Spilled Blood

31

Kirk Watson deposited Lenny at the Indian monument half an hour before the scheduled drop.

The eastern horizon was pink. A cardinal sang from the bare trees and flew past Lenny in a flash of red. He hiked up the cracked gravel road from the highway with binoculars slung around his neck. The road led to a park on the shallow hillside, dominated by an obelisk of rough gray stone. Huge trees dotted the open lawn surrounding the monument. Once, when he was really bored, he’d read the historical marker. The monument honored a pioneer victory in a long-ago frontier war, when Dakota Indians surrendered to a Minnesota colonel and released hundreds of farmers they’d held captive. If Lenny had been an Indian, he would have warned them: They’ll kill you anyway, guys.

He sat down on a park bench to watch the highway traffic going in and out of Barron. Two sets of headlights stared from the predawn gloom in the east. The bass growl of the engine told him the first vehicle was a semi. He raised his binoculars and focused, watching the truck draw closer. As it roared past the entrance road to the monument, he could make out its distinguishing characteristics. The trailer was white, mostly unmarked, with numbers painted on the side like a code. Kirk had told him once that a lot of the unmarked trucks were military, carrying secret payloads. The truck headed west, doing at least seventy, and he wondered what was inside.

Behind the truck, the other set of headlights didn’t move. A vehicle was parked on the shoulder a mile away. Lenny couldn’t identify the car, and he couldn’t remember whether it had been waiting there as he hiked from the highway. He wondered whether someone could have followed them. The headlights watched him like unblinking eyes, and as two or three minutes passed, his fears grew. He was getting ready to warn his brother when the headlights winked out, and he saw the red flicker of tail lights as the car reversed direction. It disappeared, turning south on one of the long farm driveways. He breathed easier.

His phone rang. It was Kirk.

‘You’ve got a semi heading west,’ Lenny said. ‘Nothing funky.’

‘Soon as you see our guy, you call me, right?’

‘Right.’

‘Then you tell me when you spot him heading east again. I want to make sure he’s not playing games with us.’

‘I know, I know. Don’t worry.’

‘You see anything that smells like a cop, you call me.’

Lenny thought about the car parked on the highway, but it was long gone. ‘Got it.’

‘Keep your eyes open, Leno, and don’t fucking fall asleep.’

‘I won’t.’

He hung up. It annoyed him that Kirk didn’t trust him, no matter how many times they had done drops in different parts of the state. He knew what he was doing. Even so, Kirk was right. When you assumed you were safe, when you stopped looking for a trap, that was when the steel jaws clamped shut.

Fifteen minutes passed slowly as he sat on the bench with his chin cradled in his hands and the binoculars swinging below his neck. Traffic in the early morning was light. He didn’t spot many cars in either direction. The cardinal kept him company, flitting between the lower branches of the trees. In the long gaps when the highway was deserted, he stared at the obelisk, which reminded him of the arrowheads you could dig up in the fields around here. Every now and then, he heard noises in the trees behind him, and he looked around nervously, as if the Indians were massing for an attack.

He was alone.

Five minutes before seven o’clock, he spotted the mark. He knew the vehicle; he’d tracked it before. The customer was right on time, like always.

He punched the speed-dial button for his brother’s phone.

‘Yeah?’

‘He’s coming.’

Lenny hung up. He had nothing to do but wait. It would take five minutes for the customer to get to the drop zone. He’d check his mirrors, make sure he was alone, and pull onto the shoulder. He’d open his driver’s door and toss the bag over the hood into the north-side fields. It would be over in seconds; he wouldn’t stay any longer than necessary. He wouldn’t wait to see who showed up, because curiosity could kill you. No, he’d do a U-turn and head back, probably going even faster, because he’d want to pretend like the drop had never happened.

It would be ten minutes before the truck passed the monument again, heading back toward Barron. Lenny needed to know the mark was gone before Kirk went for the cash. They’d never had a customer go rogue, but it could happen. They’d never had the police run a sting, but it could happen.

Lenny kept his eyes on the highway. Three minutes passed with no traffic. There was no sign that the car was being tracked by the cops. Everything was going smoothly.

He dialed Kirk again. ‘Nobody on his tail.’

‘Keep watching.’

Lenny slapped the phone shut. He lifted his binoculars and zoomed in on the empty road.

In the next instant, he was airborne.

Two hands grabbed him under his shoulder blades and yanked him bodily off the bench. He flew backward, seeing the crowns of trees over his head. He fell hard in the wet grass. Someone landed on his chest, punching the air from his lungs, and he wheezed, unable to catch a breath. He blinked in terror, recognizing Johan Magnus on top of him. He struggled, but the strong football player kept him pinned like a squashed bug. Johan grabbed the leather strap of the binoculars and tightened it. Lenny choked and clawed to get free, but he couldn’t squeeze his fingers between the strap and the skin of his neck.

‘Was it Kirk?’ Johan hissed into his ear.

Lenny twitched. His legs jerked like jumping beans. He tried to beg, but he couldn’t make a sound. His eyes went blind, and he heard a roaring like a train.

Johan loosened the strap. Lenny spit and gasped as air rushed back into his lungs, but when he tried to get up, Johan piled a fist into Lenny’s jaw. His head snapped into the mud. Johan twisted the strap, and Lenny felt the blindness again, the roaring, the blackness sinking like a shroud over his brain.

The strap came free, and he inhaled in a rush. Tears streamed from his eyes, and he squeaked out a plea. ‘Stop.’

‘Was it Kirk?’

Lenny shook his head, crying, gasping, saying nothing.

‘Was it Kirk? Did he do this to Olivia?’

‘Please. Please.’

Johan slapped him. Lenny felt the impact like stinging wasps.

‘I swear I will choke you again,’ Johan told him.

‘No, don’t, don’t.’

Johan bunched Lenny’s shirt in his fists and yanked his torso off the ground. He shook him like a doll. ‘Did Kirk do this to Olivia? Was it him?’

Lenny’s head bobbed. ‘Yes.’

‘Were you there, too?’

‘I called – I called for help. Please.’

Johan dragged Lenny to his feet. The older boy towered over him, and his face was red with fury. Lenny cowered, expecting another blow. Instead, Johan grabbed Lenny’s arm and belt and threw him across the bench. Lenny tumbled over it and crashed down on his knee in the dirt, where he lay terrified, not moving. Angry footsteps sloshed through the wet grass as Johan stormed away. Lenny pushed himself over onto his stomach. His neck burned where the leather strap had chewed into his skin. Shivers of pain knifed up and down his spine. He bit down, and his teeth didn’t align. He pushed his tongue around his mouth and tasted blood. He collapsed onto his chest, crying.

On the bench, he heard his phone ringing, but he didn’t answer it. He couldn’t get up. He couldn’t face Kirk.

He didn’t see the SUV passing the monument on the eastbound route toward Barron.

A minute later, he didn’t see the truck turn around and speed back toward the drop.

The phone rang and rang. Leno didn’t answer. Kirk hung up and dialed, hung up and dialed, hung up and dialed. Nothing. His brother had gone silent.

‘Pick up, you worthless fucker!’ he screamed in his closed-up truck. ‘Answer the goddamn phone, Leno!’

His blood vessels pulsed. He climbed out and delivered a ferocious kick to the front tire with his boot. Breathing hard, he sank back against the hood and drummed his fist against his chin. He could see the splash of bright red in the field. The backpack. The money. He told himself there was nothing to worry about. The customer had made the drop and run away with his tail between his legs. This one was just like all the others. No cops. No traps.

Even so, if Leno didn’t answer, that meant there was a problem. The safe thing to do was get out of there, but if he left, someone else would stumble onto the backpack and steal his money. He wasn’t going to let that happen. No way.

Kirk eyed the highway. He saw no cars, and the world was flat enough here that he had at least a minute of safety before anyone else could reach the drop. If he moved now, he could grab the backpack and be gone. He wouldn’t head back toward Barron. He’d use the dirt roads and leave Leno at the monument with the dead Indians. Fuck him.

He got into the pick-up and drove fast. He kept his eyes on the highway. At the intersection, he spun the truck around, pointed back toward the dirt road heading north. He got out, leaving the door open, and jogged through the rutted field. He left boot prints; he didn’t care. The backpack was thirty yards from the highway shoulder. He reached it and grabbed it and tore open the zipper, confirming the wads of cash inside. Throwing the strap over his shoulder, he ran for his truck.

He heard the roaring engine of the SUV before he saw it. He was still in the field when the truck rocketed past the drop site.

It was him.

The bastard had turned around. He’d come back to find him.

The truck was going so fast that the man’s face was a blur, but it was enough for them to see each other. Their eyes met, from the speeding vehicle to the field. Kirk recognized him, and he recognized Kirk. The game between them was over. The engine on the highway gunned as the bastard accelerated. The SUV would be gone in seconds.

Kirk couldn’t waste time. He had to get out of here.

He retraced his steps to his pick-up and shot north. He made random checkerboard turns, keeping his eyes on his mirror. No one followed him. He glanced at the backpack and wondered if there was a tracking device inside. Was that it? Maybe it didn’t matter where he went or how fast he drove; maybe they were behind him, watching him like a blip on a screen. He pulled onto the shoulder and dumped the contents of the backpack onto the seat and sifted through the money. He saw no obvious electronic devices, but he knew that meant nothing. The feds were clever.

He waited in the middle of nowhere. The roads shot like arrows in every direction. The fields were empty. When ten minutes passed, and he was still alone, he decided that the sirens weren’t coming. Whatever the trap was, it hadn’t closed around his neck yet.

So what was it all about?

Maybe his prey simply wanted to know who’d been taunting him and put a face to the childish voice on the phone. If so, he’d succeeded. He’d stripped away the mask, and they were both at risk now, both exposed. They could each destroy the other’s life, but only by giving up their own.

Kirk’s mouth curled into a sour frown. He didn’t like not knowing.

What happens now, Daddy?