Gun Lake (17 page)

“You’re the one that nearly killed Lopez, right?”

“Friend of yours?” Kurt asked, knowing the answer but playing the game.

“No way. I would’ve finished the job myself.”

“He never hurt anybody again.”

“I heard he couldn’t use his right hand for anything.” Lonnie laughed.

Kurt glanced at the clock and then back at the television.

“So you were in for robbery?”

Kurt nodded, easily lying.

“Not me.”

“I know about you.”

“You do, huh? That why you got all freaky back at the house?’

“Could be,” Kurt said.

“Nothing happened.”

“I know it didn’t.”

“It wasn’t going to either.”

“I don’t believe Stagworth reforms people. Including you.”

Lonnie’s lips curled in an evil smile. He had a small growth of whiskers on his face, but it was splotchy and probably would never reach full beard status. More than anything else Lonnie might be, Kurt knew he was still just a snot-nosed, stupid kid.

“Maybe people can change,” Lonnie said.

“You a changed man, huh?” Kurt asked.

“I don’t know.” Lonnie smiled. “Maybe.”

“Those women—how many were there? Three? Four?”

“Three. That they knew about.” Again Lonnie smiled.

Kurt had no desire to hear a pervert like Lonnie brag about his conquests.

“Takes a big man to prey on helpless women.”

“They weren’t helpless.”

“Yeah, just say it. Go ahead and say it.”

Lonnie looked amused and perplexed and wrinkled his face in confusion.

“Just go on and say they had it coming,” Kurt said.

“They did.”

“Yeah. Brave man.”

hypocrite

“I’m not saying there was anything brave about it.”

“Good,” Kurt said.

phony

He knew he shouldn’t be talking, shouldn’t even go there. Because to go there, he had to get all the cards on the table. And as much as he despised the tall, skinny creep across from him, he knew that he could and should be lumped in the same category as he was. And to act righteous and judgmental only underlined the reality that the same judgment should be directed at himself.

“I’m actually surprised Sean let you come with us,” Lonnie said.

“He needed someone who could think.”

Lonnie laughed. “Ah, I get it. And then he needed some muscle, right?”

“Wes is the muscle.”

“And what about our buddy Craig?”

“We needed more than just three people.”

“So why me?” Lonnie asked.

“Why don’t you ask him yourself? I don’t know.”

“You think I’m going to go off and do something stupid?”

“If you’re not watched close enough.”

Lonnie’s eyes thinned like blades and he raised an eyebrow at Kurt.

“So, what’s this? You baby-sitting me now?” “If you want to call it that, sure.”

Those empty, narrow eyes looked down at the table that separated them. On it were several magazines and Lonnie’s Smith & Wesson.

“Don’t,” Kurt said.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t anything. Just relax.”

Lonnie cursed at him. “You’re always tellin’ me to relax.”

“Maybe you should.”

“Maybe I’m fine.” Lonnie glared at him.

“Then stop that heap above your shoulders from thinking too hard.”

“Wanna know what I’m thinking right now?” Lonnie asked.

“No.”

“I’m thinking what’s gonna happen when this is all over.”

“When they catch you?”

“Hey, if I go down, you’re going down.”

Kurt shook his head. “I’m not going back. Rest assured, I am
not
going back to Stagworth or to any other place.”

“And I am?”

“If you’re stupid, yeah, you might.”

“You’re pretty cocky, aren’t you?”

“I’m in a dead-end conversation, that’s what I am.”

Kurt looked back at the television and tried to ignore Lonnie. The Glock in his lap stayed within reach, the safety on, but only a quick flip away from being ready to point at Lonnie if he needed to.

“You better hope they capture me,” Lonnie said, still looking at Kurt. “You better hope someone puts me down before this is done.”

Kurt decided to look at Lonnie, to hear what he considered a threat.

Lonnie continued. “I do what Sean tells me to do now, and only now, and that’s why I don’t take my fist and ram it into that smug face of yours.”

Kurt smiled, saying nothing.

“But when we go our separate ways,” Lonnie said, “I’d watch my back if I were you.”

THE SPIN OF A WHEEL, and your life suddenly changes
, Paul thought.
It’s that random. Completely and totally random
.

Paul had won this lake house, this white bungalow clustered with other cottages all in a small community, on a single roulette wager. Or rather, he’d won the money to buy the lake house.

It had happened one night four years ago. He’d won a weekend trip to Vegas from the riverboat and spent two nights and three days gambling with his month’s worth of wages. He’d always been pretty good about not gambling too heavily, knowing the odds and the waste accompanying them. But on the second night, after being down almost a thousand dollars, he’d hit a hot streak and not only won back the grand he was down, but come away with another fifty thousand dollars.

Paul thought of that night as he brought in his suitcases from the parked car outside. Already he’d said hi to a few of the locals—Freddie, Rich and Emily, Warren. The cottage felt musty since he hadn’t been here in a few weeks, so the first thing he did was open a few windows. It was warm outside, but not sweltering. If things got too bad he’d turn on the air conditioner, a wall unit that mostly worked only for the open family room and kitchen area. You didn’t come up to the lake to spend it indoors, anyway. You’d go out on a pontoon or a motorboat or swim or ski.

He set down his suitcases on the pale Berber carpet that he’d put in last year. People who came by usually took off their shoes or sandals by the door the way Paul did. They usually didn’t come here anyway—they being the gang whose company he enjoyed around the lake. Freddie was one of them, a retired Dutchman
who loved fishing and taking out his pontoon boat and talking about his family. Many times they’d all go by Freddie’s place, which had a bigger family and dining area, and play games until eleven or midnight. Freddie’s wife had died a few years back, so being bachelors was one of the few things he and Paul had in common.

Paul adjusted the painting on the wall, a sailboat painting he’d found at a garage sale. He looked around and wondered if he was doing the right thing, if this was really it, if he would weaken and go back to the casino and ask for his old job back. He was used to staying at the cottage for long weekends, sometimes a week at a time, but the rest of the summer? Would he be able to do it? And would he ever be able to go back home?

He sat on the old couch and gazed through the front window at the brilliant day outside. He took in the silence, the stillness, the peace around him.

All of this from one spin. Life worked out that way. You could spend twenty years trying to earn money, tuck a little away, invest in stocks and markets, and go on to lose everything in a single day. Or you could win fifty grand with a single turn of the wheel.

He had actually regained his lost grand and been up two or three hundred dollars when he decided to put all his money on one number. A single, random number. There were thirty-six to choose from, alternating black and red, with the zero and the double zero as those mercenary trump numbers, those hooded figures that lurked over every roll of the ivory ball. He put nine hundred dollars on number twenty-two, black number twenty-two that he always seemed to have an affinity toward when gambling.

Paul wasn’t sure why he had decided to make one big bet all of the sudden, knowing it would probably fail and he’d be done and his trip would have been fruitless. But the odds were already stacked against him. He knew he’d give it all to Vegas sooner or later, just like those pitiful fools who came to the riverboat to throw their weekly earnings away. So he did that one big gamble and held his breath and watched the ball roll around the roulette wheel, then land in its compartment.

There had been a small uproar when the few people at the
table saw the ball land on twenty-two. Paul just stood there, sure the whole thing was a dream. When they handed him the chips, he knew he was through, maybe done gambling forever. That summer, he’d come up to Gun Lake and bought this cottage outright, paying cash for it. He’d put in a little extra money from savings and managed to get it for a great price. His own second home.

Paul wasn’t the sort of person who owned a “second home.” Or a cottage. But that was the way life worked out. Sometimes you got things even if you didn’t deserve them. Like Grace. And those who did deserve the rewards of hard work and saving and living a good life didn’t necessarily get them.

No matter what you tried or tried not to do with your life, there were other controlling factors. Paul lived each day with this belief. The belief that he could go outside and suddenly have a brain aneurysm and then go like that. Or possibly have a stroke and wind up in a nursing home eating food through a tube. Or develop a tumor on your lymph glands and waste away like Grace had. No matter what you tried to do in life, no matter how good or bad your intentions might be, they ultimately didn’t matter. What was going to happen was going to happen.

The question, of course, was what you did while you were waiting for the wheel to stop spinning.

He saw Freddie coming and knew that he’d want to go out on the pontoon boat. Paul stood and opened the door outside and went to greet Freddie.

He thought of Grace again and then tried to let go of the thought. Thinking of her never got him anywhere. Besides, the day was too bright and there were too many things to do to sit around moping. Grace was for the nighttime, for the dark, when he couldn’t shake off his thoughts.

“Hey, Paulie,” his friend called out to him using a name few ever used.

Paul smiled and went to shake his neighbor’s hand and tell him he’d be around full-time from then on.

“WAKE UP.”

Kurt jerked and tried to grab for the gun underneath the couch, but a hand stopped him.

“Shh. It’s me. Don’t say anything.”

In the darkness, on the floor, Kurt could see the outline of a body with a round bald head at the top. He was a light sleeper, so it must be the dead of night, and Sean must’ve crept up to him in the living room. Kurt could hear Craig’s heavy breathing.

“What is it?” Kurt asked, sitting up and adjusting his boxers.

“Lonnie.”

“What about him?”

“He’s gone.”

“Where?”

“I’ve got an idea.”

“What do you want to do?”

“I want to go find him. Put some clothes on and come with me.”

Kurt didn’t hesitate. He slipped on the jeans and tee-shirt he had been wearing that day. Craig turned on his air mattress on the floor, but his breathing remained steady. Kurt continued to try to adjust his eyes and his head as he thought about the gun and then decided to bring it with him.

“So where are we going to look?” Kurt asked as he walked into the kitchen that smelled like garlic and onions from the spaghetti Craig and Ossie had made everyone for dinner.

“I think he went to a strip joint. Gentleman’s club. Whatever they’re called.”

“How do you know he went there?”

“He tore out an ad from the
Sun-Times
today. Wasn’t very subtle about it.”

“Think there’ll be a problem?”

Sean opened the door to the apartment, and the hallway light made Kurt squint. Outside, they could talk at a normal volume.

“This guy’s got a history of problems with women. He needs to stay away from them.”

“So—what are we going to do?” Kurt asked as they descended the stairs and stepped outside in the warm July night.

“Just wait for him outside the club. I don’t want to cause a scene if we don’t have to.”

“Think there could be one?”

Sean nodded and made sure Kurt could see him do so. He lit up a cigarette as they walked down the sidewalk.

“Amazing thing, huh?”

“What?”

“A midnight stroll,” Sean said, his thick eyebrows spiking a couple of times.

“What’d you tell Ossie?” Kurt asked.

“Nothing. He’s fine. He’s not going anywhere.”

“Sure about that?”

“As sure as I am about Lonnie and his girl problems.”

They climbed in the recently bought Ford, the doors groaned shut, and they didn’t talk much as Sean drove the lit but mostly deserted Chicago streets.

They’d been sitting in a parking lot across the street from a one-story building that resembled a warehouse. The entrance to the club made it seem difficult to notice, with a small, barely lit sign above a nondescript door that read “Escapade.” In the hour that they’d sat there, Kurt had noticed maybe thirty guys walk in and out of the doors. Someone was right inside as you entered, but that was all Kurt could make out.

“When was the last time you were with a woman?”

So far, they’d spent much of the time in relative silence, listening to the radio as Sean chain-smoked. The question seemed to come out of left field.

“A long time.”

“How long?” Sean asked.

“Haven’t thought about it, really.”

They both knew that was a lie.

“Me—well, if you don’t count Rita, that is—it was the night before I got arrested. I always thought it was like a going-away present, you know? I thought the gods were kind to me.”

“Maybe they’ll be kind again.”

“I realized something with Rita back there in Texas.”

“What?” Kurt asked.

“I could never be married. I mean not now, not after everything, you know?”

“Everything in Texas?”

“No, before. Stagworth.” He cursed. “Just everything. The thought of having someone there with you all the time, day and night—doesn’t matter if I love her or not. I can’t have another person monitoring me. I got that for four years and that was too long, you know?”