Memorial Day: A Mick Callahan Novel (The Mick Callahan Novels) (27 page)

I kicked at the boarded-up window of the old hotel. Nothing gave. I looked over my shoulder, peering back into the gloom, and in the faint glow of the stars and a porch light I saw the man coming. He was taking it easy, swinging the crossbow and whistling, as if he had all the time in the world. A huge ball of red, white, and blue soared up into the sky behind him and then blew apart into gigantic sparklers. A crowd cheered faintly, the sound carrying from far away in Starr Valley.

I planted the better leg, kicked, and felt the shock burn the wound in my calf. The boards gave way and I stumbled inside the old hotel. Inside, I sneezed. Dust flew everywhere. I had to feel my way across the darkened lobby. Some furniture had been covered with tarps and left behind, clumped like terminally wounded patients in a battle zone. I tripped over a cardboard box and heard glass shattering. I moaned, clutched the injured calf and scrambled behind a sofa. I looked back, chest heaving and mind racing.

The large hole I'd left in the wooden barrier was now sprinkled with starlight and the rainbow traces of fireworks from the southern sky. I saw no sign of the man.

I weighed my chances. If he flanked me and moved further up towards Caldwell Street, I'd be pinned down, or turned back towards the center of town. I remembered the screwdriver and felt for it. It was still hanging from my belt. I was lucky it hadn't been driven it into my own flesh.

My eyes began to adjust. A row of abandoned, long-empty slot machines saluted silently. I used them for cover and moved as quietly as possible; duck-walked back the way I had come, closer to the makeshift entryway.
Come on fella,
I thought,
be macho
. When I reached the end of the row of slots, I was only a couple of yards from where I'd broken in. I paused, awaiting his decision. I had to sneeze again and pinched the end of my nose. My fingers stank of fresh blood.

The hunter appeared in the open space, weaving like a black hole among the stars. More colors burst high in the desert sky behind him. The man was playing it safe, standing back a few feet with the crossbow raised to his shoulder. He held it pointed at the opening in the boards. He edged closer.

I slipped the screwdriver into my hand and held it low, point forward, to drive it up into the guts. I steeled myself.

The man was still. He took his time, gauging the distance and the risks involved. He came forward boldly, right into the opening, with the crossbow upright. He moved into the lobby, momentarily blocking out all light, and then stood still. He waited for what seemed like hours before sliding away to search for me.

I let him get several yards into the room, waited for the sounds of boots crunching through the broken glass I'd left behind. I waited until there was no way the man could spin around and aim the crossbow in time. I waited until I couldn't stand the waiting any longer, and then I launched myself at the patch of starlight as though I were trying to tackle the next burst of fireworks.

"
Shit
."

And I was through the opening and out into the night, slamming down onto the cement. I gathered myself and sprinted as best I could, racing down the sidewalk past the dead or dying businesses, and there it was at the end of the block and just a little beyond: the phallic tower of the dilapidated radio station. I heard the pursuer cursing and fumbling his way back through the boards behind me, and knew I had a lead of at least fifteen or twenty yards. My leg hurt.

I darted to the left and then the right. The radio station loomed closer. Suddenly another series of white bursts lit up the night sky behind us. I was exposed, like a soldier crossing no man's land under flares. I zigged again, and then zagged back the other way. The station was only yards away. I had a bad stitch in my side and my calf muscle was cramping; it had started to stiffen the whole leg.

An arrow thumped into the dirt perhaps two feet to one side of me, right where I'd been just a second before, and I reached deep inside for one last burst of power.

I slammed up onto the porch. The door was locked. I had given Loner back the keys. A huge rocket went off in the night sky a few miles off and the echo of the faraway crowd went
oohh
and
ahhh
behind us. I used the screwdriver to smash a small hole in the huge plate glass window, dropped it. I covered my face with crossed arms and slammed my shoulder into the window. I stepped away and flattened against the wall as the huge shards of glass crumbled and fell.

The hunter was standing tall in the middle of the street surrounded by red, white, and blue fire, calmly notching another arrow; drawing a bead on me. His face was still obscured. I started back towards the door, then spun and threw myself sideways through the window, hoping to clear the glass on the lower side. I took some of the sharp fragments with me and knew I'd cut up my lower back. I slammed into Loner's big office desk and heard the old rotary telephone go flying. I narrowly missed the large fish tank, crashed into the side of the staircase and slid to my knees. I'd made a huge amount of noise. Would McDowell hear?

I sat there in the darkness, thinking, looking up at the large and consummately ugly tropical fish in the lighted tank. I was hurt. I was tired. I was running out of time. Most of the pieces had finally come together, but I only had a few seconds to plan a way out. My mind went into over-drive. And then suddenly I knew what to do.

I went charging up the stairs. I skipped the step that groaned, almost without realizing it, and just as I turned the corner I heard the hunter coming into the lobby behind me. The speaker above the door was playing some John Phillip Sousa. I opened the studio and stepped in.

There was no sign of McDowell.

"Loner? Loner, goddamn it, are you here?"

I sagged in total exhaustion. Had Loner taped all this in advance and left town? He wasn't on the air live at all.
But how
could I be so wrong
? Just then a commercial kicked in. The final piece came to me.

I limped over to the console. I lowered myself behind it and down into the engineering chair with a loud groan. One way or another, it was nearly over. There was only one way in or out; I was right, or I wasn't, there was nothing else to be done. Someone large bounded confidently up the stairs. I ran my practiced hands along the console and then looked up.

Bobby Sewell stepped into the tiny booth. He was panting and shaking his head in grudging admiration. He wore a large white bandage over his flattened nose. "Christ, Callahan," he said. "You would have been one hell of a football player. You're not real fast, but you sure got some moves."

"Bobby Sewell, it is you," I said, as mildly as possible. "Well I'll be damned. I thought that was just too obvious."

"Too obvious? The fuck you talking about?"

"Jerry thought it was you from the start. I didn't think so."

"Callahan," Sewell said with a shake of his head, "you are too fucking weird."

"Most folks around here seem to agree with you."

Sewell raised the crossbow. "You fucked up my nose, man," he said. "You owe me."

"Maybe I do at that, Bobby Sewell." The room got bright and clear. The hair on my arms and neck stood tall and my mouth went dry with fear. I swallowed. "What are you going to do?"

"I feel like being nice tonight," Sewell said. "Tell me where you want it. In the head or in the heart?"

Then Bobby stiffened. Loner McDowell stepped out of the closet behind the smaller fish tank. He held a large .357 Taurus revolver in his big paw. The gun was aimed right at Bobby Sewell's forehead.

"What the hell?"

"Easy, Bobby," Loner said. "Lower that bow and set it down there on the carpet. We wouldn't want it going off on us, now would we?"

"What are you doing, Loner? I thought you left town." Bobby did as he was told.

"I did," Loner said. "I got to thinking, and then I came back."

"Thinking about what?"

"About how my partner Manuel never showed up here in Dry Wells like we planned. See, Doc Langdon had a few beers tonight. He let slip how Bass found some stranger's body Friday night, all trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey with the fingerprints sliced off."

Bobby flinched. "Loner, listen . . ."

"I figure you did Manuel to try and run me off, Bobby. You made him strip, tied him up, and then shot him in the back of the head with this here crossbow."

The guy in the alley had a name, now. Manuel. For some reason that felt satisfying. I leaned forward and put my head in my hands. My lips were almost touching the mike. "God, I'm wiped out," I said. "Loner McDowell, if you weren't so ugly I would kiss you."

There was a blur of motion from just out of the corner of my eye. I flinched and ducked my head.

"Don't," Bobby cried.

The gunshot was deafening, and the room instantly reeked of cordite. I looked up as Bobby sank down the wall and disappeared from view. Sewell's bandaged face was a now a blotchy red, white, and gray mess.

"God damn it," Loner growled. "Why did he go make me do that?"

I fingered my ears. They wouldn't stop ringing. McDowell moved slowly, the handgun loose in his fingers. He stepped around Bobby, his back to the doorway, and picked up the crossbow with his other hand. He looked down at Sewell's body, shaking his head.

"Dumb bastard," Loner said. "You okay, Mick?"

"I guess so," I said, stupidly. "You all right?"

McDowell looked back and forth between the weapons in his large hands, from the crossbow to the pistol. "What a mess. I don't know how the hell all this got so out of control," he said.

"It's like eating peanuts." Suddenly I felt lightheaded. I leaned back and almost giggled.

"What?"

"Once you get started, it's hard to stop."

"Mick, I'm worried about you," Loner said.

"You know, I think I've pretty much figured it out."

"Figured what out?"

I sighed. "Oh, come on. Don't play me for a fool any longer."

Loner nodded solemnly. "It was beautiful while it lasted," he said. "Poor Bobby here, he and I used to party together. He was the one that first hit on me about putting up some money. Palmer just gave us a safe place to work. Pretty soon we were all raking in the green, you know? People just can't seem to get enough of drugs, Mick."

"So I've heard."

"But lately, me and Bobby been kind of at each other's throats. You know, like two big dogs in the same back yard. One of us had to go." I stared at him. "Don't look at me that way, man. I'm not proud of hustling drugs, but I owe people."

"Mob people, Loner? Like the ones who had Bobby Sewell hit your partner, Manuel, and leave him in the alley without any teeth?"

"Damn, boy," Loner said. He whistled. "You're pretty smart. Yeah, I have me some serious tabs in Vegas. I guess they wanted to send me a warning."

"That's why you're trying to run."

"I needed dough. So I put up some money to make the crystal, I set it up with Palmer, and I took a nice cut for myself. That's all there was to it, Mick."

I cleared my throat. "Don't."

"Don't what?" McDowell said, innocently. He turned his body slightly to the left without breaking eye contact.

"Listen to me, Loner. Don't do it. Kill me too. It won't save you."

"What are you talking about?" Loner said. He had a puzzled look on his face, but the crossbow was now up and pointed at my chest. "I don't mean to kill you, old buddy."

"You only made one mistake."

Loner grimaced. "And just what was that, Mick?"

"The suicide note for Will Palmer. He would never have said 'forgive me, Pop.' He always called Lowell 'Father.' I'd have thought you would have noticed that, close as you were to the two of them."

Loner sighed. "He came at me about Sandy, Mick and tried to give me a ration of shit about her dying. I didn't mean to strangle the prick. That crystal can make you crazy, once you've been up for a couple of days. Anyhow, then I had to improvise. The thing is, Will woke up just as I kicked that stool out from under him. He got to die twice, and I got to watch."

"I don't know if anybody deserves to die like that."

"Oh, he did," Loner said. "But like I said, somehow everything got a little out of control."

"Well, now with Bobby and all the Palmers dead, you'll walk away with at least two million in drug money, enough to settle your debts."

"And then some."

"Only one thing bothers me. What is it, now, Loner? Four dead people in three days? With me, it'll make five. That's quite a mess to explain. You're smarter than this, man. What the hell happened to you?"

Loner was wearing gloves. He'd thought it out pretty well. He shifted his weight so that he'd have perfect aim with the crossbow. I realized the story would be that Bobby and I had killed each other when Loner was already out of town. Why the radio station? Well, after all, I'd worked there. I had talked on the telephone with Sandy Palmer from there, only a couple of days before. It wasn't bad, actually.

"Damn it, Mick," Loner said. He looked genuinely sad. "I really don't want to hurt you. I wish you could have minded your own business. Why didn't you just leave town when I said?"

Talking fast, heart in my throat: "Because of Sandy Palmer, Loner. You know how it was. She was special."

"Oh Jesus," Loner howled. "You
too
? God damn it, boy. Not you too."

I lied desperately: "You got mad at her for being pregnant. You went way crazy. Sandy told me all about it."

"Huh?"

"You didn't want the baby, right?"

Loner laughed. "Nice try, Callahan. A little shrink stuff, even at the end. I didn't give a shit about her having a baby."