Comeback (Gun Pedersen Book 1) (21 page)

38

Jack bent down slowly and laid the shotgun on the
ground. Lyle Hedman stepped out from the shadows
of the boathouse with a shotgun of his own, Reuben at
his side. Three other men stepped forward and
flanked Hedman, one on his right, two on his left. On
the right was Horseley, one of the import guzzlers
from two nights ago. Tonight he had a .45.
Unholstered. The other two men were unfamiliar to Gun. One was close to seven feet tall
. He carried
a shotgun too, and set a Coleman lantern on the
ground. The third man wore long oily black hair, dark
glasses, and held a .30-30 at the waist. It was aimed at
Gun’s midsection.

Hedman pointed at Gun’s Remington, which still
leaned against the boathouse wall. “Berg, get rid of
that,” he said. The big man, breathing heavily, took
two slow steps backward, picked up the shotgun, and
broke it in half against the corner of the stone build
ing.

“The maul, Pedersen,” Lyle said.

Gun dropped the splitting maul on the ground.
Reuben growled.

Hedman touched the dog’s head. “Sorry, boy, you can’t have him,” he said, then turned and peered into the darkness. “Reverend? It’s safe now.” Almost
immediately, Barr’s lean face appeared over Hed-
man’s shoulder.

“Old Samuel’s a little nervous,” said Lyle. He
grinned broadly. “So. Surprised?”

“How did you know?” Carol said.

Geoff laughed and pushed his way between Jack and
Mazy to stand at his father’s side.

“Good work, Geoff,” Lyle said. “It makes things a
helluva lot neater.”

“Simple job,” Geoff said. He turned to Gun,
winked. “I got a pen from that cashier, the one in
Hope. Wrote a note in the John on toilet paper. I put it
on the toilet seat, right there where the next guy would
see it. And it worked, damnit! I got the pen pretending
I wanted cigarettes—”

“Smart of you, Geoff,” Lyle cut in. “Now shut the
hell up.” Lyle’s voice was trembling and the grin was gone from his face. “Gun, Jack, you guys made some
hamburger out there in B.C. Congratulations. Hope
the war games were fun.” He poked Gun in the chest
with the barrel of the twelve-gauge. “You’re a brave
man, aren’t you, Pedersen? You and your goddamn
big reputation. Hero. Sportsman. Lone wolf. Bullshit.
Let me tell you how the public’s gonna judge you from
now on. They’ll hear the name Gun Pedersen and they
won’t think Detroit Tigers. They’ll think killer. And
they’ll be right. First degree, three counts. I guarantee
it. I’ve got friends, and I’ve got witnesses. Jerry Drake,
for one. He’s the guy out there you didn’t hit hard
enough. Crawled off into the woods with just an egg on his head. Lucky guy. And there’s Geoff, he was
there. Barr, too, if I wanted to use him to testify,
which I don’t think will be necessary. Remember the
little conversation you and the reverend had before
you flew off to Canada? Sunday morning, wasn’t it,
right out here at your place? You told Barr just what
you were planning to do. Told him you were going to kill me and Geoff and anyone else who stood between
you and your daughter. You were in a frenzy, remem
ber? Foaming at the mouth. Screaming for revenge.
You were going goddamn nuts.” Hedman looked over
his shoulder at Barr. “Isn’t that right, Reverend?”

Barr nodded, sober.

Gun said, “I guess we’ll wait. See who the people believe.”

Hedman shook his head and gripped one hand
around the back of his neck, as if trying to work out a
kink. “Shit,” he said, “the people are only going to
hear one story. That’ll make it an easy choice for
‘em.”

It was silent for a few seconds, then Hedman
laughed quietly. “If you think I’m gonna let even one
of you say one word to anyone about anything, you must think I’m some kind of idiot.” He leaned down
and patted Reuben on the head. “Gun, all I can say is
it’s too bad you had to bring your friends into it.
Because you’ve buried them. Simple as that. Yourself
too.”

Carol said, “People have already heard the truth,
Lyle. They’ve been reading my paper all day. We turn
up dead tomorrow and you won’t be far behind.”

“Partially right, Carol, partially right. If they found
you out here on Gun’s beach with bullets in your
heads, people might get a little suspicious. But that’s
not gonna happen. Oh, no. What we’re going to have
here is a boating accident, plain and simple. You’re on
your way across the lake at night, sneaking into the county past the roadblocks, guilty as hell. Something happens and your boat goes down. It’s a foggy night,
see, you’re going fast, running careless, and down
under Holliman’s Bluff you run smack into Crazy Boy
Rock.” Hedman shifted the weight of his shotgun into the crook of an elbow and slapped his hands together.
“And that’s it,” he said. “Don’t forget what happened
to young Jimmy Latchfield and his wife. Nasty bruises
on their heads, but what do you expect, skull hitting
rock at thirty miles an hour. They drowned twenty
feet from the rock, and their boat didn’t even sink.”
Hedman draped an arm around Geoff. “Of course,
this guy’ll survive to tell the story.”

“Question for you,” said Jack. “If we’re as guilty as
you say, then what the hell are we doing back here?
How does Geoff explain that?”

Hedman licked his lips, tasted each detail. “Geoff
tells people that before Gun lit out for British Colum
bia he had a little conversation with the Reverend
Barr, told the man exactly what he was up to. Barr’s
testimony, in such a case, would be vital. An impartial
third-party witness, an influential man of the cloth
who can verify that Gun and Jack set out with intent
to commit murder. So
...”
Hedman stepped back
ward and threw a skinny arm about Barr’s shoulders,
hugged the grinning reverend close. “So here’s the
deal. Geoff tells everybody that Gun and crew stole
across the lake tonight for the express purpose of
getting rid of the man who could fill their story with
holes. They shot poor Samuel Barr in the heart and
then headed back north again, only to barrel into
Crazy Boy Rock and drown.”

Gun said, “Cheeseman was right. You don’t know
when it’s over.”

“Lyle?” Reverend Barr pulled away from Hedman.
His smile was frozen horror.

“There’s way too much riding on your ability to
keep your nerve, Reverend, and I don’t think you
can,” Lyle said.

“But we’ve been together on this all the way. You
know you can trust me. My God!”

Hedman said, “Fraser, hand me LaSalle’s shotgun.”

The man with the hair and dark glasses did as he
was told. Lyle handed his own gun to the big man,
Berg. He broke open Jack’s over-and-under, made sure it was loaded.

“My God, Lyle!” Barr’s voice had lost its resonance
and found a new and higher range. He folded his
hands and held them up toward Lyle in the manner of an Oriental greeting. “You’re a fair man, you can’t do
this.”

Hedman jammed the end of the barrel into Barr’s chest and backed him up. Barr nodded quickly, as if
agreeing to an urgently given order. His lips moved
silently.

Gun said, “Lyle!” and took a step forward.

“Reuben!” Hedman ordered. The dog rose from the
grass at Hedman’s feet, compressed its body back into
its hindquarters. It uncoiled into the air and shot straight toward Gun’s face. Gun leaned forward,
locked his elbows. With both hands he caught hold of
Reuben’s hard neck. The animal’s driving weight
jolted him, but he held fast. Reuben’s claws slashed at
Gun’s face and arms and chest. His teeth snapped like
breaking ice. Gun found the dog’s windpipe with his left hand and squeezed it with all the power he could
force into his damaged fist. Holding the animal in the air with one arm, he speared his right hand through
the dog’s flailing legs and took firm hold on a rear thigh. He lifted Reuben high above his head The dog
twisted crazily and clawed at the sky. Its tail went
round and round like the blade of a fan. Gun sucked
his lungs full of air, exhaled a roar, and brought the
dog down spine first onto a bent knee. It sounded like the cracking of a great branch, and then Reuben was
on the ground, spastic, jerking, twitching one foot,
whining. His long body was bent the wrong way into a
perfect vee, front and back legs pointing in opposite directions.

Hedman and Barr looked from Reuben to Gun,
then at one another. Hedman raised the shotgun and put the barrel six inches from the minister’s chest. An
orange fire burst from the gun’s mouth and the report
was sharp yet muffled, like a firecracker under a heavy
blanket. Reverend Barr hopped backward, raised a single finger, then fell to his side, and his head cracked
against the stone boathouse.

39

Carol bolted toward the fallen minister, but Fraser
blocked her way, deer rifle in his hands. Carol crossed
her pale wrists in front of her breasts. Her slen
der fingers were spread wide. She slowly turned and
stared at Hedman. In the light from the Coleman
lamp, Gun could see Carol’s eyes blinking, a muscle
ticking rhythmically in her jaw. She was working for
control. That’s right, Carol, Gun thought, keep a tight
rein. He looked at Mazy, two steps to his left. She
was staring at Hedman too, but not blinking,
not fighting panic. She didn’t even look surprised.
Gun stepped toward her and took hold of her cool
hand.

“You’re over the edge, Lyle,” Gun said quietly.

Lyle didn’t answer. He was looking down at his dog,
thoroughly dead now. A fish jumped in the water not
far away. Hedman’s men watched their boss. Geoff
stood stiff as a soldier.

Jack, on Gun’s right, stood closest to the boathouse.
Now he put an arm out and struck a leaning pose

against the corner. The dead minister lay several feet
in front of him. “Tell you what, Lyle.” Jack’s voice
was so deep and loud in the silence that Hedman
jerked. “You’re going to find out what people think of you around here. There’ll be an investigation from the
outside, because people on the inside are going to
demand it.” Jack aimed one of his short fingers like a
pistol. “Wait. See.”

Hedman’s face knotted up, went slack. He sighed
like a man fresh from running eight flights of stairs.
Gun looked at Jack, and their eyes met in a glimmer of
understanding and determination. Hedman was coming unlatched. There would be a way to take advan
tage of him, a way out of this—if everyone could just
stay calm and move fast when the moment arrived. It
was a matter of applying pressure at the weak
point.

Gun pulled Mazy close. “Geoff,” he said, “you
really came through for Daddy this time. I’ve gotta
admit that was a nice little stunt you pulled in the
restaurant. You’ve got two prongs in the wall after all. So why don’t you do your old man a favor and
tell him he’s way over his head? Or do yourself a favor. Make the right decision now and you buy your
self a future. I think you’re smart enough to know
that.”

Geoff lifted his chin and frowned. He turned to his father. Lyle shivered once and looked around bright-eyed, like a man coming to. His eyes settled on Gun
and he seemed to find his focus. “Better talk while you
can, Pedersen, because we’re going to put you and
Jack to sleep here in just a few minutes. Boys”—
Hedman swung Jack’s shotgun around like a pointing
stick—”let’s get things going. We need two boats.
Berg, Fraser, get Pedersen’s boat out of that shed and
into the lake. Horseley, help me keep an eye on these folks here. Move them out of the way, give the boys a

chance to work.” Lyle’s voice was louder than it
needed to be.

Hedman and Horseley moved everyone to the edge
of the lake next to the dock, sat them down on the
rocks. Gun squeezed Mazy’s shoulder. She fastened
her grip around his fingers.

Berg and Fraser rolled the boat down to the lake on
its trailer and fiddled with the crank release. Hedman
was silent. Several times he peered back through the darkness toward the bodies of Reverend Barr and
Reuben.

“Shit,” said Fraser, bending over the crank mecha
nism at the front of the trailer.

“Hurry up with that!” Hedman yelled.

“It’s stuck or something,” Berg said.

“Then break it, you asshole!” Lyle stormed over to
the boat. “Here, lean on this, Berg. Put that fat to use.
And move it!”

Whatever was stuck gave to Berg’s weight. Lyle strutted back to where Horseley stood playing guard.
He was monkeying nervously with his long-barreled
.45, cocking and uncocking it, cocking it again. He
jerked it momentarily toward Geoff. “Mr. Hedman,
say, how come your kid don’t have a gun? What’s he
supposed to be doing? Just standing there?” Geoff
stood with his hands in his pockets next to the
Coleman lamp. He looked like a man who’d just seen
an unhappy vision of the future. The proud line of his
shoulders had fallen. They hung from his neck like a
broken clothes hanger.

Hedman moistened his lips, then spoke carefully,
enunciating each word. His eyes blazed. “You keep
that ugly face of yours shut, Horseley, and quit playing
around with that cowboy gun. Shoot somebody with
it, and I have Berg break your back. Do you under
stand?”

Horseley looked away.

“I said, do you understand.”

Horseley adjusted the tilt of his shoulders. “Yeah,” he said.

“Good.”

“Lyle,” Jack said, lifting himself to a squat. “Tell me. If you’re so worried about using guns, what’s to
stop us from just hopping into one of these boats here
and cruising into town?”

“On your ass, LaSalle.” Hedman wiggled the barrel
of the shotgun.

Jack lowered himself to the rocks. “Question
stands,” he said.

“Plan B. Worse for me, worse for you. Well, maybe
not worse for you. If it comes to shooting you or
letting you go, I don’t have a lot of choice at this point, do I?”

Berg and Fraser had Gun’s boat in the water and
were trying to get the motor started. Berg was stand
ing in the back of the boat and yanking the starter
rope.

“Now this damn engine won’t start!” Fraser said.
Just then it fired, started sputtering, shaking, and smoking. But running.

“Good work, boys.” Gun raised his voice above the
engine’s. “I haven’t been able to start it for
weeks.”

Hedman studied Gun out the corner of his eye for a
few seconds, then called out, “Keep that motor run
ning, Fraser. Hand on the throttle. Berg, you bring
that medicine bag and your big butt over here. Right
now.”

Berg stepped from the boat to the dock and walked
to Hedman’s side. He handed over a small black bag resembling a shaving kit. Lyle signaled for Geoff,
handed him the shotgun. Geoff moved toward the
lake and propped himself into a guardlike stance in

front of Gun. Lyle opened the black bag and removed
a syringe. He held it up before his face, the needle brilliant in the lamplight.

“Ever gone under the knife, Gun? How about you,
Jack?” Hedman was yelling over the racket of the boat
motor. “I have. Twice. For an appendectomy when I
was fifteen and a hernia at forty-five. Both times I
thoroughly enjoyed the preoperation bliss induced by
this little baby.” He waved the needle. “This stuff
comes straight from heaven. It’s beautiful. Really, I’m
envious. The girls should be too. See, it so happens
Berg here only brought enough for two injections,
instead of four like I told him. And I’d say floating
away on the magic serum is a small bit sweeter than
getting brained by a chunk of stone. What do you
think, Carol?” Hedman closed his eyes, shook his
head in mock sorrow. “I’ve got to use it on the boys, of
course. Hope you understand. Somehow I just don’t
think I can trust them not to try something brave once
we get out on the water.”

Jack said, “We’d be good as gold, Lyle.”

Gun squeezed Mazy’s shoulder. He could feel her
tension but knew she’d hold up. Weakness never
showed in her, and for the first time he was thankful
for that. On the other side of Mazy, Jack leaned
forward and nodded. His face wore the schoolyard smile again, a half grin of anticipation. His eyes were
ready, hard and sparkling.

Carol was looking at the ground, mouth drawn flat.
Under his breath Gun told her, “Things are going to
happen fast. Get a good grip,” and Carol smiled,
brave and accusatory.

“Okay,” Lyle said, “I want you and you”—he
pointed with his nose at Berg and Horseley—”to grab hold of the big man there and keep him steady. These
pinpricks hurt sometimes.” Hedman flourished the
needle in the light of the Coleman lamp. “Bring him
over here,” he said.

Gun kissed Mazy on the cheek and stood up. As he
reached down to touch Carol on the shoulder he
remembered the fish-cleaning knife. What the hell had
she done with it? He pressed her shoulder and she
looked up, then Berg and Horseley were at his sides.
They pushed him forward into the bright circle of lamplight. Lyle’s face looked thinner and sharper, lit
from below. “Shirt off,” he said.

Gun took off the wool Pendleton and felt the chill
air brighten his skin. Couldn’t be more than forty
degrees, he thought. Horseley tucked the .45 in his pants and locked both hands around Gun’s right arm. Gun could feel the pitch of the man’s nerves, tight as
stretched wire. Berg was another matter, all that
weight. The giant had his shotgun in his left hand,
Gun’s arm in his right. He was like something immov
able, a jutting piece of bedrock, and he smelled like a
hamburger starting to go bad.

As Hedman knelt beside the lamp and fumbled
with the black bag, Gun measured distances. Straight ahead thirty feet Fraser and his sunglasses sat in the
Alumacraft, playing the throttle, deer rifle handy.
Geoff stood a few yards off to the left; Jack, Carol,
and Mazy were on the right. Geoff had the gun
butted against his hip and pointed at Jack, but Gun
doubted he’d use it. No barrels on Gun. Almost
time.

Hedman said, “Okay,” then stood up, the needle
ready. “Relax those biceps, now, be brave,” he
crooned.

Horseley and Berg tightened down. “Jack,” Gun
said, “you’re right behind me.”

Jack nodded and blinked. Gun saw his friend’s
hand close around a baseball-sized rock next to his
knee. Hedman stepped to Gun’s side. “Keep him
there, boys,” he said.

Gun tensed. The icy sphere expanding beneath his
heart was so light and buoyant he felt it might lift him off the ground. He watched for the glint of the needle. Saw it.

Now.