Deep Shadow (26 page)

Before he finished, though, the flashlight flickered, then went out.

PERRY FIRED THREE SHOTS AT ARLIS, EACH SLUG
banging through the truck as loud as a sledgehammer, then he swung the rifle toward me. I was several strides away. It was too late for me to duck beneath the barrel, so I threw up my hands—in protest, not surrender—and yelled, “Stop shooting! Use your brain!”

My attention was on the truck as I continued running. I juked past Perry, seeing the black Dodge still accelerating as it lurched sharply, then appeared to buck when its right fender clipped a cypress tree. The impact levered the vehicle up on two wheels for an instant and stalled the engine. Arlis was attempting to restart the truck as it coasted into the swamp, losing speed, then banged to a stop.

“Get your goddamn hand off that ignition!” Perry yelled at Arlis, shucking another shell.

I tried to throw off his aim by jumping into the line of fire but too late. The truck’s rear window exploded. In the shock wave of silence that followed, birds spooked from the trees, dropping a detritus of leaves onto the Dodge, the vehicle’s sudden stillness exaggerated by wind and shadows.

I called, “Arlis? Are you okay?
Arlis?
”

Silence.

I began walking, then running, toward the cypress grove. I looked back at Perry, who was now pointing the gun at me. “If you killed him, the deal’s off. Understand me? You might as well shoot us both.”

King called, “Love to!,” and started after me.

I heard Perry tell him, “Stay here! Don’t go after him, you idiot!”

“But if they get that truck started—”

“Dude, stop arguing and do what I tell you!”

I was hoping Perry would lose his temper and pull the trigger. Shoot King once, end of King. Shoot King twice, end of Perry, because the Winchester held only six rounds.

Instead, I heard King say, “So you’re the boss man now, huh? Okay, boss man, just remember something. I warned you about that old fool. I told you not to let him in the truck, but you didn’t listen. See what happens when you don’t listen?”

“Shut up,” Perry hollered. He waved the rifle at King before starting after me, walking fast toward the trees.

“I’m not going to shut up, Per, because my nuts are in the wringer just like yours. Hear what I’m saying? One more time, I’m gonna warn you about Professor Jock-a-mo. He’s conning us, partner. I’m not sure how he’s doing it, but he’s setting us up. Let’s take the coins we got, grab the truck and get the hell out of here. Keep kissing his ass and we’re screwed!”

Behind me, I heard Perry say to me, not King, “Is he right? He better not be right, dude, ’cause I’ll use your own knife on you. Not a bullet.”

Perry had been carrying my Randall knife in his belt ever since I’d dropped the thing. I ignored him as I approached the truck, seeing the driver’s door open and Arlis slouched over the steering wheel.

The fourth shot had pierced the rear window, then exited through the windshield. Fragments of glass were on the old fisherman’s arms and stuck in his hair. To the west, the sun was low. It projected shafts of light beneath tree limbs and through the broken windows of the Dodge, causing the glass to glitter like jewels. There was blood everywhere.

I touched Arlis’s arm as I said his name, then my fingers moved to his neck feeling for a pulse. I was surprised. The man’s heart was still beating, his pulse fast but strong. The right side of his face had been peppered by glass—that was the source of the blood, I realized. He didn’t appear to be seriously wounded.

“Arlis, can you hear me?”

Futch’s head moved only slightly, but he opened his good eye wide, focused on me for a moment, then replied with an exaggerated wink.

He whispered, “Those assholes can’t shoot. Take the keys.”

I whispered, “Did you get hit?”

“Glass, that’s all.” He said it again. “Them dumb-asses can’t shoot.”

I squeezed his shoulder. “Quiet. They’re here.”

I turned toward Perry, who was approaching cautiously, his rifle pointed at me from the waist. “Did I get him? Is he dead?”

I said, “It looks bad, I’m not sure.” I pretended to check Arlis’s pulse again. “No . . . he’s still alive. But just barely.”

To Arlis I said loud enough for Perry to hear, “Where are you hit? I need to get you out of the truck and onto the ground. Think you can stand?”

Arlis moaned and cussed, feigning a concussion or worse.

I told Perry, “This man needs to be treated for shock. He needs water and the first-aid kit.” I turned away, adding, “There’s a first-aid kit in my bag, the one by the lake. Go get it.”

 

 

In the bed of the truck
was a toolbox. I rummaged around until I found blunt-nosed pliers. From the back of the cab, I also took a blanket. Perry watched as he returned carrying my canvas bag. Neither he nor King protested when I clipped the tie wraps binding Arlis’s ankles and helped him out of the truck.

I got the fisherman’s arm over my shoulder, and the two of us staggered several paces to dry ground. When Arlis was on his back, he gave me another private wink.

In a normal voice I said, “Arlis, can you hear me? You need fluids. Rest a bit, then try to get some water down.”

The man groaned but didn’t reply.

I knelt to spread the blanket, then placed bottles of water within reach. I returned to the truck, pretending to palm the pliers. I opened the toolbox, thrust my hand in and then slammed the thing, but in fact I had left the pliers and a small flashlight wedged under Arlis’s shoulder when I’d placed the water next to him.

Perry didn’t notice. His attention was scattered. Maybe he was crashing from whatever drugs he was using. I didn’t know, I didn’t care. He and King were sloppy. If things went my way, their sloppiness would kill them.

King had remained near the lake—obeying orders, for once—and now he hollered to Perry, “Get those keys out of the ignition before they try it again. Hear me? Stick them in your pocket, someplace safe. You can kiss and make up with your new playmates later.”

Perry was watching me as I knelt beside Arlis and opened the first-aid kit. He reached through the truck window, pocketed the keys, then surprised me after a moment by circling the truck and kicking the passenger’s-side fender. Then he yelled, “Shit! I can’t believe this. Why does shit like this always happen to me?”

It took me a moment to understand why he was mad. Perry was on the opposite side of the vehicle where he could now see the damage close up. It was worse than he’d thought, apparently. I left the first-aid kit open and walked over to take a look.

The impact with the tree had crushed the front fender and jammed the bumper into the right tire. The tire was shredded, but it appeared that the metal wheel was okay.

Furious, Perry looked through the passenger window and saw Arlis on the blanket thirty yards beyond, groaning in the shade. He screamed, “You lying old son of a bitch, I’ll kill you for this!”

I didn’t hurry, but I got to the door as Perry raised the rifle. I stepped in front of the open window, shielding Arlis. “What good will that do?” I said. “He’s probably going to die, anyway, so why risk a murder charge?”

Perry yelled, “As if it makes any difference now!” He shouldered the rifle for another second before spinning away in frustration. “Shit! Now we’ve got no way out of here. We’re totally screwed.”

If I didn’t keep Perry under control and on my side, Arlis and I were screwed, too. I had to do something, so I said, “You worry too much. You can still use the truck. Think it through.”

Perry backed away as I moved closer and knelt beside the damaged fender. “There’s a spare tire under the bed and plenty of tools. All we have to do is hammer the fender out, create some clearance, then we change the tire. It’s no big deal.”

Perry snapped, “
Everything’s
easy, the way you talk.”

I said, “We’ve got to move the truck to solid ground first. Closer to the lake. It’s too soft here for a jack.”

“That damn old man! I should’ve listened to King.”

I stood and faced Perry, aware that everything hinged on what transpired during the next few seconds. If Perry sided with King, he would shoot me—or use my own knife—then make sure Arlis was dead, too, before the two of them tried to escape on foot. Perry would do the dirty work while King supervised. It was that kind of partnership.

Perry took a step closer, the sunlight harsh on his face. The man’s history was there and it was not encouraging. Among the topography of long-gone acne were playground and battle scars and the unsound genetics of too many generations of dropouts, trailer parks and booze. The way his eyes glittered reminded me of glass from the shattered windshield. The sockets of his eyes were bright and empty.

Perry said to me, “Goddamn it, you knew he had those keys.
Didn’t
you?”

Before I answered, I reminded myself of a Tomlinson maxim: People will believe a dozen outlandish lies if the lies are prefaced by a single self-incriminating truth.

I replied, “That’s right. I knew he had the keys. Not at first, but I knew it before I went back in the water.”

“It was all bullshit, that business about the keys being underwater with your dead buddies.
Wasn’t
it?”

I said, “I just told you it was.”

“You’re a lying sack of shit, you know that?”

I said, “I wanted at least one of my friends to get out of here alive. I’d lie to you again if I thought it would bring any one of them back. But it’s too late for that now.”

King, who had moved close enough to hear, chided, “I don’t want to say I told you so, Perry, but I goddamn well told you so!”

Perry took a step toward me, but not close enough for me to make a move. He said, “Then you were lying about the gold, too. About what the cops would do and that bullshit about property rights—it was all lies. You didn’t care if the old man took off in the truck and got help ’cause there’s nothing down there to salvage!”

I watched him pull my heavy survival knife from his belt as his brain built a case against me, the veins in his neck showing, his face a bloated crimson.

I shrugged, my expression telling him
Believe what you want,
before I asked, “Then why didn’t I tip off the police?”

It set him back and he listened to me say, “If I hadn’t told you to put on that vest, they would have seen your tattoos and would have known. Or I could have waved them in. If there’s no gold, why didn’t I?”

I waited in silence as the two men exchanged looks. In their faces I read frustration and irritation, but they didn’t have an answer.

After a few seconds, I said, “I’m not lying about the plane or what’s down there on the bottom. It would have been harder for me if Captain Futch had taken off in the truck, sure. But I could’ve hidden my share and come back later. The guy who owns this land will get most of it once the police see what’s down there, but I could’ve stashed away enough to last me a long time.”

Perry was shaking his head, confused. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, “why does this sort of shit always happen to me?”

“Give me half an hour,” I said, “and I’ll prove it to you. I’ll come back with a significant amount of coins, you’ll see.”

“
Significant?
What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

I said, “Enough to split three ways. A half million each, maybe more—all I can do is guess. You’ve got to help, though. I need a man in the water and one of you by the generator to keep the intake clear. That was our deal.”

King yelled, “He’s lying. What are you waiting for, Perry?
Do it!
”

Perry snapped, “Why does it always have to be me! If your balls were as big as your mouth, you might be worth a damn.”

I said, “Perry, he’s the problem and you know it. King knows I’m telling the truth. The gold’s down there. There was no other reason for me not to signal the cops.” I looked toward the lake as I added, “Isn’t that right, King?”

“You got all the answers, Jock-o. Why bother asking questions?”

To Perry I said, “Your partner’s afraid. You just nailed it. He’s manipulating you—probably always has. He doesn’t want to go in the water because it’s getting dark. Whenever I mention it, watch his reaction—he’s scared. You could leave here rich. Instead, your partner would rather run.”

King said, “You think you know so much.”

I said, “I know what I see.”

“I don’t hear Perry volunteering to go in the water, wise-ass.”

“You’re the expert scuba diver,” Perry countered. “An expert on everything! Hell, I can barely swim a stroke or I’d go in myself. Damn right I would. If it meant getting rich? Hell, I’d do it in a second.”

I relaxed a little when I heard Perry say that. It was an obvious lie that told me that he had been reeled back into the fantasy I had created.

I should have stopped there. Instead, I pressed too hard, saying, “It’s up to you. If King doesn’t have the balls, there’s nothing I can do to force him.”

I looked at the Winchester for a moment, reminding Perry that he
could
force King into the water, before adding, “But if you pull the plug now, we all leave here empty-handed. Only difference is, I might get the chance to come back. You two won’t.”

Once again the two men traded looks, but it was a different sort of exchange. I could see in their faces that I had screwed up. I had been a little too smooth, too eager. I had talked too much—a manipulator’s red flag on both sides of a prison wall.

King said, “Real-l-ly,” in a sarcastic way. I watched him take his time as he walked down the embankment from the lake, his eyes moving from Perry to me, then to Arlis as he approached the old fisherman on the blanket.

For a few seconds he stood over Arlis, who was on his back pretending to be unconscious. King nudged Arlis with his foot, then looked at me, smiling. He maintained eye contact as he suddenly bounce-stepped and kicked Arlis hard in the thigh.