The Last of the Freemen (8 page)

“Do you have to go so fast?” Erin shouted from the rear seat of the red Jeep Cherokee as it bounced and hurtled along a dark woodland path.  “Hughie might spit up.”

“And he might get shot if we don't stay ahead of whoever’s behind us.  He seems okay.  He's quiet.”

“Someone's behind us?” she asked, turning to look out the rear window; a pair of headlights was visible far behind them.

“Yeah.”

“The police?”

“Maybe. Or gangsters. Or they might be some of John's men, keeping an eye on us.  We're getting close.”

“Oh my God,” she whispered tensely with another glance out the back.

“If they're local cops, they'll turn back when we get to John Bear’s land,” he assured her.  “If they're Feds, or state police, well, then maybe not.”

“We're almost there?”

“Almost.  But it's been a few years.  It's hard to tell.”

He braked hard and slid to a halt on dry leaves.  A heavy log set across the path at waist height barred their way; he rolled down the window, then lifted his hands above the steering wheel as a blinding light shone into the car.

“This is it,” he said, squinting into the light.

Two men with rifles approached the car from out of the darkness on either side; the one closer to Harm had a flashlight mounted atop the barrel. First training it on Harm, he shifted to Erin, then Hughie.

“Don't point that at the baby,” Harm snapped.

“Sorry, Wolf,” the man answered respectfully, “I just gotta, you know, I gotta check, I gotta report...”

“Who’s this guy?” the other man asked. “Who’s he think he is, talkin’ like that?”

“This is the Wolf,” answered the first, “John’s old partner.  They said he was comin’.”

“This is the guy who busted in John’s face?”

“The one.”

“Who’s that behind me, Joe?” Harm asked.

“Oh, that’s Deputy Charlie,” said the first man, looking behind them, “our fearless protector. He's turnin’ around now.”

“Good.  Now, I'm in a hurry.”

“You should wait a while, Wolf, till John gets up.  He'll be in a better mood. He don't like gettin’ woke up.  You know that.”

“He does today.”

Joe was silent for a moment. Harm, still squinting, stared with a scowl into the barrel of the rifle, till Joe stepped back and called to a third man, unseen in the dark.

“Open it!”

The cantilevered log slowly pivoted back as a man pushed it along with labored strides.

“Let me walk you in,” Joe said.  “The guys at the house are pretty jumpy lately.”

Harm eased the car forward while Joe walked briskly beside and continued talking.

“It's been bad since you left, Wolf.  Too much killing.  Always fighting somebody.  John don't know any other way.”

“I know.”

“But I owe him everything, you know?”

“No.  You owe your wife and kids first.”

“Nah, she ran off last year.  I ain't seen my kids since.  Anyway, you comin’ back into it, or not?”

“No.”

Floodlights activated by motion sensors began to illuminate their way; Erin could finally see Joe, swarthy and slightly built, perhaps in his early thirties, with short black hair and a wispy beard.  Soon they could see the top of a sprawling hunting lodge, encircled by a twelve-foot high stone wall; Joe jogged ahead as they approached an iron gate flanked by turrets. He spoke to one of the men there, and the gate was opened.  He hurried to the car as Harm rolled ahead.

“Good to see you, Wolf,” he said in a low voice. “Good luck with whatever you got goin’ on.”

“Thanks.”

Joe hastened away as another man came forward. He was in his forties, tall and fair-colored, and sported a neatly trimmed goatee. He squinted skeptically as he peered into the car.

“So it really is you,” he said. “Never thought I'd see you again. You got nerve, comin’ back.  A lotta nerve.”

“You just figured that out?”

The man grinned. “Come on, park over here. I'm sure the boss is up, with all these lights on. I wouldn't wanna be you.”

“You're not.”

They parked in a widened portion of the driveway still some distance from the house and exited the car, then crossed - led by their escort - a section of lawn that was poorly mowed, but well-trampled. Hughie was awake but calm, transfixed by the bright lights.  Harm’s demeanor was altered; he walked with a self-assurance that bordered on swagger, while his fierce gaze darted from side to side. When they reached the side door their escort stopped and looked into a small security camera.

“C’mon, you see us,” he said.

Half a minute later the door was opened by a slim young blonde woman wearing only a tee shirt, boxer shorts, and a small revolver holstered at her hip. Her hair was haphazardly pulled back into a ponytail, and her swollen eyes showed the disruption of her sleep. She glanced with little interest at the guests and turned away.

“Come on in,” she said with a yawn as she walked away, then slowed her pace and spoke over her shoulder.  “You can sit over there, in the lounge.  John’ll be down in a few minutes.  I'll make coffee.  I’m Maddie, by the way.”

The hall opened into a large room, with yellow pine floors and paneling, its walls lined with the mounted heads of deer, elk, moose, bison, and black bear.  A widescreen television was at the far end; in the center sat a leather-upholstered sofa and two matching lounge chairs, each accompanied by rustic end tables made of branch wood.  Harm led the way as Maddie disappeared into another room, and sat himself in the closest chair; he leaned back, stretched his legs, and crossed his feet. Erin went to next the chair and repositioned Hughie on her lap, her eyes wide with consternation.

“Is there some kind of conflict between you and this man we’re here to see?” she asked in a hushed voice.

“No.”

“But then-”

“Please, just be quiet.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes before Maddie returned with a serving tray and placed a cup next to Harm.

“How do you take it?” she asked as she poured.

“Black is fine.”

“And how about you?” she asked Erin.

“Oh, I don't drink coffee, thank you.”

“Suit yourself,” she said with a shrug, and walked away.

Harm took the cup and downed it in a few gulps, then tapped his fingers impatiently on the arms of his chair. At last they heard slow, heavy footsteps coming down a staircase around the corner.

“Finally,” Harm said.

A large man - nearly as tall as Harm but of much greater girth - lumbered into view from the hallway.  He was in his late forties, with black hair shaved shorter on the sides, Marine-style, and a nose that was bent askew on his Native American face; he had a down-turned mouth and sullen, deep-set eyes.  Red suspenders hitched onto gray trousers pinched into his white, v-neck tee shirt.  Grimacing and walking as though it pained him, he eyed Harm warily as he approached.

“Wolf,” he said forebodingly.

“John.”

He sat heavily on the sofa and studied his guests for a few moments.

“So this is the little lady that you gave it all up for?” he asked.

Harm raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

“Man, I better not tell her too many stories, or you’ll be sleepin’ on the couch for a long time. Or worse. She’s a dead shot, from what I'm seein’ on the news.”

“Oh, that wasn't me,” Erin said. “That was H-” she stopped herself short and started again, “that was Wolf.”

“Hhh-?” John repeated sarcastically. “She don't call you ’Wolf’, does she? So what are you callin’ yourself now?”

“Henry,” Harm said without hesitation.

“Henry!” John laughed. “Yeah, that sounds harmless.” Then the smile vanished from his face and his eyes bored into Harm. “Must be nice, Wolf, or Henry, just walkin’ away to do whatever you want, leavin’ your brothers behind.”

“I thought you were all grown men,” Harm answered without flinching.

John shifted his weight. “You know the code. You made me look bad. And now I got you here, beggin’ me for help. Imagine that, the Wolf needin’ somethin’ from me. Seems like I got you right where I want you, don't it? I can do what I want, to you, to the little lady, to -”

“Shut up, John,” Harm interrupted. “I remember, a long time back, when people played head games, you called it ‘whitey-talk’.  Now listen to yourself.”

The men stared each other down.

“So how’d you get so white?” Harm asked tauntingly.

Rage flashed through John’s face, though his eyes filled with pain; finally he smiled wistfully, sighed, and leaned back on the sofa. “I miss talkin’ to you, Wolf.  Everybody ’round here, they don't say nothin’ to me I don’t wanna hear.“ He scratched his belly. “I shoulda listened to you, way back, ’bout my marriage, ’bout my sons.”

“How are they?”

John’s gaze shifted vacantly to the ceiling.

“John Jr. got his brains blown out tryin’ to be like me,” he said, his voice nearly breaking. “And Billy, he's like his mom, he don't want this life. He's into music and the spirit world. He's off in the woods all day playin’ his shakuhachi.  Askin’ me if I can teach him the old ways, like I know anything about ’em. He's smarter than me, I think. But here I am, nobody really watchin’ my back.  And I'm gettin’ too old to keep ’em scared of me. You know, it's always the same story for guys like us.”

“You can walk away,” Harm said, “or get killed.  It's pretty simple.”

John smiled. “Yeah, pretty simple.  You always cut right to it.”

Maddie returned with a mug of coffee for John and left without saying a word.

“You met Maddie?  She’s my bodyguard,” John said with a grin.

“I figured,” Harm said. “You haven't changed, even now that you’re old and fat.”

John smiled. “You stayed fit, Wolf. Looks like you could still bust heads, like you used to.” He looked at Erin. “Did he ever tell you ’bout how we met?”

“Eh - No.” She lifted Hughie to her shoulder as he fidgeted restlessly.

“I was out of the Marines a few years, I couldn't find no clean work, so I found a job workin’ as muscle for a small-time crook. Good old Sal. He was takin’ bets, sellin’ booze and cigarettes off the books.  He kept a roadhouse bar, I was the bouncer. So one night this young clodhopper comes in, all broken-hearted and drownin’ his sorrows, you could see that a mile away. Sal’s daughter, Rosie, she was workin’ the bar, and she took a likin’ to him, soon as she saw him. So I picked a fight with him. I was gonna beat him bloody and throw him out in the street, just for fun. But he put my face through a wall, and when he only broke sheetrock, he slammed me again, makin’ sure my face hit a stud.  Smashed my nose real good.”

He smiled at the memory and took a sip of coffee.  Erin sat on the edge of her seat.

“Now,” he continued, “nobody ever whooped me before, not in the Marines, not on the street, not nowhere. So I pulled out my knife, I was gonna kill him. I went at him, that’s all I remember. He hit me so hard I was out for maybe ten minutes. And you know what? As I’m layin’ there, maybe I coulda been dead, you think Sal calls for help? You think he checks on me? No, he offers Wolf my job.”

John laughed and shook his head.

“He almost got me,” Harm added, rolling back his right sleeve to show Erin a long scar on his forearm.

Erin bounced Hughie - who was beginning to cry - on her lap. “I'm guessing the two of you somehow made up after that?” she said. “You became partners, right?”

“We did,” John said. “We had some good times. Nobody was messin’ with the Wolf and the Bear.” He looked accusingly at Harm. “Rosie still asks about you, you know.”

Harm’s face tightened and his gaze fell to the floor.

“I still check on her from time to time,” John went on, “like I promised Sal.  She’s got no luck with men. Her second husband left her, too, her kids are gettin’ into trouble. She’s pretty much wrecked. She deserved better.”

“Yeah,” Harm said uncomfortably.  An awkward silence followed.

“So I seen on the news,” John finally said, “you musta got in with these anti-government, freedom types.  Waste of time, if you ask me.  It's like I heard somebody said, you whiteys might as well be Indians now.  It's the United Reservations of America.  You got your own Wounded Knees all over the place.  But you can't fight it, brother.  My people learned that.  You gotta just live for yourself, and hope the man don't catch you.”

“That was the plan, more or less.  We ran into a snag.”

John nodded and considered for a moment.  “My guys found the rifle kits in your car, like you said.”

“Of course.”

“So what’s with smugglin’ plant material, Wolf?  Ain't no money in that.”

“No.  It just keeps me busy.”

John laughed.

“So you’re gettin’ rid of the old stash, and keepin’ what the little lady allows?”  He looked at Erin.  “Funny to see this guy finally got tamed.  You must be a lot tougher than you look.”

Erin’s face froze with a confused smile.  “Must be,” she said.

John pulled himself forward and leaned on the arm of the sofa.

“So here it is, Wolf.  We still got a couple of routes across the state line, but we don't use ’em much.  It's too hard now, with the satellites, the drones.  They use a kinda time-lapse to watch everything, even out here.  You cross a threshold of activity and the soldier boys drop out of the sky.  I'm takin’ a risk here, Wolf.”

“I know.”

“So you prob’ly wanna get as far into Pennsylvania as you can before you get back on the public roads.  That’ll be the west route. I'll have Billy lead you on his dirt bike. He knows these woods better than anybody.”

“Sounds good.”

“Maddie!” John called.  “Can you get Billy?” He sipped his coffee and lofted himself with some effort. “Come on, I'll walk you out,” he said; Erin shifted Hughie to her other shoulder as she stood, and Harm gestured for to go before him; John then led them back to the hallway.

“You’ve always been kind of a mystery, Wolf. Comin’ outta nowhere way back, disappearin’, now here you are, but you're disappearin’ again.  Maybe we’ll see each other again some time.”

They came to the door and John held it open; Harm stopped at the threshold and turned to face him.

“You know,” he said, “one of these days, you could just hop on a bike and ride off with Billy. There’s nothing stopping you.”

John’s jaw tightened.

“A river can't flow back, Wolf, you know that.”

Harm gave an understanding nod.

“Do like you always told me,” John said as they walked away, “take care of your family.”