After the last fence, Joe walked across the gravel ranch yard toward Finotta's house. He skirted a massive steel barn building on his left. As they passed the windows of the building, Joe glanced in and saw a parked vehicle. He had already taken several steps past the window before what he had seen connected: it was a new model black Ford pickup.
Joe grabbed Stewie, pulling him against the building and out of sight of the ranch house. Silently, Joe pointed at the pickup through the window.
"That looks like the pickup Charlie Tibbs was driving," he whispered. Stewie's eyes widened and he mouthed the words, "Holy fuck!"
They backtracked along the building, going from door to door, finding each one locked. Around the corner was the big garage door. A set of muddy tire tracks crossed the cement threshold pad into the building. Joe leaned against the garage door and tried it. It raised a few inches.
"It's unlocked," Joe whispered to Stewie.
Stewie arched his eyebrows in a let's see what's inside expression.
Joe paused, and looked back at Stewie, who was inches away
"I don't know what to do now," Joe confessed.
"You mean, do we go in?"
Joe nodded yes.
"Or do we leave things be and go to the ranch house and ask to use the phone?"
Joe nodded again. This didn't make sense to him. Could this possibly be Charlie Tibbs's pickup truck?
He decided that he had to find out. Opening the door slowly to make the least possible noise, Joe raised it two feet. If Charlie Tibbs was in the truck or somewhere in the garage, Joe didn't want to startle him. He dropped to his belly and crawled inside the garage and Stewie followed.
Inside, the floor was cold, polished concrete. The room was large. They shut the garage door and stood up. A muddy tractor and the four-wheeler Joe had seen Finotta's ranch hand, Buster, drive were parked under a high ceiling. There was enough room in the building for several more vehicles. The corners of the big room were dark, and the only light came from three small, dirty windows along the outer wall. The black Ford was parked and partially hidden behind the tractor, its muddy tracks still moist on the floor. There was a dull glow in the dark coming from where the black Ford was.
Stewie tapped Joe's shoulder, and Joe turned. Stewie had located a light switch. Joe withdrew his revolver and nodded to Stewie, who flipped on the overhead lights.
To their left, along the wall, was ranch equipment: welding machines, drill presses, benches scattered with hand tools, rolls of fencing, and stacks of posts. There was also a set of wooden steps that led to a second level in the building and a closed door.
They approached the pickup from the back. It no longer had a horse trailer attached. A large metal toolbox was in the bed of the pickup. Joe noticed the mounts inside the bed for a telescope--or a mounted sniper's rifle. It was parked at an awkward angle and the front door was open, the dome light on. That was what had made the glow.
Inside the cab there was blood on the floor and seat, and spatters of it leading from the open pickup door toward the wooden stairs.
"He's hurt," Stewie said, amazed. "Maybe you hit him after all. Damn!"
Joe was astounded, both sickened and a little proud. While Joe inspected the inside of the cab, Stewie rooted through the toolbox in the back.
"Son of a bitch!" Stewie whispered. "Look at this."
Stewie held a brick-sized package of C4 explosive in one hand and a blue nylon harness in the other. "These are the tools you need to blow up a cow by remote control." Stewie whistled. "Isn't this just a hoot?"
"Do you see a phone anywhere?" Joe asked.
"Nope," Stewie answered, pointing toward the stairs and the closed door. "But if there is one, I bet it's up there. That looks like where the ranch hands live and where our friend Charlie Tibbs went.
"So the question is," Stewie continued, "Do we follow the blood or get the hell out of here?"
Joe paused a beat. He thought of Lizzie and all that he and Stewie had been through. "Follow the blood. That son-of-a-bitch is hurt."
"What if there are more bad guys up there?" Stewie asked.
Joe shook his head. "Finotta only has one ranch hand that I know of."
Stewie grinned maniacally.
***
JOE CREPT UP the wooden stairs--they were handmade of rough-cut two-by-fours but slick on the surface from years of use--as quietly as he could. Stewie was behind him. Joe's eyes were wide and his breath was shallow; he was scared of what might await him on the other side of the door. On the landing he paused with his rope-burned hand on the doorknob. It did not open quietly but with a moan, and he pushed the door open and dropped into a shooter's stance with his revolver pointed ahead of him. A dark hallway led to the right. Nothing moved,
Removing his hat, Joe cautiously peered around the doorway There were four other closed doors along the hallway two on each side. At the end of the hallway there was an L of gray light from a door that was slightly ajar. Staying low and trying to be ready to react if a door opened, Joe moved down the hallway toward the L of light. Stewie stayed back at the landing.
Joe stood with his back to the slightly open door, then swung around, kicking it open and stepping inside. There was a surge of red hot panic in his throat when he realized that the man he had seen damaging the Mercedes near the mountain road--Charlie Tibbs--was splayed out on an old brass bed just a few feet away
Charlie Tibbs lay on his back, fully clothed, on top of a faded, worn quilt. He had not removed his boots; Joe could see their muddy soles cocked in a V before him. Charlie's head, still wearing his Stetson, was turned to the side on a pillow, and his face was the color of mottled cream. His mouth was slightly open, and Joe could see the tip of Tibbs's dry, maroon tongue. His brilliant blue eyes, once piercing, were open, but filmed over and dull. Above the breast pocket of Tibbs's shirt was a pronounced dent and in the middle of the dent was a black hole.
A spider's web of blood had soaked through the fabric of his shirt and dried.
With his heart thumping, Joe cautiously lowered his weapon and stood next to Charlie Tibbs. Tibbs was a big man constructed of hard edges and sharp angles. Both of Tibbs's large hands were open beside his thighs, palms up. Joe held the back of his hand to Tibbs's mouth and nose: no breath. He touched his fingertips to Tibbs's neck: it was clammy, but not yet cold or stiff Charlie Tibbs had died within the hour.
Joe reached down and turned Tibbs over slightly The quilt beneath him was soaked through with dark blood from his back, where the bullet had exited. The exit wound was ragged and massive. The smell of blood in the room was overwhelming, and it reminded Joe of the stench of the badly hit or badly dressed big game carcasses he saw during hunting season. Joe thought it astounding that Tibbs had been able to ride back to his truck, unhitch the horse trailer, and drive all the way to the Finotta ranch to die.
What a lucky shot, joe thought.
"You shot my horse, you son-of-a-bitch," Joe whispered. "If you ever see her where you both are now, I hope she kicks the hell out of you." Then to Stewie out in the hallway: "He's here and he's dead!"
"Charlie Tibbs?"
"The same," Joe said, sliding his revolver into his holster. Suddenly, Joe felt very weak and sick to his stomach. He stared at Tibbs's face, trying to find something in it that indicated thoughtfulness, or gentleness, or humility Something redeeming. But Joe could only see a face set by years of bitter resolve.
"Okay" Stewie said from the doorway after studying the scene, "Charlie Tibbs is dead. But why is he here?"