Joe took a deep breath.
Farkus continued, “The guys I was with knew the brothers, or knew enough about them, anyway. I got the feeling they might have clashed at one time or other.”
“It was personal, then?” Nate said.
“Not really. I think they knew of the brothers, like I said. But I’m sure it wasn’t personal. They were hired and outfitted by someone with plenty of money.”
“Did you hear any names besides McCue?”
“None that meant anything.”
“Try to remember,” Joe said, his head spinning.
Farkus scrunched up his eyes and mouth. He said, “McGinty. I think that was it. And Sugar.”
Joe felt a jolt. He said, “Senator McKinty and Brent Shober?”
“Could be right,” Farkus said.
Nate’s upper lip curled into a snarl.
Joe said to Nate: “What’s going on?”
Nate said, “It’s worse than we thought.”
Then Joe said to Farkus, “And all of you rode into a trap of some kind?”
“At the last cirque,” Farkus said, nodding. “We rode down the trail to the water and the lead guy, Parnell, rode through some rocks. He tripped a wire and a spike mounted on a green tree took him out.”
“We’re familiar with the trap,” Joe said. “Go on.”
“The brothers were on us like ugly on an ape,” Farkus said. “The horses blew up and started rearing and everybody got bucked off. The brothers finished off the wounded except for me.”
“Why’d they spare you?”
Farkus shook his head. “I don’t know, Joe. I just don’t know.”
“So they took you to their cabin. Or was it a cave?”
“It was a cabin.”
“Why did you say cave earlier?”
“You might have noticed there’s a big guy with a big gun right next to me. I was nervous and probably misspoke.”
“Ah,” Joe said, as if he was happy with the explanation. “And then the brothers just left?”
“Yes. They packed up and left me to die. They are completely out of this county by now. Maybe even out of the state.”
“Interesting you’re sticking with that,” Joe said. “So the rock that was rolled at us a while back was just a natural occurrence?”
“I don’t know anything about a rock,” Farkus said, his eyes blinking as if he he’d got dust blown into them. “All I know is there’s no point in you guys going after them anymore. They’re gone.”
“Were the brothers alone?”
“What do you mean?” When he asked, Farkus looked away and blinked his eyes.
“Was there a woman with them?” Joe asked softly.
“A woman?” Farkus said. “Up here?”
“Terri Wade or Diane Shober. I’m sure you’ve heard of at least one of them.”
Farkus shook his head.
Joe said to Nate, “We’re done here,” and stood up. “Should we dig a hole for the body, or let the wolves scatter his bones?”
Nate said, “I say we put his head on a pike. That kind of thing spooks Wendigos, I believe. Sends ’em running back to Canada, where they belong.”
Farkus looked from Nate to Joe, his eyes huge and his mouth hanging open.
“I’ve got no use for liars,” Nate said.
Joe turned to say something to Nate, but his friend was gone. He was about to call after him, but didn’t. Nate’s stride as he walked away contained purpose. And when Joe listened, he realized how utterly silent it had become in the forest surrounding them. No sounds of night insects or squirrels or wildlife.
He quickly closed the gap with Farkus and shoved the muzzle of his shotgun into the man’s chest. He whispered, “They’re here, aren’t they?”
Farkus gave an unwitting tell by shooting a glance into the trees to his left.
Joe said, “They sent you down here to distract us and pin us to one place while they moved in,” Joe said, his voice as low as he could make it.
Farkus didn’t deny the accusation, but looked at the shotgun barrel just below his chin.
“Hold it,” Farkus stammered, his voice cracking. “Hold it. You’re law enforcement. You can’t do this.”
Joe eased the safety off with a solid click.
“Really, please, oh, Jesus,” Farkus whispered. Then he raised his voice, “Don’t do this to me, please. You can’t do this. . . .”
“Keep your voice down,” Joe hissed, shoving the muzzle hard into Farkus’s neck.
From the shadows of the forest, Camish said, “I’m real surprised you came back, game warden.”
And fifty feet to the right of Camish, Nate said, “Guess what? I’ve got your brother.”
30
THE STANDOFF THAT OCCURRED AT 4:35 A.M. ON THE WESTERN slope of the Sierra Madre transpired so quickly and with such epic and final weight, and such a simple but lethal potential conclusion, that Joe Pickett found himself surprisingly calm. So calm, he calculated his odds. They weren’t good. He knew the likelihood of his sudden death was high and he wished like hell he had called his wife on the satellite phone and said good-bye to her and his precious girls. He also knew he would have apologized for dying for such a cause, and at the hands of the dispossessed. As if a man could choose his killer.
In this moment of clarity, Joe thought, sharp points elbowed their way to the fore:
• His shotgun was on Farkus and it would take one or two seconds to wheel and aim it at Camish;
• Camish had Joe’s heart in the sights of his rifle; knew Joe and Nate could cut him in half, so he must have a trump card, likely. . . .
• Caleb had a .454 muzzle pressed against his temple and was unable to speak anyway;
• Farkus was clueless—he’d obviously been coerced by the brothers but hadn’t firmed up his storyline and he’d therefore stumbled into lies that piqued Joe’s interest;
• If one man pulled a trigger, a cacophony of exploding shots would throw lead through the void like a buzz saw and cut down all of them for eternity, and;
• Nobody wanted that.
At least Joe didn’t.
Joe said, “We all know the situation we’ve got here. It can go one way or the other. Things can get western in a hurry. If they do, I’m betting on my man Nate here to tip the scales, Camish. But I think a better idea may be sitting down and starting a fire and hashing this out.”
After a beat, Camish said, “You’re one of these folks thinks everything can be solved by talking?”
Said Joe, “No, I don’t believe that. No one has ever accused me of excess talking. But I think something really bad will happen any second if we don’t. I’m willing to sit down and discuss the possibility of more than two of us walking away from here.”
Camish said, “Caleb, you okay?”
The response was a muffled groan.
Nate said, “He’s about to lose the rest of his head.”
Camish’s voice was high and tight: “Don’t you hurt my brother.”
Joe realized his initial shocked calm had slipped away and he was sweating freely from fear. He struggled to keep his words even, hoping Camish would give in. It was easier to sound serious because he was.
“Tell you what,” he said. “Let’s meet at that downed log a few feet from me. Camish can keep aiming at me. Nate can keep his gun at Caleb’s head. I’ll keep my shotgun on Farkus here. But when we get to the log we’ll sit down. How does that sound?”
From the dark, Joe heard Farkus say, “I’m kind of wondering where I fit into this deal.”
And Nate growl, “You don’t, idiot.”
Camish said, “Deal.”
CAMISH LOOKED EVEN THINNER than Joe remembered him. It had been a rough few days. The man’s eyes seemed to have sunk deeper into hollows above his cheekbones and resembled marbles on a mantel. He hadn’t shaved in weeks, and all the silver hairs in his beard made him look gaunt and wizened. Like a Wendigo, Joe thought.
Joe and Nate sat on one log, the Grim Brothers on another. They faced each other.
Caleb sat in utter, pained silence. If anything, he looked more skeletal than his brother. His dark eyes flicked like insects between his brother and Joe and Nate as if hoping for a place to land. A dirt-filthy bandage was taped to his lower jaw. Caleb had an AR-15 with a scope across his lap, with the muzzle loosely pointed a foot to the right of Joe. Joe was sure the weapon was locked and ready to fire, and that Caleb was capable of spraying full automatic fire at him and Nate in a heartbeat. The weapon must have come from the Michigan boys, Joe thought.