I wanted to shoot him. God… I wanted to take his head clean off.
“We should search their van,” I said to Graham. “I’d like to know just what they’ll be putting on this inventory list of theirs. But then again, maybe we should just take the van. Since it’s in our backyard I guess it’s practically ours already.”
Walker gripped the forestock of his rifle. “You wouldn’t dare —”
I’m sure he knew he had no chance against us, one gun against two men in body armour… but I really hoped he’d try. If he made any kind of move I’d be justified.
I could kill him right there. No one would be able to fault me for that.
No.
Even with my anger and the adrenaline, I knew that was bullshit.
I knew what Sara would say.
And I knew what Fiona would think of me. I couldn’t justify it to her.
“Keep your van, Walker,” I said. “But get the fuck off my lawn.”
Walker looked me up and down for a moment before responding. “How generous of you, Baptiste,” he said, nodding his head slowly. He held up his finger and shook it at me. “Now maybe you can tell me just what makes you the goddamn King of Cochrane?”
“What?”
“You hold up that shotgun and you try to scare us into putting up with your threats. But you know what? It’s not going to work.”
“It’s not going to work? I think you’re mistaken.”
Walker turned to leave. “Why don’t you go fuck yourself, Baptiste,” he said as he started to walk away. “You’d better believe I’ll be bringing this crap up at the meeting.”
Livingston gave me one last look before following Walker’s lead.
I turned to see Graham glaring at me, almost like he expected me to apologize for the fact that Dave Walker was telling me off.
I could hear Walker muttering something about me, and Livingston laughing back at him, that little laugh of his that’s always made me sick.
They thought I was a joke, that I was all talk, that I don’t have the balls to do anything. They thought that Stems was back because I’d just been too much of a pansy to kill him the first time.
I’m not a fucking pansy.
Those assholes needed to know it.
“Make sure you’ve got a hold of the horses,” I said to Graham.
“What’s going on?” he asked as he firmed up his grip.
I pointed the shotgun at the van and aimed for one of the back tires. Twenty metres. An easy enough shot. I pulled the trigger and the tire burst.
The horses startled but Graham held on to them.
Walker swung around, tugging on his rifle but forgetting to unsling it.
“You’re lucky I didn’t aim for your lap dog,” I called out to him.
“Goddammit, Baptiste,” Walker said. “You’re psychotic.” He turned back around and picked up his pace.
Livingston turned back to face me. “You’ve made a big mistake,” he said. “There are going to be consequences for this.”
“Consequences?” I said.
“Yes. Consequences. As in people not putting up with bullies any longer.”
“I hope you’re living with the consequences. I hope you think about what you’ve done, every minute of every fucking day.”
“Please… you know I think about it,” Livingstone said quietly. He turned his back to me again and continued behind Walker.
Graham sighed. “You shouldn’t have done that,” he said. “I think I should go talk to them, try and smooth things over.”
“Go ahead,” I said. “Maybe they can drop you off at the gate once you’re done sucking dick. You can walk home from there.”
Graham dropped the reins and climbed down from the cart. “This isn’t helping.”
“It helps… we’re safer if people know they can’t push us around.”
“We’re safer if we don’t get kicked out of the Supply Partnership. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Baptiste, but we’re almost out of fuel.”
“Everyone’s almost out of fuel. Everyone but the Walkers and the Smiths, and they’re both hoarding what they’ve got.”
I couldn’t believe it, but I was starting to agree with Justin.
“Come on, Baptiste―”
“This Supply Partnership is a joke. It makes morons feel like they’re not alone even though they are.”
“So I’m a moron.”
“You might be. You’re certainly acting like one.”
Graham didn’t take the bait. As much as I was hoping to keep lashing out at him, he wasn’t going to let me.
I took a look over to the cargo van. Walker was back in the cab while Livingston was putting together the jack.
“There’s something odd about that,” Graham said. “Livingston changing the tire while Dave Walker sits on his rear.”
It was odd, seeing the formerly well-heeled politician on his knees in dirty clothes. “You should go smooth things over,” I said.
“Are you kidding me?”
“Seriously. Go talk to Livingston, see if he needs some help with the tire. See what you can find out, but don’t hesitate to shoot both of those assholes if you feel the need.”
“I doubt they’ll be in the mood to talk.”
“Just start off with how much you hate my guts… it’s a great icebreaker.”
“You’re right about that.”
“I’ll head up the road a bit and wait for you. Tell them I’ve left you here because you’re a sack of shit.”
“What if they don’t offer me a ride back?”
“Be glad you have a good pair of boots.” I gave him a smirk. “Honestly, you’re such a wimp about the cold. It hasn’t even snowed yet.”
Graham shook his head. “You’re a fucking asshole, Baptiste,” he said, loud enough for Livingston to hear. He jumped off the cart and walked toward the van, throwing me his middle finger.
It was a little more than I expected, but I liked it. It was about time Graham started acting like a real man.
Real men flip people off now and then.
I made my way up the road for about a klick and a half before stopping to wait for Graham, far enough that they wouldn’t be able to see the cart or hear the hooves. It was dark and the stars were coming out; I knew that everyone back at the cottage would start to worry about us soon. I gave Lisa a call on the handheld and told her that Graham was talking to Dave Walker; I didn’t bother mentioning Livingston or the exploding tire.
It had started to get colder with the sun down and the wind picking up. It wasn’t bad anywhere under the vest or my helmet, but even with the riot suit on I was starting to get a chill in my thighs.
I gave it a good half hour before I started to think about heading back to pick Graham up. I could still see the lights from the van in the distance; they hadn’t gone anywhere.
For a moment I wondered if something bad could have happened to him, but that seemed like a stretch. I’m pretty sure neither of those two would think of messing with Graham, not just because he’s protected and packing, but because they know I’m not that far away.
After another few minutes I turned the cart around and started toward the lights. As I came about a klick away, I saw the van moving away, heading back toward the south. Another light came on, the bluish glare of a headlamp.
By the time I reached Graham, he looked half-frozen; it was a wet cold hanging in the air tonight, and that’s probably the hardest to keep off of you.
But he’s still a wimp. What, do they have palm trees in Illinois?
He climbed up and sat beside me on the bench.
“So what’s the story?” I asked as I got us moving again.
“Livingston doesn’t like you very much.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment. Any idea what they were really doing out here?”
“No idea. The only thing I know is that they’re hiding something. I asked them point blank for a ride, and they said they didn’t have time. No time to take me up the road?”