Two Sides of the Same Coin (60 page)

His nose flattened and blood began spurting. I picked up the bronze and saw half his lip was torn off and his front teeth were all broken. I picked it up again. It made me tired to do so. I slammed it down as hard as I could. It hit Wayne’s jaw, and I heard a satisfying snapping sound. I tried to pick it up again, but couldn’t. The world was starting to spin faster. A gray-black film was closing in from the corners of my vision. I swayed and then fell over Wayne. As I fell, I thought I heard steps running near me. I hoped the bastard hadn’t gotten up and wasn’t getting away. Then everything went black.

Chapter Twenty-Four

I
FELT
like I was swimming up through real murky water. It was holding me back and weighing everything down. Everything around me was blurry. Slowly, everything seemed to come into focus. My shoulder was sore, and it throbbed. I had a bad headache too. I felt like a horse ready for the glue factory. I could barely lift my head to look around. Mike was draped over a chair next to the bed. There were monitors and tubes hooked up to me. He looked like he was asleep. His clothes were rumpled, and he hadn’t shaved his neck or cheeks in a bit. He looked like hell. Slowly, it came back to me. I must be in the hospital.

“Buddy.” It came out a dry, raspy, croak, too soft to wake him. “Buddy.” He stirred and looked over at me. “Hey, buddy.” He jumped up and pressed a button. He grabbed my hand.

“Jeffy! You’re awake. We were so worried.” He put his head down so it was against my hand and started crying.

“Ssss okay, bullet wasn’t kryptonite.” I heard footsteps, but was too sore and dizzy to turn my head.

Mike looked up and over me and said, “He’s awake. He knows what’s goin’ on. He told me he’s alive because the bullet wasn’t kryptonite.” He started cryin’ again. Maria was there. She moved into my field of vision. I smiled at her. I suddenly felt exhausted. The gray murky water seemed to envelop me. This time, it was warmer and welcoming. I felt Maria lift my arm and do something; maybe she was taking my blood pressure? The tiredness overwhelmed me; I closed my eyes and slept.

When I opened my eyes again, Mike was there. He looked like he’d cleaned up a bit. I didn’t feel quite so dizzy or so disoriented.

“Hey, Jeff, you’re awake again?”

“Yep, you’re nice to wake up to, Mike. How long have I been here?” My voice didn’t sound like me. It was rough. It hurt to talk.

“This is day three. You woke up for a minute or so yesterday.”

I looked at him and tried to smile. I realized that part of the dopiness I was feeling was due to the medication. Although I was better than yesterday, I still felt drained.

“You lost a lot of blood. Bullet didn’t do too much damage. It went through your shoulder and just missed the shoulder blade; it did nick an artery, which accounts for the blood loss. You hit your head pretty hard, too, when you fell out the door on top of Wayne.”

“What happened to him?”

“He’s pretty busted up. He broke an arm, a leg, and when you fell on him, you broke four of his ribs. You really did a number on his face too. His nose is broke and his cheekbones too. His skull is cracked in the ridge under his eyebrows, and you broke his jaw, and knocked out seven of his teeth.”

“He said he was gonna hurt you. I couldn’t let that happen.” I could see tears in Mike’s eyes. He took a few deep breaths before continuing.

“Sheriff got your message and was on his way. He got there a couple of minutes after you and Wayne flew out the door. I heard the door slam and came down, and Josh heard voices. Everyone heard the shot.” I squeezed his hand.

“Although he’s real broken up, Wayne is stable. He admitted the rustlin’ and killin’ Pedro, Porky, and Mark.”

“Who else is involved?”

“Some guy from down in Pateros. It seems, though, Wayne was the one that did the killin’.”

“I feel like somethin’ the cat drug in. When can I go home?”

“Doctor says a day or so. They want to keep you under observation since you were out so long. They wanna make sure you’re stable too. We were pretty worried for a while.”

“Am I in trouble for bashin’ Wayne’s face in?”

“Sheriff Johnston was afraid you would be at first. County prosecutor wouldn’t prosecute. It was self-defense. You were pretty out of it after getting shot, so they reckoned you didn’t know when to stop. Diminished capacity or somethin’ like that.”

“I reckon the sheriff wants to talk to me.”

“You reckon right. He was pretty upset. He was one of the people we had sittin’ with you.”

“People sat here with me?”

“I was here all the time; Sandy was here most of the time, and Josh, Renee, José, and Smitty took turns. Mary Grace and Rick have been in here several times, and Maria has been here at least half of every day. Jeanette has been here for hours at a time, and Tom and Ann want to bring Harrison and Lisa to visit when you’re up to it.”

“Mike, thanks.”

“For what?”

“Givin’ me somethin’ beautiful to wake up to.” He took my hand. I lay back and closed my eyes. It was amazing, just that short conversation tired me all out. I wouldn’t give it up for anything, but just holding Mike’s hand was a chore. I felt myself drifting off to sleep.

When I woke up again, Mike was still there. He had a different shirt on, so I reckoned that he had gone home for a little while. Sheriff Johnston was also there.

“Jeff, it’s nice to see you wake up. How are you feeling?”

“Pretty out of it. My shoulder hurts, but I don’t seem to care. I feel all loopy when I’m awake, too, as if I’m floatin’ or flyin’ or somethin’.”

“I hear you got a few weeks of physical therapy ahead of you.”

“I reckon that’s better than not bein’ around for physical therapy. So the rustlers are all taken care of?”

“Wayne sang like a caged canary after we brought him in. I reckon he’s making a plea bargain to avoid the death penalty.”

“Mike told me the other guy was someone from Pateros.”

“He, Mark, and Wayne all went to Reverend Spencer’s church. Course now the good reverend claims that they misunderstood him. Although he’s still convinced of God’s hatred, he’s changed his tune about judgment being God’s, not man’s.”

“Fuckin’ hypocritical coward.”

“I sure won’t argue about that. Are you up to giving a statement?”

“Sure. First of all, is there some way to charge Spencer with incitin’ hatred or somethin’ like that?”

“Unfortunately not. He never told his congregation that gays should be killed. How did you figure out it was Wayne, Jeff? Nobody ever would have thought of him. He’s always been close to you and your father. I’d thought of him as a good man. It’s hard to believe that he could be so corrupted by hate.”

“When I realized it was him, I didn’t want to believe it. That’s why I went into his trailer, with the hope of findin’ nothin’ incriminatin’.”

“Do I need to give you another lecture about how stupid it was for you to go into his trailer and not let anyone know what you were doing?”

“I reckon I learned my lesson.”

“Jeff, somehow I doubt that. It seems to be the cowboy way, act first and think later. Now for the record, why’d you come to suspect Wayne?”

I went over the story with the sheriff; how I remembered Harrison almost running into Wayne, how there was only that one footprint in the frozen mud and it matched. How I had found the cattle rustling receipts and other evidence in Wayne’s trailer. How Wayne was planning to kill me and Mike, and how I’d jumped him and literally smashed his face with the bronze sculpture I’d given him. Mike was there and held my hand the whole time. When I got to the part about Wayne wanting to mutilate me and kill Mike, he squeezed my hand so hard it hurt. I talked for a good half an hour into the recorder Sheriff Johnston had brought.

“Okay, Jeff, I’ll get this transcribed, and you can come and sign it. You’re lucky that the wind came up and blew the door shut; you realize that this could be your funeral, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“So what was the whole scheme, and why did Wayne’s criminal activity change from rustlin’ to killin’?” Mike asked.

“Wayne talked quite a bit when I questioned him. The whole thing actually started a couple of years ago. Wayne had started rounding up cattle one or two at a time on his time off. His father was a butcher, and when Wayne was younger, he used to help him, so he knew how to dress and cut up a beef. It was just a sideline for a long while.”

“So what changed?” Mike asked again.

“He started goin’ to Spencer’s church. I guess a lady who he’d met invited him there. After listenin’ to the reverend’s message of love and redemption, he began to feel resentful of you.”

I had to jump in here. “I still don’t get why. Wayne had always seemed open-minded and acceptin’ of me. I woulda never done anythin’ to hurt Wayne. When I found out that the ranch was paid off and I was gettin’ some insurance money, I wanted to do somethin’ for him.”

“The hate he was hearin’ began to have an effect on him. Then when your dad died, I think that was the last straw for him. He felt entitled, and he was jealous of you.”

“But a good part of who I am is due to Wayne and his influence over the years. Couldn’t he see that my bein’ gay is only one part of me? Also, it’s no one’s business but mine and now Mike’s.”

“Jeff, I honestly believe that folks who are so filled with hate and evil, like Wayne became, like Reverend Spencer and others, are blinded to the goodness in others. They judge and condemn and fall deeper and deeper into their hatred. They close their eyes to all that is good.”

“It’s easier for me to just think he went insane.”

“In a way he did, son. All that hatred made him crazy.”

“How did Mark fit in?”

“That’s an interesting sideline. The stuff he told you and Mike about California, well that was a crock. He’s really from Texas. He was in some ministry there that ‘changes’ gay folks. He was a really desperately unhappy man. He couldn’t accept himself for who he was, and he couldn’t be what he wanted to be; he just wasn’t wired that way. He was goin’ to Spencer’s church also. I reckon his seein’ you, the type of guy who is on the outside who he wanted to be, and then your bein’ like him on the inside was just a constant reminder of how unhappy he was. It seems that on one hand, he really did want to be your and Mike’s friend. On the other, to do that would mean givin’ up the beliefs he’d held on to for most of his life.”

“So why did Wayne kill him?”

“Here’s the kicker; Wayne keeps sayin’ God said he had to die. Wayne felt he was justified in killing him and the biker because God would pardon him. He also said that Mark was backsliding; he wanted outta the rustling business more and more as he got to know the two of you. He began to question Spencer’s hatred.”

“So, when we figured out Mark was in on it, did Wayne see that as some sort of a sign from God that Mark wasn’t worthy or somethin’?” I asked.

“He did. With the biker, he killed him because of his numerous screwups. Everything Wayne had asked him to do, he failed at, so therefore, he had to die. It was also mighty convenient that with him dead, he couldn’t identify Wayne, same with Mark.”

“Pedro?”

“That’s where Wayne’s insanity defense would fall apart if he were to go that route. Pedro stumbled on Wayne, Mark, and the other guy doin’ their rustlin’. He was shot in the back as he went for help. Dead men tell no tales.”

“Mike said I messed up Wayne pretty bad.”

“You did. He had a pretty bad concussion, several broken ribs, most of his teeth in front knocked out, broken jaw, broken nose and cheekbones, as well as the upper part of both eye sockets broken. He’s gonna be a marked man from now until the day he dies; he also has a broken leg and arm from the fall. You must have hit him with quite a bit of momentum. The two of you flew about ten feet. His cushioning you is the only reason you’re not more broken up.”

“Mike said I’m not bein’ charged with assault or anythin’ like that?”

“No, son, you’re not. You might have gone a little overboard in defending yourself, but why you did is understandable. You were in shock pretty bad when they brought you in. In fact, you were in worse shape than Wayne, though he’s the one who looked real bad.”

“Will I need to testify at a trial?”

“My understanding is that he made a guilty plea and a plea bargain. I’m sure he did it to avoid the death penalty. It doesn’t look like there will be a trial.”

“I guess that’s a good thing. Can I ask the judge to go easy on him?” The sheriff looked at me for a long time before speaking.

“That’s real big of you, Jeff. He was trying to kill both you and Mike. Are you sure you want to do that?”

“I am, Sheriff; if I were to forget all the stuff Wayne did for me before goin’ bad, and were to want just to punish and have revenge, I’d be no better than Reverend Spencer’s Christians.”

“I’ll talk with the prosecuting attorney. Son, you should be right proud of the way you figured the whole thing out; you too, Mike. You guys ever want to be deputies, just let me know.”

“Thanks.”

“I am gonna head back to the office now.” He shook my hand and Mike’s and walked out. Just as he was leavin’, the doctor came by.

“How are you feeling, Mr. Connelly?”

“Other than the shoulder hurtin’ and a headache, only bad; I get tired just from lyin’ here too.”

“I imagine so. When they brought you in here, you had lost a fair amount of blood. It wasn’t enough to be fatal, but enough to cause you some difficulties. You were in shock and had suffered a mild concussion.”

“No wonder I slept three days.”

“The fact you did, helped you quite a bit. Also the fact that you’re in excellent physical shape was in your favor.”

“How bad is my shoulder?”

“The bullet passed clear through. Luckily, it didn’t hit any bones. It did nick an artery, hence the loss of blood. We were able to repair much of the damage when we cleaned and stitched up the wound. Your partner here has let me know you guys work out five to six days a week?”

“That’s right.”

“I’ve got physical therapy scheduled for you for the next couple of weeks. That’ll help you regain full use of the shoulder and arm and allow you to work out without damaging anything.”