So, he thought, staring into the fire, you gonna fail your brother again?
“Okay,” he said. “We’ll come back and ask some questions, see what happens.”
“And kill them that killed Jamie?”
He looked up from the flames at David. “If we can.”
David smiled. His face was stained with shadows cast upward from the fire. His eye sockets were dark holes; his forehead was in darkness. Only his grin was aglow from the orange flames. Jack shuddered, wondering if he’d just made a mistake. David spat into the fire, and the juice sizzled.
The air was clearer in the bathroom and Jack immediately began to feel better.
“What brings you to my home?” Gabe asked, settling back into the water. He didn’t seem to care that he was meeting a stranger while naked in a bathtub.
Jack looked around. There was a big window above the tub, stained white with shower scum but not covered by any curtain. The mirror over the sink was cracked. The toilet was open and the water inside was yellow. A double-barrel shotgun leaned against the wall by a pile of Penthouse magazines.
“Uh,” Jack said, looking into the tub. He saw Gabe’s penis, floating in the water, pointing up. He saw the dark hair on the man’s stomach and chest swaying in the water like weeds in a pond. He looked Gabe in the face. He was afraid and he didn’t want to be.
“Uh,” he said again, taking off his hat, careful not to show the gun, and shaking his head. “I’m sorry. My head’s spinning a bit from the chemicals in the air. I’m sure y’all don’t notice, but I’m a virgin when it comes to this stuff.”
“Pure in heart and soul,” Gabe said, grinning. “A real fucking cowboy.”
“I don’t know about pure,” Jack said. “Just unfamiliar is all.”
He was feeling better and better.
“Where you from, boy?” Gabe said, imitating Jack’s accent.
Jack opened his mouth and almost said Montana. He caught himself and said, “Wyoming. I’m coming back from L.A., where my little sister was into some stuff. I’m taking her home, but I just need to get her a quick fix so I can get her back and into a program of some sort.”
Gabe just looked at him.
“I’m sorry to show up at your door like this. I just need enough to get her through till Wyoming. She’s pretty sick right now.”
Holding his hat in his lap, Jack reached in and fingered the Derringer. He wished he’d brought a knife. He’d never guessed he’d get an opportunity to be alone with this guy.
Gabe shifted in the water, getting more comfortable. “You remind me of a friend of mine,” he said.
The Glock sat on the board, but both the guy’s hands were in the water.
“Yeah,” Jack said.
“Had an accent like yours. Probably a lot like your sister. From the middle of nowhere. Got involved in some shit he wasn’t ready for. Good kid, though. He was a fucking hoot.”
“Yeah.”
“I could just listen to him talk all night long, man. Just get high and listen to him.”
“What was his name?”
“Jamie,” Gabe said. “From Montana.”
Jack half thought the guy was messing with him and any second he would grab the Glock and point it at him.
“What happened to him?” Jack asked.
“Jamie. He pissed me off. We’re not on speaking terms right now.”
Jack remembered his brother: napping on the couch, smiling with pure happiness after taking a big trout out of the river, sneaking in drunk at two in the morning and unable to keep himself from laughing while Pa yelled at him, wiping sweat from his face and complaining while they made hay in the barn. He saw Jamie hooting as the two of them rode through the pasture together, pushing their horses into a lope and heading home for supper. Jack saw his brother’s face, expressionless and plastic, on the slab in the morgue, his throat open like a second wide grinning mouth, his windpipe visible like a limp white tongue.
“Say something country, man,” Gabe said. “Say something like, tighter than a bull’s ass in fly season. Or hotter than a whore on dollar day. As nervous as a fart in a windstorm. Say something country and I’ll sell you what you came for.”
“I got one,” Jack said. “I got one y’all are gonna love.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Jack said.
He pulled out the Derringer and lunged forward, sending his hat flying. He put his left hand over the Glock, holding it down, and thrust the Derringer into Gabe’s face. Gabe pulled back against the porcelain wall behind him and Jack jammed the gun into his eye. Jack saw terror on Gabe’s face and felt a thrill from it.
“James Fisher was my brother,” he said, and squeezed the trigger.
He’d shot enough deer to know that bullet wounds didn’t look like they do in the movies. This was no different. He’d shot Gabe in the left eye, but blood was coming out both sockets. And his nose and his ears. Like a grenade had gone off inside the man’s brain.
Jack forced himself to stop looking. The sound had been more a pop than a loud blast, but Jack knew it would be enough to get the attention of everyone else in the house. He tried to move as fast as he could. He shoved the Glock into his waistband, then locked the door. It was cheap fiberboard and could be busted apart in seconds, but it might buy him some time. He grabbed the shotgun.
“What the hell’s going on in there?” The voice sounded like Misfit. Right on the other side of the door.
Jack glanced at Gabe. Half the water was red now, and Jack’s hat was floating at Gabe’s crotch.
Something crashed against the door. The lock held, but Jack heard wood splinter. He didn’t think it would take many more hits like that. He pointed the shotgun at the window above the tub and squeezed both triggers. There was a double click. He broke the gun and saw both barrels were empty.
“Damn,” he said, and tossed the gun into the bathwater.
Misfit crashed against the door again. More splintering.
“Hey, Misfit,” Jack yelled, pulling out the Glock.
“Huh?”
Jack pointed the Glock at the door where he thought Misfit would be and started pulling the trigger. He lost count at four rounds and stopped himself a few shots later. The noise was deafening in the little room. His ears rang. Gunsmoke filled the air in a thick cloud. He pointed the Derringer at the window and fired. It only put a small hole in the glass, so he shot it again with the Glock. Glass came down onto Gabe and into the red water.
Jack heard shouting from behind the door. Screaming. The dog was barking. A baby started crying.
What the hell they got a baby in a place like this for? Jack thought.
His heart was pounding hard, even harder than when he jumped out of an airplane for the first time. He put one foot on the tub, kicking the two-by-four and a candle into the water, then stopped. How many bullets do I got left? Two? One? None?
He stepped away from the tub. He unlocked the door and yanked it open. Misfit lay on the floor, bleeding into the carpet like a gutted deer staining the snow. Two men were down at the end of the hall, both with guns. Jack fired at them and they jumped for cover. His gun went click click click. He dropped the Glock, grabbed Misfit’s .357, and darted back into the bathroom. The AK-47 started up like a buzz saw and ripped into the door. Chunks of wood exploded into the bathroom. Jack jumped out the window headfirst, diving over Gabe and the tub. He heard bullets whine by. He hit the ground hard. He felt pain — in his knees, elbows, chest — and he thought he might not be able to get up in time. He took a deep breath; he tasted fresh air. Then he ignored the hurt and was up and running.