Free Fire

32

The flamers were being lit one by one, the whole line of them, columns of angry fire reaching as high as six feet into the snowy night sky, melting the falling snow with sharp sizzles that sounded like zzzt, warming the air around Sunburst Hot Springs so much that Bob Olig felt comfortable taking off his parka and tossing it aside.

Clay McCann leaned back against the trunk of a lodgepole pine, noting how the flames played on Olig, made him look biggerand meaner than he really was, making him look like some kind of biblical avenger. The handcuffs bit into the flesh of Mc-Cann’s wrists.

“Just take them off for a minute,” McCann said. “Please? I need to scratch my ear where that maniac tore it off. It really hurts and I need to scratch it.”

“Gee,” Olig said, roaming around looking for more flamers to light, “I really feel for you.”

The stolen snow coach was parked in the trees at the edge of the firelight. McCann could see a reflection of flame in one of the side windows. The pain in his chest had steeled into a steady throb and he was just now able to speak. He recalled how he’d tried to shout as Olig attacked him earlier and hustled him out the front door of the Old Faithful Inn, but the impact of the bulletshad kicked not only the breath out of him but also his abilityto talk.

Finally, Olig walked over to where McCann was sitting.

“I’ve been thinking of you for a long time.”

McCann sighed. “Why weren’t you there that day?”

“Rick and I had a disagreement. I decided to pass on the reunionthis year. I wish I was there.”

McCann smiled malevolently. “I wish you were there too.”

Olig said, “I wondered for months what it could possibly feel like to kill someone. It’s beyond my understanding how someone like you could be so cruel. Someone supposedly with education, like you.”

McCann thought about it for a moment. “It isn’t as hard as you think. It was a means to an end. Nothing personal, like I said earlier.”

Olig seemed to be studying him, his mouth curling with revulsion.

“That makes it worse,” he said.

“Maybe it does,” McCann conceded.

“Get up.”

McCann felt a trill of pain in his groin, and he squirmed. “I’m sure we can work something out if you’ll let me try.”

“Nope,” Olig said. “No deals. Especially with a lawyer who killed my friends.”

“But you’ll be a murderer,” McCann said. “You’ll be as bad as me.”

Olig smiled. “I’ll never be as bad as you.”

“I’m not moving.”

Olig reached out and grabbed McCann’s good ear, asking, “Do we have to go through this again?”

McCann felt the flames on his face as he was pulled toward the hot springs. He thought about running, thought about fighting,thought about trying to negotiate.

The surface of the water smoked with roils of steam, looked oddly inviting. He thought of Sheila, hoped he’d see her again wherever he was going, hoped she wasn’t too angry with him.

He felt a massive, two-handed shove on his back and he was flying forward. The water was so hot it seemed cold.

It was quick.