The sheriff said to Jude, “I think it’s the only way. I want you to knock that lamp over there. I’ll make a run for the shotgun and you two go through the window. It can’t be more’n four feet to the ground.”
Martin whispered urgently, “But if it doesn’t work they’ll kill us all, Cara, too. If we promise we won’t tell anybody, if we swear it, they’ll probably let us go. I have a feeling.”
Jude was Runyer’s only hope and he kept his eyes in hers. Finally, she said, “I’ll do whatever my husband wants.”
Martin asked, “You really think we can make it?”
“That depends,” Runyer answered. “How bad do you want to make it?”
For an instant Runyer could see Martin was right on the borderline. His eyes grew sharp as he judged the angles, the distance to the window But then he shook his head slightly.
And so there was nothing to do but go ahead by himself and hope that Jude would rally her husband to make the plunge to safety.
He waited until Gare and Earl were looking at their food, then gripped Martin’s shoulder and pulled himself to his feet. “I’m going,” he whispered. “Get the hell out that window!”
Ignoring the electric pain that stabbed through him, Runyer moved as quietly as he could toward the gun over the mantel.
Martin’s voice seared the hell out of him. “No, don’t!” He lurched forward and slammed into the sheriff, who tumbled over on his side in a jolt of agony.
The captors leapt up from the table.
“He was going for the shotgun,” Martin cried. “It wasn’t us! We told him not to!”
“Martin,” Jude spat out in disgust.
“It was his idea...” Martin wailed. “We didn’t do anything.”
And for a moment Runyer found himself agreeing with Gare: the man was truly pitiful.
You’ve got to be most cautious of the ones leaning hard to be on your side...
Earl dragged them both back into the corner and delivered a kick to Runyer’s belly that no amount of morphine would dull. He gasped and rolled up tight.
“Look what you did,” Jude cried to her husband.
He just killed us all, the sheriff thought. That’s what he did.
“I don’t want anybody to get hurt.”
“Good man, Marty.” Gare pulled the scattergun off the wall and broke it open. “Wouldn’ta done you a lotta good. Stupid of you. Stupid. Tie their feet, Earl.”
As the young man cinched their ankles, Gare walked toward the huddling trio and snapped the gun closed. That damn grin of his blossomed again and he drew back the butt of the gun like a baseball bat. Runyer lowered his head, waiting for the crushing blow.
A loud rap sounded on the door and they heard, “Mom, Dad? Hey, some welcome! What’s with the porch lights?”
A tall, attractive woman, mid-twenties, wearing an expensive shearling coat, stepped inside.
“Cara!” Jude cried. “Run!”
But Earl put his hand on her back and shoved her toward them. She barked a panicked scream and flung her arms around her father, buried her head in his chest, sobbing. The girl glanced at Runyer’s bloody wound and began to cry harder. “What’s going on?”
Her mother edged closer and they pressed together.
Gare stepped outside. He returned a moment later. “Nobody else around. She’s alone.”
“Who are you?” Cara asked.
Gare said nothing. But his eyes told Runyer the whole story: What’s coming’s our fault. We screwed up their getaway from the bank and a man got killed. Martin reminded Gare of his father and that, too, set off his anger like a fast-burning fuse. He’s innocent; we’ve caused this grief, and that gives him the okay to kill us all.
And damn if he probably isn’t going to blame us for him feeling guilty after he does.
“Earl,” Gare said. “Come on over here. Stand by me.”
“We gonna take her car?”
“No, we’re going to take their Lincoln. But there’s something we have to do first.”
“What?”
“You know.”
Earl wiped his hand on his jeans, looked from his buddy back to the people on the floor. He seemed to sense what was coming and glanced at Gare uneasily.
What was he thinking about? What Runyer had told him?
Would he stand up to Gare at the last minute?
“You can do it, Earl,” Gare whispered.
Runyer stared into the young man’s black eyes. Thinking: Remember what I said, Earl, remember it, remember, remember, remember... It’s the only way you can save yourself.
“Go on,” Gare said.
“I can’t,” Earl muttered.
His friend’s low voice growled, “Listen, Earl, the job tonight went just like we’d planned, right? Piece of cake. And we were heading home, no harm for anybody. It wasn’t our fault this happened. We didn’t want to come here, did we?”
“No.”
“They know our names,” Gare continued. “They know what we look like.”
“Don’t do it, Earl,” Runyer said. “Don’t ruin your life.”
“Oh, listen to him,” Gare spat out. “He’s the one tried to shoot us. Marty, too — he went for that scattergun. Remember? When we walked in? And don’t think that old lady wouldn’t shoot us down, too, she had the chance.”
“Earl!” Runyer called.
The young man’s eyes swayed from his friend to Runyer and back again. The gun lowered.
Come on, Runyer thought, come on... Remember.
“And know what else he did?” Earl said suddenly, an icy glint in his eyes. “That sheriff there? He said if I turned you in, he’d go easy on me.”
“He did that?” Gare, sounding shocked, frowned.
“Whispered it to me when I brought him the water.”
“He thought you were a snitch, huh?” Gare said. “That’s what he thinks of you — that you’d turn on your buddy.”
Earl turned to the sheriff. “You son of a bitch. You thought I’d snitch?”
“Earl, don’t—”
“You’re first. I do him first, Gare?”
“That’s fine by me.”
Martin and Jude were silent. Runyer lowered his head.
“No,” Cara whispered. “God, no.”
Runyer fixed his wife and son in his mind and dropped his head to his chest. Earl stepped closer. Ten feet away. He couldn’t miss.
Lisa Lee...
Hal Runyer knew he wasn’t going to the heaven he promised Petey was “up there,” somewhere beyond where the boy’s fragile planes flew. No, he was going to black sleep. His breath hissed in and out and he squinted as the tears came.
Picturing his wife, his son, losing himself in the sad euphoria of the final daydream...
Then he heard something odd. Like the punch of unexpected thunder. A voice. Martin’s, but different. Matter of fact. Calm. It said one word. “Down.”
The women dropped to the floor. Cara hit the pine floorboards and hooked Runyer’s collar, yanking him prone, too. Martin’s hands — somehow free — swung around from behind his back, holding a huge pistol. His feet were still tied so he stood tall as he began firing, not even trying to duck. He fired the first shot at Gare but the boy’s instincts were honed and he dove to the floor behind a couch in a half-second.
Earl was crouching, staring at his friend.
Martin said to the terrified young man, “Drop it.”
But Earl went wide-eyed and lifted the gun, pulling the trigger madly. The slug missed by a yard and before he could fire again Martin squeezed off another round and a tiny dot appeared in the center of Earl’s chest. He stumbled backward with a choked “Gare, oh, look, look.” Then collapsed on his side.