“The deer is new,” Streng said.
“About ten years old. I kept having trouble finding the entrance, so I needed to mark it.”
Wiley unsnapped his ghillie suit and hung it on a peg. Underneath he wore jeans and a black flannel shirt.
“What if someone passes through, sees it twice, wonders why it hasn’t rotted?”
“I change it every month. Bear. Badger. Dog. Coyote. There’s a taxidermist in Montreal, made a mint on me.”
Wiley walked to the only door in the room, opened it, and went through. Streng followed. No black lights here. This hallway was lined with fluorescents, so bright they stung Streng’s eyes. The walls were matte white, and the floor was a white laminate that didn’t quite match. Four doors lined the hall, and Streng remembered them to be the kitchen, the pantry, the washroom, and a storage area. The final door, where the hallway ended, opened up into what Wiley called the great room.
The room was appropriately named. Perfectly round, and large enough to park three buses side by side. Track lighting lined the fifteen-foot ceiling, an overstuffed leather couch and two loungers faced a large plasma TV, wraparound shelves held thousands of books, records, cassettes, CDs, VHS and Beta tapes, and DVDs, and a big wooden desk with a flat-screen monitor on top sat dead center.
Wiley had gotten many new toys since Streng had last visited, more than twenty years ago. He had come after hearing that his brother had moved back into town from one of the contractors hired to build this place. Wiley’d let him in. Streng could recall their short conversation verbatim.
“Mom’s sick. You should see her.”
“Can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Does it make a difference? I’m not going.”
“The past is the past. Our parents want to see you.”
“I’m not going. And don’t you tell them I’m back in town.”
“Or else what?”
A fight ensued. Streng left with a broken nose, vowing never to return.
“I started stealing the Internet back in ’96.” Wiley saw Streng staring at the TV. “Not too long after I started stealing cable.”
Streng fixed his attention on his brother, shocked by how he looked. The last time Streng saw him Wiley had wide brown sideburns, a ponytail, and shoulders like a linebacker. Now his head was mostly bald, a few gray wisps clinging to the sides. A wrinkled forehead, saggy cheeks, and a drooping neck. His broad shoulders had become slumped, his posture stooped.
Wiley had gotten old. Only his eyes—ice blue and alert—were an indicator of the man he used to be.
“Once a thief, always a thief,” Streng said.
Wiley shrugged. “It’s not the money. Utilities mean a paper trail, which can be traced. I don’t want to be found.”
“But you were found,” Streng said. “And people have died because of it. Because of what you did.”
Wiley cleared his throat again and then sighed. “It’s been a long time, Ace. Mom and Dad are long gone. You still want to hold grudges?”
Streng moved closer to Wiley. “You put our parents in jeopardy, the same way you put this town in jeopardy. You’re selfish, Wiley. You only care about yourself.”
Wiley folded his arms.
“Do you remember why I enlisted, Ace?”
“To make money selling black-market goods?”
Wiley’s eyes went mean. “It was to watch over your sorry butt.”
“You were too busy selling drugs and weapons to the Cong to watch over anyone’s butt.”
Wiley walked over, standing toe-to-toe with Streng. He didn’t seem so stooped anymore.
“I did some shit in my day, Ace. But I never sold weapons to the enemy.”
“Really? That’s what the military told me. That’s what they told our parents.”
“They lied,” Wiley said.
“Well, you sure did something to piss the military off. And knowing your history, it probably wasn’t legal.”
“You don’t know the whole story.”
“I know the story. You’re a bad egg, Wiley. Always have been, always will be. When the MPs showed up at the house, told Mom and Dad about your little moneymaking ventures in Vietnam, it destroyed them.”
“I didn’t mean for that to happen. I loved our parents.”
“Sure you did. That’s why you stayed in touch. That’s why you attended their funerals.”
Wiley got right in his face. “You always loved to judge me, Ace. Point the finger, say shame shame shame. You think you’re better than me? What have you done with your life, Sheriff? What makes you holier-than-thou?”
Streng planted both hands on Wiley’s chest and shoved, hard. Wiley staggered back, recovered, and balled up his right fist, pulling back to swing. Streng was faster. The last time they’d tangled, Wiley had beaten him good.
This time was going to be different.
Streng gut-punched Wiley, releasing twenty years of pent-up anger in one blow.
Wiley crumpled, dropping to his knees, then his ass. He wrapped both arms around his belly and breathed through his mouth. Streng reared back to hit him again when something in the room beeped. Wiley turned his attention to the TV.
“They found one of my cameras,” he said.
Streng watched. A soldier, glowing green, seemed to stare out of the plasma screen directly at them. A second later the screen went black.
Wiley got off the floor and picked up a large remote control, switching to another camera. Coming up Deer Tick Road was a car Streng recognized: the late Mrs. Teller’s Roadmaster. Wiley switched again, and the car slowed and parked next to Olen’s Honey Wagon.
Ajax and Santiago got out. When Streng saw that Fran and Duncan were with them, he deflated.
“Do you know who that woman is, Wiley? That child?”
Wiley stared, not answering. But he gave a small nod.
“How long have you known about them?”
Wiley remained silent. Streng felt the anger return. He approached his brother, putting his hand on the back of his neck and squeezing.
“That’s your daughter. That’s your grandson. They’re in this because of you.”
Wiley shrugged out of Streng’s grasp.
“I’m not a father. It was a fling. A mistake. I contributed the DNA. That’s all.”
Streng grabbed Wiley’s shirt, pulled him in close.
“They brought those folks here because of you,” he said through clenched teeth. “They’re going to die because of you.”
Wiley met Streng’s eyes. “It was a one-night stand, dammit! Right before we shipped out to Nam. I gave her money to get rid of it. She decided not to. Then, when I got back, I had to lie low. I couldn’t have a kid. People were after me. It was the only way I could live.”
“You call this living?” Streng turned his head and spat on the floor. “You cower underground, under a dead deer, hiding from the whole world. No family. No friends. You’re a waste, Warren. A selfish waste. And I’m ashamed to call you my brother.”
Streng shoved him away, heading for the exit.
“Where are you going?” Wiley called after him.
“To save that woman and her son.”
“I booby-trapped the whole area. If those don’t get you, the soldiers will.”
Streng stopped and looked at his brother one last time.
“Then I’ll die. And I’ll be waiting for you in hell, Wiley, to kick your sorry ass.”
“Don’t be a fool,” Wiley said.
Streng didn’t answer. He walked out the door.
Duncan shivered. He told himself it was from the cold, but deep down he knew the truth. He was afraid. He was very afraid.