ’Cause you don’t know.”

“Don’t know what?” Kurt asked.

“You don’t know what comes after that last breath, do you?”

“Yeah?” Kurt breathed in and shook his head. “And you do?”

“No,” Sean said with a smirk. “I just don’t care.”

For a long second, Kurt just held the gun and stared.

He was about to say something when something whizzed past his head. A shot rang out from somewhere far off. Kurt ducked instinctively and threw himself to the ground. And in that second, both Sean and Lonnie sprang up. Sean tackled him and went for the gun. Meanwhile, Lonnie scrambled awkwardly to his legs, hands still belted behind his back, and sprinted toward the cabin porch.

As Sean and Kurt wrestled for the gun, they suddenly became aware of running footsteps, panting breaths, the sudden appearance of someone who hadn’t been there minutes earlier. They looked up. That someone was pointing an automatic pistol at both of them.

Sean and Kurt exchanged glances. They had never seen the man before.

“Get up and put your hands above your head!” the man shouted out.

Sean looked and saw Lonnie grinning at them from the porch.

What the—

“Get up. Now!”

Sean stood, holding his mouth, wondering how everything had suddenly turned wrong. Wondering who this guy was and what he was doing.

Why is Lonnie approaching him?

And then the man called out to Lonnie in a voice that signaled recognition. “Come here, Mike. I’ll take that belt off.”

Sean looked at Lonnie, then at Kurt. Kurt held his hands up and looked tired and despondent.

Lonnie walked over to the stocky man, who loosened the mock handcuffs. Then Lonnie sauntered over to Sean and punched him in the face, close to where he had been pistol whipped by Kurt.

A searing dose of pain ran through him as he recoiled.

“I’ve been saving that up for a while,” Lonnie said.

HE HAD THIS UNDER CONTROL now, and it was almost finished.

Don Hutchence had decided to move in at the moment there appeared to be dissension in the group. The guys he thought were Wilson and Norton—the bearded one and the one with the shaved head—were arguing about something. Don didn’t know what, but he didn’t care. He was about to nab the Stagworth Five.

The moment the Wilson guy arrived with Mike was actually the moment Don had known he had his men. Now both he and Mike held guns on the two men. The other guy, the older black man, was in the cabin.

“Where’re the others?” Don asked in his best official voice he could muster.

“What are you doing?” the guy with the shaved head—Sean Norton. “Who are you?”

“There are warrants out for your arrest. You guys are wanted men. You’re going to stay right here. Your little vacation is over with.”

Norton and Wilson looked at one another. They both looked like they didn’t have a clue what was happening.

“Look, Mike,” Don said, “why don’t you get the other guy in the cabin?”

Mike held on to the three-fifty-seven magnum that had been in Wilson’s hands. He didn’t budge.

“What are you talking about?” Norton shouted. “Who’s Mike?”

Don only looked at him.

“You’re wondering where the others are?” Norton asked.

Mike held the gun in his hand and pointed it at Norton.

“This guy here—he’s one of us. His name is Lonnie Jones.”

Don stared at Mike.
No, that can’t be
.

“Mike, what’s he—”

But Mike had turned the gun on him.

“What are you doing?”

“He’s going to kill you; that’s what I think,” Norton told him.

“This guy’s a cop,” said the man Don had thought was named Mike. “Well, kind of a cop, right?”

“Mike—”

“No, it’s Lonnie. The name is Lonnie Jones. And this here is Sean Norton, and the idiot who looks like a walking zombie—that’s Kurt Wilson. Ossie is in the cabin. Ossie, get out here!”

The door opened and the black man walked out, his hands in front of him.

“Don, give me that gun,” said Lonnie.

For a moment, Don couldn’t believe what was happening. This man had led him to the others. But why didn’t Don know—how could he have let them—

Everything’s going down, and I’m going down with it
.

“Don’t try anything, Don,” Lonnie told him. “Give me the gun now.”

Don handed it over.

“I don’t know who’s the bigger joke,” said Lonnie. “This guy trusting me, or Sean coming all the way down here to find his long-lost daddy.” He laughed, brandishing a weapon in each hand. “What am I going to do now?” he asked.

Don stared at him and stared at the guns and wondered if he should make a last-ditch effort to seize one of them. Or try to make it back to his car. Get out of here. Call for help.

What’ll happen when they find out what happened here?

And they would find out. Everyone would find out. It would make national news, but Don would not be the hero. He might not even be alive.

Don was pondering all these things when the battered Mazda pulled up.

And the dark-haired beauty stepped out, her face full of curiosity and fear.

And that was when everything went from bad to worse.

IF HE WAS TRULY LEAVING, Norah wanted to tell Kurt exactly how she felt. She wanted to say a proper good-bye to him. To understand a little better why he had to go.

She had initially told herself that she didn’t need to know who he was or what he was doing there at the lake. But she did. She’d realized that after he left. She needed to know if the things he’d told her were real. She needed to know the truth.

But the truth slammed against her as she drove up near the crowd of men at Kurt’s and got out only to have a stranger point a gun at her.

Kurt was there, on the ground, looking desperate. He said something she couldn’t hear. All she could see was the weapon aimed at her face.

“Get over here, lady,” said the young man with messy, short hair and scattered beard.

She moved toward them, feeling as though she were wading through chocolate syrup. As she got closer, she saw someone else she recognized

The cop?

standing with his hands open while Kurt tried to get to his feet.

“Stay back, Kurt,” the man with the two guns ordered.

A man with a shaved head stood up, his hand over his mouth. She saw blood on his fingers.

For a brief second, she saw Harlan’s face leering in her mind. Then it was gone, and she was fine. She knew she should have been scared, terrified, but instead she felt oddly calm. She saw Kurt’s distraught expression and tried to let him know that she would be okay.

“Isn’t that sweet, Kurt?” the man with the guns said. “Your little lady friend came to your rescue.”

“Norah—”

“Shut up,” said the scruffy-bearded one, eyeing Norah. She stiffened. She knew that look.

He walked over, put an arm around her neck, and sniffed her hair. She stiffened.

“Oh, you smell amazing—”

As he said it, he pointed the gun in his free hand at an approaching Kurt.

“Back off, man. Back. Off.” He pressed the gun against Norah’s head; she could feel the pressure on her temple. “I don’t want any trouble from any of you. But she’ll be the first to go if anything funny happens. Got it?”

Kurt nodded slowly as Norah faced him, the metal pressed against her temple.

She opened her mouth slightly to breathe in and out. Her heart was pumping and she was nervous, but again, she had felt worse. It was different to have some strange man putting a gun to your head. Different than, say, having a man you loved come over
you and punch you in the face and then hover and think about hitting you again.

Norah let the man with the guns drag her toward the porch. He had one arm around her neck, the gun still pointed at her head.

“We’re cleaning up this mess, and Sean, you’re gonna help me.”

The guy with the shaved head and goatee cursed at the guy with the guns.

“That what you think? We’ll see.”

“Let her go, Lonnie,” Kurt said.

“She stays right here until I know you’re taken care of.”

“What do you want?”

The man with the gun did something Norah couldn’t see. Maybe smiled. Maybe mouthed something. But whatever it was, Kurt’s reaction went from vigilant to furious.

“Lonnie—” Kurt said.

“Whoa, get on up there,” the man named Lonnie taunted. She felt him turn the gun from her head and aim it at Kurt. She was opening her mouth to cry out.

And then, it all went red.

Norah saw movement in front of her and at her side and then felt the arm around her tighten even as the gun went off, and then she heard another shot and yet another, and she closed her eyes. The first two shots had been deafening, and with her eyes still closed she did the only thing she could think of.

With all her might, she shoved her left elbow into Lonnie’s gut, and that was enough to release his hold on her for a minute. She pulled away, stumbled, caught herself. There were more shots. And then a fierce rip at her side, as if the one called Lonnie had punched her or stabbed her. But worse.

She opened her eyes and realized that Lonnie wasn’t behind her anymore. That he was somewhere else. She turned and saw he had fallen to the ground.

Is he shot?

Her head felt woozy, and she saw figures moving, running, coming to her. Faintly she heard Kurt calling her name.

The guy—the cop—was he running toward the cars?

Where are you going?

She touched her side and felt warm liquid and realized she had been shot.

And that’s when everything went from red to black.

OSSIE HAD ALWAYS KNOWN where they had stashed the guns—the cache of firearms they had taken from that sporting-goods store in Louisiana. They never made a secret of it. They all must have thought he was too weak to use a gun. Too scared to even pick one up. Too old to find his target. But the gun had found its mark.

It still might be too late for the girl
.

It was right after Kurt asked Lonnie what he wanted that everything went berserk. Ossie had seen it all from the cabin porch, standing there with the Glock forty-five in his hand, waiting to see what he could do.

Lonnie mouthed something obscene, something that he wanted to do with the young woman, and then he grinned. And that, along with the fact that for a brief second the gun was no longer pointed at the woman’s head, had sent Kurt lunging toward Lonnie.

Lonnie fired toward Kurt but missed with both shots.

Kurt dove toward the ground just as the woman elbowed Lonnie in the gut.

Lonnie loosened his grip and fell backward, away from the woman.

And Ossie saw his chance.

His first shot went high and left of Lonnie’s head. The second found its mark in Lonnie’s chest. But Lonnie managed one more shot that hit the woman from behind. Ossie heard the impact, saw her pitch forward.