The Best American Mystery Stories 1999

Victor Gischler Hitting Rufus from Lynx Eye

So I had a tidy sum in the Swiss account, and I figured one more job — any more jobs — and I’d really be pushing my luck, you know? Sooner or later the reflexes get slow, and the marks start shooting back. Who needed that shit? I’m good at what I do, but I didn’t get no particular jollies out of it. I can spend the rest of my days sipping umbrella drinks in French Polynesia, and with the payoff I got from popping the little Arab at Disney, I can do it in style. It was easy. I got him with the high-powered scope and a Ruger .223 as he was coming down the big waterfall on Splash Mountain. You should see his souvenir photo.

But Stan, my broker, called and he asked as a favor to a friend of a friend of somebody who owes somebody else, would I go down to Mississippi and pop this moonshiner and as a matter of fact it’s sorta like a charity case because the job only pays $14,762.

“Jesus, Stan. I never worked so cheap.”

“I know, Charlie. I know,” said Stan, and I could almost hear him shrugging his apology in his cheap tweed.

“What? $14,762? Are they taking taxes out for this now? What the hell kind of amount is that?”

“Well, it’s kind of a funny deal,” said Stan in a way I knew it wouldn’t be. “It seems this moonshiner is kind of the boss of the town down there.”

“Yeah?”

“Well, nobody likes him. He has a strong-arm on all the booze business. I don’t know all the details, but the town pitched in to get him out of the way.”

“Fourteen grand. Some town.”

“I know, Charlie. I know,” Stan whined. “But look. I owe a favor. I botched that business in Detroit last week, so I gotta make good. It’s like you’d be doing it for me.”

“Detroit. I heard about that. Who did you send?”

“I’m embarrassed to say.”

“Was it Blade Sanchez, the knife man?”

Stan was silent for a while. “So sue me. I’m a softy. He needed the work.”

“That’s poor judgment, buddy.”

“Be a pal. I’m in a fix here,” Stan said.

“Okay. For you, I’ll do it. Book the flight.”

I took a big plane to a little plane to a bus to a truck full of chickens which let me off at some one-horse shithole called Grossburg, Mississippi. The town consisted of gray, wooden buildings which defied encroaching swamp and leaned in conspiratorially over the only paved road. I was conspicuous as hell since I was wearing a black double-breasted Brooks Brothers suit instead of denim overalls. Also, I didn’t have a yellow-brown dribble of chewing tobacco running down my chin. Grossburg and its inhabitants looked like things not visually pleasing enough to be included in Deliverance.

I walked into a shack with a sign that read STORE. A toothless oldster sat hunched on a barrel behind an antique cash register. He spotted me and said, “Yassir?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know exactly who I’m looking for. Who’s in charge around here?”

“Of the store?”

I set my suitcase down and spread my arms. “Of this entire thriving metropolis.”

“You’re from up North, ain’tcha?”

“Yeah.”

“You the one they call Charlie the Hook?”

I nodded slowly. “Uh-huh.”

“We got a room for you upstairs.” He jerked his thumb toward the back of the store and a bleak, dubiously constructed set of wooden stairs.

“Why?”

“You here to kill Rufus Lamonte, ain’tcha?”

“Is he the moonshiner you all pitched in to have rubbed out?”

“Yep.”

“He’s as good as dead.”

“Okay by me,” said the oldster. “That’s a hundred thirty-three dollars of my VA check I was gonna use to put a new alternator in the Chevy. But we ain’t got no motels nearabouts, and you can’t kill old Rufus ’til tomorrow, so we got you a room upstairs.”

“Let’s say I was to have a nice lunch, see all of the tourist attractions in Grossburg, and then there was still daylight left. Is there any reason I couldn’t kill old Rufus today?”

“He ain’t here. Went down to Hattiesburg for the cock fights, and he won’t be back ’til tomorrow. You know, I could tell you was from up North straightaway when you walked in. I can always tell.”

“I see. Is the mayor or somebody here? Maybe I’d better talk to him.”

“He’s out of town.”

“Where?”

“Hattiesburg.”

“Cock fights?”

“Yep.”

“I’ll be upstairs.”

I was coming out of the shower, drying my hair, when I saw the little flash of movement near the door. I latched onto her arm, twisted hard forcing her facedown onto the bed. She squealed in surprise and pain, and I put the snub-nose .38 against her temple and thumbed back the hammer.

“Okay. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” The words tumbled out of her quickly between winces of pain.

I said, “Who and why? And don’t lie.”

“I’m Annie Sue Lamonte. I heard Floyd tell Little Bill that the Yankee hired killer was here and in his room over the store, and I wanted to see if he was as handsome as everyone was saying.”

I twisted harder.

“Ow! Quit it. Dammit, that hurts.”

“I know what I look like,” I said. “Look at me and tell me what I look like really.” I twisted once more for emphasis.

“You have black hair and a receding hairline. You’re a little jowly cheeked and I think you don’t get enough sleep because you’ve got dark circles under your eyes. Also, maybe your nose has been broken a time or two. The eyes ain’t so bad. Kinda gray.”

“The truth shall set you free.” I let go of her arm but kept the revolver trained on her.

“You know, for a naked man, you was able to come out with a pistol pretty quick. How’d you do that?”

I grabbed my pants from the back of a wooden chair and slipped them on. “Professional secret.” I took a quick survey of Annie Sue Lamonte. She was a tan and pleasingly ample package crammed ambitiously and with some element of guile into denim cut-offs and a hot pink halter top. Her shoulder-length hair was vaguely blondish thanks to a bad, bad dye job. “I suppose you’re some relation to Rufus Lamonte.”

She raised herself to her knees and looked at me seriously. “Yes. He is in fact my stepdaddy, and that’s what I came to talk to you about.”

I stuck the revolver in my pocket and pulled a clean shirt out of my suitcase. “Go ahead.”

“He knows you’re here and why, and he’s not coming into town tomorrow,” she told me. “He’s sending two of his boys, Clem and Joey, with shotguns to take care of you.”

“How’d he find out about me?”

Her eyes grew big. “Why just simply the whole town knows you’re here. You’re the biggest thing to happen here since, well, forever.”

I sat in the chair and pulled on my socks. “If you’re Lamonte’s stepdaughter, why are you telling me this?”

She straightened her back properly. “I have dreams and aspirations,” she said formally. “I do not want to forever remain in this itty-bitty, good-for-nothing town.”

“So leave.”

She slumped heavily into the pillows. “I can’t. I just can’t. Daddy Rufus thinks that just because we ain’t blood kin he can, well, take certain liberties, so he wants to keep me around.”

I cleared my throat. “Well. Miss Lamonte, that’s — hmmm — just frankly godawful, and I’m sorry that I had to hear that.”

“But you see why I had to warn you,” said Annie Sue. “You’ve got to live so you can kill Daddy Rufus absolutely dead, and I can get out of this place.”

“Uh-huh. Just for the record, what do Clem and Joey look like?”

“Oh, you’ll know ’em, all right,” said Annie Sue. “They’ll be the ones with the shotguns.”

I tend to prowl. It’s my nature, and when night falls, I like to have a little walk, just a little look around. But it’s hard to prowl in a place like Grossburg, and what started as a prowl ended up as a parade. I was casually strolling down the sidewalk, and the townsfolk, eager to see the “Yankee hired killer,” filed in behind me. A little, round tub of a man broke off from the crowd and approached me tentatively.

“Charlie the Hook?” he ran his hand nervously down the leg of his trousers before offering it to me. “I’m Mayor Cromwell. I heard you was asking about me?”

“Yeah. Listen, first of all I’m not exactly thrilled that everyone and his hog knows I’m in town to hit Rufus Lamonte. Usually, people in my line of work like to keep a low profile.”

“Oh, sure, sure. I can imagine. I really can. When I heard you was coming I was just tickled pink, you know? On account of I’d like to see Rufus just as dead as can be, but by the time I heard, it was already all over town. I didn’t spread the word. Honest. Word sort of spread itself.”

“I don’t care how many people you told personally, Cromwell. When you hire someone like me, it’s your responsibility to keep it discreet.”

“Hell, sure, I agree, but you got me all wrong, Mr. Hook,” said Cromwell. “I mean, I am the elected mayor and all, but I don’t make those kinds of decisions. Everyone knows who holds the real political power in Grossburg.”

“And who’s that?”

Cromwell pointed to one of the sagging gray buildings that housed a restaurant called Charlene’s. “The women’s circle. You’ll find them in there at one of the tables in the back.”

I nodded toward the restaurant. “In there?”

“Sure enough. It’s quilting night.”

“We are so very obliged you could make it on such short notice all the way down to Grossburg, Mississippi, Charlie. We are. We certainly are,” said Charlene. Four old, old, old women sat in a circle at the very back of the restaurant. A heavy patchwork quilt covered their laps, and they sewed steadily as they conversed. Mayor Cromwell had introduced them as Charlene, Dorothea, Naomi, and May before bowing politely and leaving me with Grossburg’s power brokers.

“Well, it’s a favor for a friend,” I explained vaguely.

“It certainly is a favor for us,” said Charlene. “It certainly is.”

All four women were equally shrunken, white-haired, and wrinkled. Naomi distinguished herself by being drunk. “Lester, dammit, git your black ass in here right now,” she yelled into the back. A young black boy scrambled in with a jug and filled the Mason jar next to Naomi with white lightning. “What did I tell you about keeping that glass full, boy. Hell, you think I’m here for the quilting?”

“Sorry, Miss Naomi.”

“All right. Now git.”

Lester scurried away.

“We’re so rude,” said Charlene. “Can we offer you some refreshment?”

“Would you happen to have any Chivas?”

“What do you think?”

“Never mind.”

“I’m curious, Charlie,” said Dorothea. “How do you plan to undo old Rufus?”

“Yes, do tell us,” broke in May. “Will you use something exotic and clever like a blow gun with poison darts?”

“No. I imagine I’ll just pump some lead into his heart.”

“I suppose simple is better,” said May.

“Usually, I’d use a snub-nose,” I explained. “It’s small and becomes part of your fist.” I took it out of the belt holster and showed them. “The trick is not to aim a gun like this. You get in close like you’re going to punch him in the chest, then bing bang, you squeeze off two quick ones in the heart.”

“My, that does sound simple,” said May.

“Just as long as he’s dead.” Naomi took a generous swig from her Mason jar.

“Don’t you get blood on you?” asked May.

“Sure.”

“What’s the trick?”

“Not minding that you get blood on you.”

“I see.

From under the quilt, Dorothea produced a paper bag and handed it to Charlene.

“This is for you, Charlie.” She handed the bag to me. “$14,762. I’m sorry it couldn’t be more.”

“That’s okay,” I said. “To tell the truth, I’m sort of enjoying myself. I never rubbed nobody out with the approval of a whole community before.” I didn’t bother telling her that I usually spent more than that on bullets in a year. “Just one thing. Why do you want Rufus out of the way so badly?”

“As you may have seen,” began Charlene, “we ain’t exactly strong on commerce and industry here in Grossburg.”

“I noticed.”

“Anyway, this town depends on what we make brewing our own corn liquor.”

“Don’t forget the marijuana,” said May. “We’re the biggest producers of grass in five counties.”

“Exactly,” said Charlene. “And Rufus comes in and takes over, monopolizing resources and manpower, and, well, this just ain’t a big enough territory for two operations of any size. Naturally, we were so used to having things our way, we didn’t know how to defend ourselves.”

“He caught us with our panties down,” clarified Naomi.

“He’s troublesome,” said May.

“He’s a Goddamned son of a bitch is what he is,” said Naomi. “He kicked my dog.”

“Do kill him for us, won’t you?” asked Charlene.

“I’ll do my best.”

I’d been sleeping for about an hour when Annie Sue entered my room quietly and slipped in next to me under the covers.

“Charlie,” she whispered, “I’ve got to tell you about — hey! That’s cold. What is that you’re sticking in my ribs?”

I said, “You know what that is.”

“Now I suppose you’re going to shoot Annie Sue after what she’s come to tell you?”

“So speak.”

“Well, you just must have Daddy Rufus all worried to pieces because he’s sending all four boys of his in the morning, not just Clem and Joey like I told you before. Also, I think one of his cousins is over from Plant City and he carries an automatic pistol and drives a car!”

“And you needed to be naked to tell me this?”

“I thought it would be less conspicuous.”

“How old are you, Annie Sue?”

“I know you think I’m just a child, but I’m not. I’m nearly nineteen.”

“Go home, Annie Sue.”

“Don’t you like girls, Charlie?”

“I like them just fine, but I need my sleep. I’ve got a lot of killing to do in the morning.”

“Okay, but just remember. You had your chance.”

I awoke with the dawn. This wasn’t habit, but a chorus of roosters made sure the whole town was up. I splashed water in my face and dressed. I made sure the snub-nose was tucked tightly into the belt holster, and I opened my suitcase and fished out my extra guns, twin Smith and Wesson .357 magnums with six-inch barrels. Big, beautiful revolvers. I really should have had a pair of automatics for a job like this, but I was partial to the simple elegance of a spinning chamber. Maybe it’s the cowboy in me. Anyway, I made up for the revolvers with a little 9mm Uzi. I slapped in a full clip, cocked one into the chamber, and thumbed off the safety. I shrugged into my shoulder holsters with the revolvers and put on my jacket.

Downstairs, I found the toothless oldster crouched behind a stack of flour bags. “Which way will they be coming from?”

He pointed out the window. “The Lamonte place is that way, so I reckon they’ll be coming from the north.”

“That’s south.”

“Right. South. That’s what I meant.”

I stepped onto the front porch of the store and settled myself into one of the weather-beaten rocking chairs. It was a nice day, actually. I liked the climate here, although I’m sure it had nothing on French Polynesia. Even the people seemed nice, if just a little backward. All in all it had been an interesting experience.

I didn’t have to wait long. The pickup truck came from the south end of town at top speed in typical yahoo fashion. It was an old Ford with two rednecks in the front and two more standing in the bed waving shotguns and hollering. I kept the Uzi low until they got close. When one of the good old boys in the back tried to level his shotgun at me, I swung the Uzi around at the broad part of the truck and emptied a clip. The submachine gun sputtered fire and bucked in my hands, puncturing the side of the pickup with metallic tinks. I caught one of the front tires and it blew, sending the pickup skidding into the post office and lurching to a halt with the crack of bent metal and the clinkle of broken headlights. The driver leaned dead against the steering wheel.

The other three boys leapt out and dove for cover on the other side of the truck. They popped up and let loose with a couple of shells from the shotguns that splintered the wood of the rocking chair, but I was already ducking back into the store.

“How’s it going?” asked the oldster.

“So far, so good.”

I dropped the machine gun and drew the magnums. The shotguns thundered and the store’s front window exploded with buckshot, spraying glass over the interior of the store and the oldster behind the flour bags.

“You got insurance?”

“State Farm.”

“Good for you.”

I gave the boys a second to get curious, then rose and fired four quick shots from the revolvers. I got one in the shoulder and he dropped his shotgun. I got another in the face just below the left eye and he spun away in a shower of blood. I ducked back again, avoiding a rain of buckshot.

“Back door?”

The oldster pointed. “Through there.”

I hot-footed it out the back and came around the side of the building. The last uninjured redneck was dragging his brother out of harm’s way. I squeezed off two shots into each of them, and they fell dead. I walked over to the truck with a smoking revolver in each hand, my eyes darting from building to building looking for my next target. I surveyed my destruction, but none of the corpses looked like Rufus himself. I heard a car door slam just ahead of the gunshot that split the morning and sprayed my own blood all over my shoulder and jacket. Shit. The cousin with the car and the automatic. I spun quickly and sent him for cover with three shots. I hauled ass into Charlene’s and ducked below the big picture window.

“He got you, huh?”

I looked into the face of the kid that Naomi had called Lester. “Yeah. Just a little.” I’d caught a nice .45-caliber slug in the upper, fleshy part of my arm. It was a ragged, bloody mess. “You got a towel or something?”

He brought me a hand towel, and I wrapped it around the wound the best I could. I was a little dizzy, and I had a good sweat going.

“You probably been shot before, right?” asked Lester. “This ain’t probably nothin’ to you.”

“Who am I, Wile E. Coyote? I’m bleeding, for Christ’s sake.” I let the pistols clatter out of my hands onto the tile floor and drew a handful of shells out of my jacket pocket. “Can you reload those?” I nodded at the revolvers.

He took my guns and counted the bullets. “There’s only six of ’em.”

“Put three in each, and see what he’s doing.”

Lester peeked out the window. “He’s lookin’ over here.”

“Okay. Give me the guns.” I checked them, then cocked each one.

Lester stuck his head up and looked out the big window. Three loud shots shattered the glass and sent Lester spinning back with a bloody gash in his head.

“Son of a bitch.” I stood and emptied both guns into the cousin with the car. The bullets danced up his chest to his throat, sprouting a little trail of red blossoms. He convulsed and fell in a heap of dead flesh.

I checked Lester. He was dead. After waiting another half hour, I gave up on seeing Rufus.

I pulled the snub-nose as I entered my room over the store. The door was ajar, so I could tell someone had been there. On the bed was a folded piece of sky-blue stationery. I unfolded it, and in Annie Sue’s unsteady scrawl I read:

This was all, of course, my own fault, but it didn’t mean I wasn’t going to give Stan a swift kick in the ass before I went to French Polynesia.