Lone Creek

34

When I got down to the empty wet street, my crosstop high was fading and I was starting to drag. I entertained a brief notion of going to Sarah Lynn's, giving her the rest of her money, and apologizing for not calling her. It was strange-of all the things I felt bad about, that was the one that kept coming up in my mind. And in there, too, of course, was the thought that maybe this time she'd take me in. But pushing it would be a mistake. I decided I'd do it tomorrow, instead-go see her at work, with a dozen roses and a dinner invitation.

I started the bike and headed homeward into thin night rain that stung my face, thinking over what Reuben had told me.

Back during the days when oil was first being recognized as black gold, a fair amount of drilling had started in the northern part of the state. Reuben's father had taken a stab at getting in on the action and had acquired a few bits of land. Nothing much had come of it-most of the operations had decayed to rusting skeletal derricks out in desolate fields, now worth only the scrub grass they might grow to graze a few head of cattle. Reuben leased out the rights for a pittance and otherwise paid no attention to them.

But soon after he'd sold the ranch to Balcomb, Kirk had approached him respectfully and asked for ownership of a particular one, in an area called the Sweet Grass Hills. It was a pretty spot beside a creek, with a shack on it. He claimed that he'd gotten interested in prospecting and wanted to fix the place up and nose around.

"I didn't much buy it," Reuben had said. "There used to be some gold mining up around there but it got picked clean years ago, and he knew it. He never gave a hoot in hell about anything like that, anyway. I figured more likely he was hoping to convince me he was finally amounting to something, so I'd start cutting him some cash."

Still, Reuben had signed the place over to him, and arranged to cover building materials and other expenses. He hadn't tried to explain why to me, but I understood. With all the anger, guilt, and grief that had pervaded that family, with Pete's suicide and Kirk's worthlessness, it was Reuben's last-ditch attempt to salvage Kirk as his son and himself as Kirk's father.

We hadn't talked about the obvious implications, either. The place was only a few miles south of the Canadian border, deep in a region that was barely populated and virtually roadless. The official crossing points were at least fifty miles apart, with no settlements in between. Border agents didn't have nearly enough manpower to patrol it all effectively, and the only barrier across the vast empty fields was a standard barbed-wire fence. It was so vulnerable there had even been a public-service TV commercial urging ranchers to keep a watch for terrorists, who, as a friend of mine had put it, could skip across in their jockstraps.

You couldn't ask for a better setup to run contraband.

The Victor didn't have a rearview mirror, but I was careful to keep tabs on what was behind me with quick, frequent glances over my shoulder. Traffic was light tonight, and nobody tried to pass me until I got a few miles east of town, out beyond the reservoir. Then I realized that a vehicle was gaining on me fast.

My first thought was that I'd been spotted by a cop. But it didn't turn on flashers, and as it got closer, I was able to see that the headlights were high and far apart, like on the oversize pickups called duallies. With somebody driving that kind of rig in a hurry and me without even a taillight, I was asking for it. As soon as I spotted a place to turn out, I hit my brakes and skidded into it.

The other vehicle roared past a few seconds later-a tow truck, probably driven by a guy who'd had to handle a wet Sunday evening emergency, was grumpy about it, and wanted to get back to his nice warm house.

The road was mostly straight for the next couple of miles, and while the tow truck gained a comfortable lead on me, its taillights stayed in sight. I didn't pay much more attention to it at first-just assumed that it would turn off. But it kept on going toward Canyon Ferry. I started to get puzzled. I hadn't gotten a good look at its logo, but I was pretty sure there was nobody living out this way who ran a tow operation. Maybe there'd been a freak wreck. Maybe the driver had a girlfriend out here.

Maybe Kirk's Jeep had been found.

That thought hit a lot harder than the worry about a cop. But it was next to impossible. The water was deep enough at that spot so you couldn't see the bottom even in clear daylight. In this weather the surface was choppy and murky, and the Jeep was black besides. There were hardly any people around at all, and for sure no swimmers. Searchers could have found it by dragging, but there was no reason to look there.

The last stretch of road before the lake came into sight was hilly and twisty. In spite of my rationales, I braced myself for coming over the final rise and seeing a cluster of flashing lights on the far shore.

Everything was dark over there. I exhaled with relief.

But the tow truck was still moving in that direction, approaching the bridge. Queasiness rose in my guts again-the fear that something else had turned up to arouse the suspicion of the authorities. I couldn't imagine how a tow would figure in, but this was too unsettling to just brush off.

The curves were slowing the big truck down. I knew that road almost literally well enough to drive it blindfolded, and the rain had pretty well let up by now. I switched off my jerry-rigged headlight and sped up. The truck came in and out of sight through the tight curves beyond the village. Without hesitating, it passed the place where Kirk and I had fought, and, a half mile farther, the submerged Jeep. Relief washed over me again. The driver was probably headed to Townsend or White Sulfur Springs or some other place east of here.

But when the rig got to Stumpleg Gulch the taillights brightened suddenly-braking. The bright amber cab-top flashers went on and it turned up the road toward my cabin.

This time I got a jolt of flat-out alarm. None of my few neighbors would ever call for a tow-they had their own heavy equipment and mechanical skills. There hadn't been a wreck up there throughout my entire lifetime.

I followed at a careful distance. As I got close to my place, I started to see more lights pulsing faintly in the night sky. It was eerie, like an alien spacecraft had landed in there.

The new lights were red and blue.

A sheriff's cruiser was parked at my gate facing the road, in position to intercept anyone who came along. I could see at least one more flasher through the trees, near my cabin.

I pulled the bike off the road and cut the engine.

The deputy at the gate got out and walked to the tow truck. In the headlights, I recognized the tall lanky shape of Gary Varna. He talked to the driver for half a minute, then stepped back from the window. The truck drove on toward my cabin. Gary got back in his cruiser, made a one-eighty, and followed.

I stayed where I was, poleaxed by the realization of what was happening.

They were impounding my pickup truck.

The implications came fast and hard. Along with the fact that Gary himself was here, it meant that they'd come up with a serious cause, and it had to have just happened. But what in hell could have triggered it at nine o'clock on a rainy Sunday night? All I could think was that they'd received new information-say, from somebody I'd talked to, who'd told them I'd been nosing around about Kirk. Not Elmer or Reuben, for sure. Doug, maybe, but I doubted it-besides, he hadn't even seemed to know I was under the gun.

That left Josie. Lights in my head started blinking on. Gary Varna had mentioned that she had a couple of drug charges pending. I could just see her picking up the phone as soon as I'd left her place and calling the sheriffs to cut a deal-ratting me off in return for special consideration with her own problems.

And then she'd probably stuffed my fifty bucks into her supposedly not-so-little bra and burned ass out the door to buy some crank.

A rush of anger at her and shame at my own stupidity heated my face. I squeezed my eyes shut and clamped my teeth together, trying to throw it off. What mattered right this minute was what the fuck I was going to do right this minute. This new turn of events was a different order of business. I'd known in an abstract way that it was on the horizon, but I hadn't let myself believe it could happen so soon.

I had to think that if Gary was going this far, he was planning to arrest me, too-have his deputies keep checking the place tonight, or leave a man here. The straight-up thing to do would be to ride on through the gate and cooperate respectfully with the powers that rode herd on human life. Maybe I was wrong and he'd leave me free, and I could keep on bluffing. There was still a chance I could dig up enough information to bolster my claim of self-defense or at least mitigate my sentence. But if not, my bail-if there even was one-would be astronomical, like Bill LaTray had said. With that and legal fees, I could kiss everything I owned good-bye, including my place, and I was back to the scenario of being up against Balcomb's lawyers.

Or I could become an official fugitive-go someplace far away and take on a new identity. But I'd been hopeless enough at that years ago, when I'd been younger, more malleable, and not wanted by the law. At this point in my life, I just couldn't see myself inventing a radically new Hugh.

There was a third course. I could sneak away and stay free till morning-pretend I hadn't known they were looking for me and I'd spent the night someplace else. It was silly, like a kid trying to dodge an inevitable disciplining. But I couldn't see that I had anything to lose, and it would give me a few more precious hours of freedom.

Only minutes ago, I'd been anxious to get someplace warm and dry. Now I wished I could wander through the rainy night woods forever.