Lone Creek

36

After Laurie and I had gone about a mile, it started to sink in that we were intact and not being followed. My panic eased off some, and I slowed the bike along with it. I knew where we were, not far north of the lake. I kept on going until we came to the top of a ridge that gave a view of that long stretch of water and the highway that skirted it. Everything out there looked as dark and still as when I'd followed the tow truck in.

By the clock, that had been several minutes ago. In my head, it was a lifetime.

I stopped and cut the engine, thinking that Laurie would let go of me. She didn't, and now I could feel that she was shivering hard. That was no wonder after what had happened. But when I unlocked her fingers from around my waist and eased us both off the bike, I realized that she was wearing the same light turtleneck she'd had on earlier today, with just a shawl over it. The rain had thinned to a mist up in the woods, but the night was still chilly and damp. Along with shock and fear, she must have been freezing. I was just the opposite by now, heated up and sweating from wrestling the bike around. When I pulled off my coat and wrapped her in it, the cool air was welcome.

"What the hell is going on?" I said.

Her hands clenched my shirt again, her face pressed tight against my chest now.

"That man's a killer, a torturer," she said through chattering teeth. "He's here to kill you."

I stared at her, trying to get my mind around that. Something else was starting to sink in-the sense that I'd seen his face before.

"How do you know that?" I said.

"I recognized him-from before."

"From before?"

She kept gasping out words, the bits of information coming in like punches, wild but fast and hard enough to stagger me.

"No, I don't mean I know him. I only ever saw him once. I don't even know his name-I call him John Doe. But I saw him with Wesley today, and Wesley gave him that rifle. I followed him to your house. He hid there and waited. But then the sheriffs came, and I guess he was running away, and he found me."

"What were you doing there?"

Her forehead butted against me in a way that was still agitated but oddly shy.

"I was hiding, too," she whispered. "I had to tell you, and there wasn't any other way."

I stroked her hair, trying to calm myself as much as her. This woman who barely knew me had come up into the cold dark woods, knowing that a hired killer was nearby, in order to save my life.

Then it came to me where I'd seen him. He was the man who'd delivered Balcomb's twenty-five hundred dollars this afternoon. I remembered him hesitating at my gate like he was thinking about coming up to the cabin. He must have decided to play it safe-just check the place out and come back after dark. But his disguise would have taken me in. If he'd approached politely, he could have shot me dead before I raised my rifle.

"I guess the sheriffs found out about him," she said, her words still muffled against my chest. "I don't know how. I didn't call them."

"They're not looking for him. They're after me. I'm a suspect for killing Kirk."

Her face lifted swiftly, eyes wide with alarm. I put my finger to her lips. This wasn't the time to trade stories.

"Let me think a minute," I said.

She nodded, although doubtfully, like she didn't have much faith in my abilities along those lines.

Neither did I. The rug had been jerked out from under me all over again, and I was more brain-fried than ever. But a few things stood out clearly-first and foremost, that I didn't have to wonder anymore whether Balcomb would keep his promise to back off.

With a professional after me, I was as good as dead. Laurie was at risk, too, as an eyewitness who could identify him. And a man like that who'd been stabbed in the eye by a woman with a car key was going to have a serious personal ax to grind.

Now there was no choice but to turn myself in.

In a way, it was a perverse stroke of luck. The other information I'd gathered was sketchy and circumstantial, but Laurie's testimony would be rock solid, and would powerfully reinforce my claim that Balcomb had sent Kirk after me first, and I'd acted in self-defense. It was still a risk, and I'd be likely to do some time anyway for my cover-up-but this nightmare would be over.

"Let's head for town," I said. I'd have gone straight to Gary Varna, but I didn't want to chance running into John Doe on the way.

"Do you have a place to stay there?"

"Yeah, the county jail."

Her eyes went wide again. "No! We can't."

"Don't worry, not you-they'll put you in a motel or something until things settle down."

She shook her head violently. My confusion deepened. I'd expected that would be what she wanted. Then I reminded myself that while she might not be fond of her husband, I was asking her to send him to prison.

"We have to," I said. "Otherwise, John Doe's going to come after you."

"He'll come after me if I do tell the police-him or somebody else." Her eyes stayed big but her voice was sharper. "You still don't get it? After what just happened? If something threatens Wesley, that something disappears."

"You're his wife, for Christ's sake."

"You don't know him," she said, almost with contempt.

I was getting to.

"I thought he treated you well," I said.

"Except for once. I tried to leave him. That's how I know what I'm saying."

"What if we played it like this never happened?" I said. "You go back to him now, tonight, and swear you'll never breathe a word?"

"He'd say yes. But the truth is I've crossed him, and he'll never forgive it. Someday soon, I'd have an accident. And John Doe would still come after you."

I stepped away and pressed my hands against my temples, trying to squeeze intelligence out of the brain between them. The situation kept getting worse by leaps and bounds-and yet simpler. All other bets were off. Now we were down to saving our skins.

When I turned back and saw her huddled inside my coat, it struck me that not only did she not have extra clothes or a car, she didn't even have her purse-no money, no credit cards, no identification, nothing.

"Is there somebody you trust that you can call to come get you?" I said.

"Come get me? Here?" She looked startled.

"In town. I can drop you at a motel and give you a couple hundred bucks, but I just can't do anything more, Laurie. You saved me. I'll always owe you. But the sheriffs are on my ass. I can't go back to my place-they're even taking my truck. You better look out for yourself."

"What are you going to do?"

Try to buy some time was all I could think. I needed rest and a clear head. But I couldn't jeopardize people I knew by asking them to take me in. Staying in the area would be risky, anyway-if the sheriffs didn't already have an alert out on me, they would soon. That knocked the pins out from under a plane or bus or rental car, and I wasn't going to get far on a dirt bike with no plates or lights.

"I'll figure out something," I said.

She took hold of my shirt and butted her head into my chest again.

"Forget about running from Wesley," she said quietly. "He'll never give up looking for both of us, not as long as he's alive. Don't leave me alone, OK?"

Neil McMahon – Lone Creek

I warned Laurie to be ready to scramble-if we saw headlights, we'd either try to hide or run for it. The shortest way out was the riskiest, with first the bridge and then a narrow stretch bound by the lake on the left and cliffs on the right. But the alternatives were a lot slower and just as likely to have deputies on the lookout, so I went for it, riding fast and without the light. We cut south and made it to Highway 12 without trouble. The paved road ended there, but I went straight on across and turned west on the Montana Rail Link tracks. It was rough, bouncing along on the ties, but we only had a couple of miles to go and nobody would see us.

Madbird's place was up the McClellan Creek drainage, another isolated gravel road through thick woods. I started smelling the pine smoke from his stove as we got close. Unlike me, he had a real house, high-ceilinged and cedar-paneled, that he'd been smart enough to build with a VA loan when he came back from Vietnam. The windows glowed pleasantly, although as you came into their light you'd start to see the animal skulls mounted in the surrounding trees. There was a lot more that you didn't see but you had to be pretty dense not to feel. Strangers rarely got close.

I was sure that by now, Laurie was wishing with all her soul that she'd never heard of me. But she hadn't made a sound of complaint or even asked where we were going. She still didn't when I stopped the bike, but she stumbled a little getting off, staring nervously at the centerpiece of the fence gate-the bleached skull of a squirrel with its teeth still clamped in the piece of twelve-two electrical cable that was the last thing it had ever tasted. That one was kind of a joke.

All through the ride, I'd thought about how to handle this. I hated like hell to hit on Madbird again. But I knew he was willing, and he knew that if I got busted, I'd keep him out of it. The real problem was bringing Laurie in. There was no telling how things were finally going to shake down, or if she and I would even still be around. But if she did end up dealing with the authorities, I couldn't expect her to commit perjury to protect him. Any help he gave me would be abetting, and might also start them digging deeper into his other involvement. I'd thought about leaving her someplace while I talked to him, but that wouldn't be much of a hedge. I needed a vehicle, and if she described it to the cops, they'd quickly put together where it had come from.

I'd ended up deciding to go for the flip side-to keep her with me and cue Madbird. He'd pick up on it instantly and run with it. That way, she'd be a witness to his innocence. If she made him too uncomfortable, he'd let me know it and we'd move on. I wouldn't blame him a bit.

I took hold of Laurie's wrist and brought her around to face me.

"We can't put my friend at risk, so we've got to lie to him. And I've got to trust you."

She nodded, slowly but decisively. "Just tell me the lie."

"Not a word about John Doe or the cops or any of the rest of it. We got caught in an awkward situation and we need to get away for a day or two, where nobody will look for us."

Her head tipped a little to the side and her eyebrows rose.

"Caught in an awkward situation, like, by my husband?"

"That's what my friend will think, but he won't ask. OK?"

"OK," she said. Her tone was cooler, but that was understandable.

I kept hold of her wrist and led her toward the house. Without doubt, Madbird had heard the bike and was watching. By now, he'd have recognized me, and probably Laurie, too. He was going to be real interested in what this was about.

His two dogs were waiting inside the fence-half-feral Blue Heeler crosses, lying silent and flat to the ground. You wouldn't have guessed they were there if you didn't know. These weren't dogs that barked if another creature violated their space. They ripped its throat out. They were extremely smart and well behaved, they obeyed Madbird absolutely, and they tolerated other people as long as they sensed his approval. I'd gotten to be pretty good pals with them, and they usually came to greet me as soon as they caught my scent or the sound of my voice. But coming in at night, particularly with someone else they didn't know, might spook them.

I held my hands to the gate, palms first, beside my thighs.

"Soup. Ajax," I said. "How you guys doing?"

Soup, female, older, and the boss, rose cautiously and came over. I kept talking while Ajax did the same. After a little sniffing, they started wagging their stumpy tails.

Then an invisible Madbird said, "Looks like you check out OK with the bouncers."

Laurie's wrist jerked in my hand like she was going to break free and run. That was understandable, too-with that voice of his, he sounded like the captain of the guard on Judgment Day. The dogs lay back down.

"I'm sorry to bust in on you, Madbird," I said. "Laurie and me, uh, kind of had to go for a ride in a hurry, and we've got to keep going. I was wondering if you could lend us a rig."

I couldn't see his eyes, but I knew he was watching her, and I was sure that she knew it, too.

He stepped into sight from the house's shadowed doorway and walked forward to meet us. She tugged at me again. He was wearing jeans and an old vest made from an elk hide. Besides the Marine tattoos on his arms, he had a wine-colored birthmark across his bare chest the size and shape of a splayed hand, as if it had been burned there by fiery fingers reaching for his heart. His hair was a black mane and his face looked like a cliff side.

It was very clear that this was the force behind those skulls.

"Come on into my house," he said.

That invitation was a huge thing, and I hoped to Christ we wouldn't end up violating it.

The dogs fell in behind Laurie as soon as we got through the gate and followed at her heels, noses busy. They were too polite to be crotch sniffers, but they had a job to do. By the time we'd walked the twenty feet to the door, she was fixed forever in their memory banks.

As we stepped inside, I caught Madbird's eye and brushed my thumb across my lips. He lifted his chin an inch.

The walls were hung with tribal masks, some Native and some from Africa, where he'd traveled after the service. The coffee table was a vintage surfboard from the 1950s, handmade of wood and fiberglass. There was a rack of rifles and shotguns, and a pistol and a couple of hunting knives hanging from pegs. But potted plants spilling greenery suggested a feminine hand, and the furniture had enough hair on it to make it clear that he wasn't as tough on the dogs as he pretended to be. My earlier rush of sweat had long since chilled away, and the heat from the big iron stove felt fine.

"We ain't ever been introduced, but I seen you before," he said to Laurie. Then he nodded toward his girlfriend, who was sitting, relaxed but attentive, on the couch. "That's Hannah."

Hannah was also Blackfeet, and a thoroughgoing piece of work. You couldn't call her pretty, but she had a trim little figure and a tough sultriness that was magnetic. She was fiercely Indian-her teal-colored sweatshirt had a logo of four braves in full war regalia, and the caption homeland security: fighting terrorists since 1492-but she worked in management for the Forest Service and she knew her way around the white man's world real well. Maybe the most impressive thing about her was that she held her own with Madbird.

I could see that she was checking out Laurie like he'd done, although probably not entirely for the same reasons.

"This is all my fault," Laurie said abruptly. She put her face in her hands and shuddered, as if the reality was just hitting her. Maybe it was. I tensed, thinking she was going to start babbling, and then we'd have no choice but to leave.

"I wasn't careful," she said, still into her hands. "My husband followed me, without me knowing. It'll be OK, but I've got to let him cool down."

I exhaled quietly in relief.

Hannah hadn't yet moved or spoken. But now she stood, went to Laurie, and touched her auburn hair, feeling its texture between her fingers. Laurie raised her face, looking pale and scared. Whatever passed between the Virginia heiress and the smoky reservation girl in the next few seconds stayed silent.

"You're going to need some things," Hannah said. She turned away and left the room.

Madbird picked up a bottle of Napoleon brandy off the surfboard coffee table, twisted the cork out, and handed it to Laurie.

"Lighten up a little," he said. "This'll make your husband appreciate you more, trust me. It's kind of like your pony ain't worth much unless another Indian tries to steal it."

A ghost of a smile crossed her face. She tipped the bottle up to her lips and drank.

I took it from her and did the same, then handed the bottle to Madbird. He swigged and started to set it down, but Laurie caught his arm.

"Can I have one more taste?" she said.

His eyes widened. "Hell, yeah, you can have all you want."

We both watched her drink, a lingering, greedy pull.

"I'm sure we lost Balcomb, but we better not stick around," I said. "He's got long arms."

"You got a place in mind?"

"I was thinking maybe where we saw those wolverines that time."

Laurie's mouth opened a little.

"Yeah, that'd be good," Madbird said. "Won't nobody find you there. Take the van, you can sleep in it." He peeled a key from his key ring and handed it to me. "Grab whatever gear you need. I'll get you some food."

He strode into the kitchen and started pulling cans from the cupboards, giving me a quizzical glance on the way. I turned Laurie toward the front door and nudged her to start walking. Then I made a quick gesture of writing on the palm of my left hand. His chin lifted again.

The van was in the big adjoining shop-garage I'd helped him build several years ago. I opened the passenger door for her, but she hesitated.

"Wolverines?" she said doubtfully.

"Laurie, anything with four legs is the least of our worries. Go on, hop in. I've got to load some stuff."

I trotted back outside and wheeled the Victor into the shop, leaning it against a wall and throwing a tarp over it-just in case the sheriffs decided to come calling on my friends. Then I started choosing camping gear from shelves and packing it into the rear of the van-a couple of down sleeping bags, a cooking kit, and the sorts of necessities you never thought about until you couldn't run down to the store for them. Every time I loaded something, I took out some of his tools to make room-including his work belt, which contained pencils and his tape measure. That had a sticker plastered onto it, a kind that was sold at building supply stores-the size of a beer can top, with a surface that worked like a blackboard. You could write down several measurements, take them to where your saw was set up and cut the materials, then wipe it clean and use it again.

I printed on it while I shifted stuff around, making sure Laurie didn't see me: Watch it. B hired pro killer. Still after us, cops too. Then I sneaked it back into its pouch and put the belt on a workbench.

As I was finishing loading the gear, Madbird walked in carrying a bulging paper grocery sack

"I took out most of your tools," I said, stepping over to the workbench and tapping my finger on the tape. "Figured you might need them."

"Yeah, you know, I try to stay out of work, but it just don't seem to happen that way."

The door opened again and Hannah came in, followed by the adoring dogs. She was carrying a nylon-shelled goose-down jacket and a lady's traveling bag, the kind that looked like an oversize purse, made of woven wool with a pair of leather handles. She gave the jacket to Laurie through the window of the van.

"It's not pretty but it'll keep you warm," Hannah said.

Laurie pressed her hand earnestly. "God, I don't care about pretty. Thanks so much."

While that was going on, Madbird stepped to the bag and parted its handles, peering inside.

"You stay out of there," Hannah said sharply, and slapped his hands. He dodged, pretending to cringe-although more than once I'd seen him come to work with a bruised cheek or raked skin, and it wasn't any man who'd done it to him.

"Hey, I'm just trying to make sure you ain't lending her something dainty that he shouldn't see." He jerked his thumb toward me.

Hannah made a scornful sort of "puh" sound. "Look who's talking about dainty," she said to Laurie. "I've never seen him once"-she gave Madbird a shove-"without dirt under his fingernails."

He drew back in mock outrage. "You ever had better dirt?"

"You think I'd tell you?" She shoved him again and handed the bag to Laurie. "You take care, hon," Hannah said. "When this is over, come on by and we'll talk about men. Maybe you know a couple."

She tossed her hair and stalked out of the room.

For the next thirty seconds or so, Madbird and I carefully didn't look at each other.

Then he leaned against the van with his forearms on Laurie's windowsill. It was like a scene out of one of those teen movies, with a dangerous cool guy from the wrong side of the tracks and a shy but fascinated rich girl.

"Now, I got to ask you something," he said to her, in a growling theatrical whisper. He nodded toward the doorway where Hannah had left-and where she was probably still standing inside, listening. "She beats me up, like you just seen. I wake up in the middle of the night, she's kneeing me in the ass, and other things I ain't gonna tell you. What you think I ought to do?"

I couldn't see Laurie's face well and I was looking at Madbird's back, but it felt like another of those moments when something silent transpired.

"I think you'd better buy her something dainty and watch her try it on," Laurie said. "If you can't take it from there, then she and I are going to have a lot to talk about."

He turned to me and nodded approvingly. "I'm thinking maybe she got some Indian blood in her."

I climbed into the van and started it. "I'll get this stuff back to you soon," I told him.

"No hurry. I got some shopping to do." He pressed a button on the wall to open the garage door. It rolled up with a metallic clanking that made me think of the iron grates that locked the hallways of Deer Lodge prison. I remembered them well from times I'd gone down there to box.

We backed out. The garage door started rolling shut again.

I just got a glimpse of Madbird stepping to the workbench and picking up the tape measure.

"I don't know exactly how to put this," Laurie said. "I didn't know there were people like that."

"There aren't many."

"Did I do OK?"

"You did great."

She had passed all the tests with straight A's. Or at least that was how it seemed.