“Do you like it?”
McParlan grabbed for his Balrog and had the weapon aimed at Little Willy’s head faster than the Customs Officers had time to react. Little Willy spoke a single word before McParlan could pull the trigger and it was as if he were turned to stone. He struggled to fire, wrapping both hands around the gun and squeezing with all his might.
Little Willy Harpe lowered his forehead against the barrel of the Marshal’s gun. “I once watched a man get fed into a threshing machine. He went in feet first, and it took awhile for the gears to grind up something vital enough that he died.” Little Willy looked up at McParlan and said, “Go ahead and imagine what that’s like.”
McParlan shrieked and flopped around in the dirt. Harpe looked down at him and said, “Welcome to Golgotha.”
McParlan’s chin was low against his chest but he managed to summon the strength to lift it and spit at Little Willy’s face, but his mouth was too dry, and all that came out was a rasp of air.
Little Willy signaled to Hank Raddiger to bring the beams. Hank struggled to drag the enormous metal X across the dirt toward them. Hank dropped the beams and bent over to try and catch his breath. He set a drill on the ground next to the X and placed four bolts beside it. “Here you go, Elijah,” he panted. “Just like you said.”
“You need to get better underlings, Little Willy. This one’s too stupid to remember your name.”
Harpe lifted McParlan’s head by a handful of hair and said, “You lack faith, my son. Use this time to reflect and repent your sins.” He walked over to the X and waved to the others, “Bring him.”
Hank and the two Customs Officers hoisted McParlan into the air and carried him over to the X. They laid him down on top of it and spread his arms and legs along the tops of the crossed beams. McParlan started to struggle and Harpe said, “You will lie STILL.” The Marshal went limp, and Harpe said, “But you may talk. And you may scream.”
“Don’t hold your breath, you piece of shit,” McParlan said. He watched Harpe bend over to pick up one of the thick bolts with a pointed steel tip.
Harpe notched the bolt to his drill and gave it a spin, listening to the motor whir with satisfaction. Harpe bent over the first beam and pressed the tip of the bolt against McParlan’s right wrist. “You ready?”
“Go to hell.”
Harpe gave the trigger a light squeeze that sent chunks of McParlan’s skin flying in every direction.
“Remember you can scream,” Harpe said.
19. Always Outnumbered, Never Outgunned
Claire sat on her front porch, watching the sun hover over the mountains. She rocked back and forth and did not look at Jem as he came through the front door and stood by her. He dipped into his pocket for a pinch of sweet weed and tucked it into his lower lip, working it there until there was something to spit, but as he bent over the side of the porch Claire said, “Don’t you get any of that filth on my steps. And I don’t want it splashed all over my yard either.”
Jem walked over to the other side of the porch and spat over the railing into the dirt. He wiped off his mouth and presented her with a sealed envelope that contained Old Man Willow’s letter. He’d put a second letter with it that told her a bag of pure severian was under the floorboards in his old bedroom. He told her to look in the same place he’d hidden all of his secret stuff as a boy.
In his letter was a set of careful instructions on how Claire could find and hire a bounty hunter that could be trusted to dispatch two well-known politicians like Walt Junger and Billy Jack Elliot. He warned her not to reveal their identities until the bounty hunter agreed to the price and told her to keep half of the money until the deal was finished. Or, she could just let Royce Halladay read Old Man Willow’s letter and he would probably take care of it for free.
“What is this?” Claire said.
“Some interesting reading in the event I don’t come back. If I do come back here and it’s already opened, I’m gonna be madder than hell at you.”
“That stopped being a concern of mine years ago, Jem.” Claire’s blonde hair blew gently in the breeze and she looked up at him with eyes that were bluer than glaciers, but colder. “After all of this time waiting to hear if you were living or dead, you really think I give a rat’s ass if you’re mad at me?”
“No, I guess you wouldn’t have a reason to.”
“Then what happens when you do come back? You go running off into the same territory where daddy got killed. Then you almost get blown up by some goddamn maniac and his kid. And now you’re running off to try and get yourself killed one more time. I don’t love you anymore, Jem! I ran out of it when all you left me with was worry and anger.”
“I understand,” he said. He put his hand against the railing and looked out at the meadow. “You know, I had a dream about you last night. About the house, just like when we were little kids. He was in it too…if you know who I mean. You were just a little girl.” He took a deep breath and looked down, trying to keep his voice steady, “Ever since the time I was too young to know better, death has been coming to this very door to snatch up the people I love most, Claire. First, it was the illness that took Ma. Then that native boy who I shot. Then that bastard Elijah Harpe came here and almost killed you and Frank. You want to know why I ran off when I did? Why I keep doing it? You’ll laugh at this, trust me, it’s a riot, but maybe if I keep running, death will follow me away. Maybe it won’t come here looking for me anymore.”
“That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard,” Claire said. She wiped her nose on her sleeve and said, “You always were stupid.”
Jem smiled and nodded, “Yeah, now that I said it out loud, I guess it does sound kind of silly.”
“Why are you going out there? Why does it have to be you?” Claire said. “Hasn’t this family given enough already?”
“Jimmy McParlan’s a good man, Claire. A lawman. The kind I ain’t seen in a long, long time. Reminds me of someone.”
Claire stood up out of her chair and wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his chest. He kissed her on top of the head and said, “I’ll be back soon. You’ll see.”
There was a pretty woman hanging laundry on a line between two trees in her front yard along Pioneer Way. She smiled at Jem when he rode past and he tipped his hat to her and said, “Hello, ma’am.”
He had to navigate around a crowd of miners on Pioneer Way. They carried their lunch pails and laughed loudly as they chattered back and forth, talking about their lives and work. Farther ahead, Jem passed a second group heading in the opposite direction, going home after a long shift. Their faces and clothing were black with soot.
One of those men was going home to that pretty woman, Jem thought. She would draw him a bath and he would scrub while she made dinner. There would be children racing in and out of the wash room, excited to see him. He might have just busted his ass doing thankless work for twelve hours a day in the pits of hell, but at the end of it, he came home to his family, Jem thought, and I am jealous.
Workers were still shoveling out the blast site surrounding the Proud Lady. The bar itself was quiet, with some of the patrons leaning on the porch rails to chat with the workers. A few of the men said hello to Jem. He stopped at Anna Willow’s office, but no lights were on, and he decided to keep going.
The front door to the Sheriff’s Office was shut. There had been no trace of Walt Junger or Billy Jack Elliot since the day the Marshal left. There was a thin man standing near the security gate, smoking a hand-rolled cigar. Doctor Royce Halladay looked up at Jem from under his hat and said, “Well, well. I was beginning to think that you had a change of heart.”