“Disable their truck how?”
“We’re going to have to ram it, like in a demolition derby.”
“Tom, we’ll just bounce off the side of that truck in this thing.”
Tom started the Nash forward. “Mildred’s Chrysler is big enough. We’ll see who’s in the cabin. Hang on!” The Suburban had retreated into thicker fog. Tom drove ahead blowing the tinny but distinctive Nash horn to identify himself, but nothing moved at the cabin. He used up more precious brake fluid to stop the Nash next to the Chrysler. The keys were in the big car’s ignition and he grabbed them. Hallelujah. “Wait here while I look for the others,” he told Wyatt. The cabin was empty.
When he came out, Wyatt sat in the driver’s seat of the Nash. It was just as well. Tom didn’t need him in the Chrysler to ram Tony and he could get hurt. Wyatt asked, “Beth?”
“No Beth. Nobody’s in there. They must be outside and on foot. We’ve got to get out of here in case I’m wrong about the Sartorellis not having guns.”
The boy detective started the Nash and sped away, crashing an opening in the fence. Tom followed him through and saw the Suburban racing straight for the cabin. Tony was willing to run over people or buildings in his rage. Tom prepared to play crash test dummy.
****
The concussive sound inside the Suburban had been deafening as the big truck crumbled the north wall of the cabin. Miraculously, Harold, belted tightly into the right rear seat with his hands tied behind his back, was unhurt. The cabin lights stayed on after the vehicular attack, and he was looking through a cracked windshield at a plaid sofa and the stuffed head of an eight-point buck. They had penetrated the building by a foot or two but no one was crushed lifeless under the wheels.
As Tony backed away from the damaged wall, Marv leaned across the front seat to his ear and griped, “You made a frigging tape recording of everything we did? The deals and the hits and everything?”
“Yes I did. I made it so when I’m gone they can make a movie about me like the one with the Jewish kid and Marlon Brando. It’s for my posterity.”
“You got your brain up your fat posterity. I can’t believe you did this. It’s frigging self-recrimination.”
“I can’t believe Harvey ran out on us. I can’t believe you let him. I can’t believe that she-devil Dani got hold of my tape. I’m going to run over her thick skull. Brace yourself. We’re going back in.”
Tony reached to shift back into “drive,” but Marv seized his wrist. “I’m not going to let you kill me. You let me out first, you hear?”
“I’d like to get out too, please,” begged Harold.
“Shut up,” shouted Tony and Marv.
Tony snarled, “You get out of this truck and you’re fired, Marvin.”
“You can’t fire me, Anthony. I’m your brother.”
“Pa is dead. I can do what I want. I can have that fink-out Harvey or you whacked, like Michael Corleone’s weakling brother in the movie. What was his name?”
“Freddie,” offered Harold, still hoping to ingratiate himself.
“You could hit a gas line or something if you drive into there again,” warned Marv.
“You could be the biggest sissy in America.”
Harold looked back to the cabin, which was defined in the fog only by the light through its windows, hoping it had fallen down completely of its own volition thus sparing him another trip through its walls. But, save for a single Chevy truck-sized hole, it looked unchanged. Then he saw a moving object. It was smaller than a vehicle—no, it was a tiny vehicle, emerging from the gloom between them and the cabin. Its headlights were off so it was not his hoped-for police car. What was it, then?
He was suddenly jolted toward the door of the truck by a new force of collision. An ear-splitting reverberation filled the air. “What the hell?” Tony yelled.
Harold looked behind him and saw the little Nash convertible had been rammed into their vehicle near the right rear wheel. A dark form, too thin to be Hawk, clambered painfully out. It had to be Wyatt.
Marv told Tony, “Someone ran a golf cart into us. He just jumped out if it.”
“Shoot him!”
“I got no gun. You shoot him.”
“I couldn’t bring no gun on an airplane, idiot. Damn hijacking Cubans. It was Castro killed Kennedy and Marilyn Monroe, you know.”
The slender form disappeared into the fog. Harold suggested, “You boys should just drive away from here before all this racket brings the cops.”
Tony turned around, livid. Harold expected his cousin to spit in his face, but Tony passed on that and threatened, “One more word from you and we’ll slit your throat, you worthless two-bit bean counter.” Then to his brother, “Marvin, get out and see if my rear tire is all right where that thing hit us.”
“Why do I have to get out?”
“Because I’m in charge. A minute ago you couldn’t wait to get out. Go!”
Marv’s door wouldn’t open. “Tony, he jammed my door shut. You got to let me out your side.”
“Oh, for the love of…” Tony took the car keys, opened the driver’s door, stepped down and waited for his brother to wriggle across the seat and climb down. He was back in the driver’s seat before Marv had taken three steps. As soon as Marv was behind the truck, Tony locked his door and started the engine. “Goodbye, Marv, you candy-ass. And say goodbye to your cabin too,” he yelled.
“Oh no!” Harold screamed.
“Oh, yeah, we’re going back in even if it
does
kill us. Now maybe you’re sorry you ran out on me in 1958,” Tony screamed, slamming the gearshift lever into drive.
Harold would have covered his face, but his hands were tied behind him. He shut his eyes tight and didn’t open them until a thunderous noise and the tearing of metal hurt his eardrums. Something big had plowed into the left side of the Suburban. He saw Tony fighting the steering wheel as they careened past the cabin, missing it by mere feet.
****
Angling for the right attack position himself, Tom had seen Wyatt crash the Nash into the side of Marv’s vehicle, and
thought
he’d seen him climb out of the miniature car and run away. The kid might lack common sense, but he had balls after all. The big truck had disappeared into the fog. But soon he heard a door slam, and he saw it coming out of the mists. He had to run Mildred’s Chrysler into it before it could run anyone down.
He drove straight at their headlights as they approached. The Chrysler was a heavy car, but it was no match head-on for the monster SUV. In his second prayer in the space of a few minutes he asked not to come out of this a cripple; dead if necessary, but not quadriplegic.
There was an ear-shattering noise and the Suburban veered violently to the right. Tom braked instinctively, forgetting his planned collision. The truck passed him close enough that he could see Tony’s profile at the wheel before it again disappeared into the darkness. He could also see the sheet metal was badly crumpled on the left side, not the right side Wyatt had attacked earlier. What had hit them now?
The answer was dead ahead of him. There sat the ruin of Dani’s Monte Carlo. It no longer had the longest hood in the industry. The front had collapsed more to the length of a Volkswagen. The left front wheel was in the wheelhouse, but no longer connected to the axle. Tom braked to a halt. He watched Dani push open her driver’s door and emerge clutching her portable tape player and Mildred’s shotgun. She raced to his car, tore open the front passenger door, and jumped in. The barrel of the shotgun was bent from the collision.
“Go! Geez, Tom, this car isn’t even damaged. I thought from the sound I heard a bit ago you had smashed into those bozos.”
“No. Wyatt beat me to it in the Nash. I think he got away on foot.”
“Holy smokes. Way to go, detective kid. When I saw them, they were still mobile. I took a turn at ramming them. The Monte Carlo is in Tony’s name anyway.” She indicated the useless shot gun. “Sorry about that gun. Where’s Beth?”
“I don’t know. No one was in the cabin a few minutes ago, but now—I just don’t know. You can’t see anything out here until you’re right on top of it. Let’s see if we can find her without bringing Tony charging down on us.” Lights out, Tom turned around and inched the car toward the cabin with windows down, listening for Beth’s voice or for Tony’s truck. He whispered, “Why didn’t you come back to the airport, Dani?”
“Sorry Tom. That hairy beast came to right after I dumped him at the farm.”
“So you had to knock him out again to get away?”
“I had to do something like that. I’ll explain later.”
How did she know the oversize redhead was so hairy? Oh, he got it.
****
“What the hell was that?” Tony wanted to know.
Harold answered, “Another car ran into us, on your side this time. It’s like the Santa Monica freeway in rush hour. We gotta give this up before we’re killed.”
Tony rattled something furiously. “My door won’t open. Now neither front door will open.”
“See, we’re disabled.”
“I’ll disable you.” Tony restarted the truck and crawled forward a few feet. “I can still drive it.”
“You shouldn’t. There’s too much body damage.”
“It’s nothing to what I’m going to do to Dani’s body.”
“Tony, if there was anyone in that cabin, they’re gone now. If you untie me, I can help get your door open so you can get out.”
“And if I cut your throat, I can climb over your worthless, traitorous, number-crunching body and leave by the back door. Shut up and let me think.”
Harold resisted the urge to tell his cousin that thinking had never been his long suit. He still held a grudge about them parting company long ago. Why did people get so mad at their accountants and stockbrokers, for heaven’s sake? At least Tony seemed not to be planning an immediate assault on the cabin.
****
After not finding Tom or Dani, Beth left the empty cabin and headed back toward Mildred’s Chrysler. Just then Tony had driven his truck into the cabin wall and the noise and dust had been incredible. She should have gotten back in Mildred’s car but, blinded with fear, she’d run away through the fog. She’d heard traces of voices and two car crashes, but it was impossible to know who was doing what to whom. Dani was
somewhere
, taunting Tony with high-volume playback of some confession or something that he had made. Where was Tom?
It was dark. Not as dark as a minute ago, though. She could make out the moon above the trees higher up and further from the lake. She could sort of make out the tree line too. Maybe from up there she could see some of what was going on. She trudged uphill, tripping occasionally over rocks or bushes, making the tender ankle worse each time until she could hardly walk. Lucky, really, that there weren’t more bushes here. Except the big one just ahead, it was as big as a car. Whoa. It was a car. It was her wagon. She crouched down, motionless to study this anomaly. Why wasn’t it parked at the cabin where she and Gary had left it, what, maybe a hundred years ago?
Her fog-encased musings stopped when a large creature fell upon her, flattening her to the ground and once again twisting that abused ankle. She screamed in pain and fear and at once heard the echo of her scream, except pitched an octave lower. She turned her head to see the animal and pummel it with her fists to keep it from devouring her.
“Wyatt?”
His voice came as barely more than a gasp. “Beth, thank God I found you. Are you all right?”
“Yeah, I guess. You don’t sound so good.”
“It’s my gut. Oh God but it hurts. I’m going to die.”
“From falling over me?”
“No, from the ribs I cracked on the steering wheel running the Nash into Tony’s truck. Falling over you didn’t help. Are any ribs, uh, you know, sticking out?” He handed her a tiny, weak flashlight.
She examined his chest. “No. Nothing shows, let me…”
“No, don’t touch me. Don’t move any bones.”
“Sorry.” She was using the same hoarse whisper as he was now. She didn’t know why.
“It’s okay, just so I found you.”
“How
did
you find me?”
“After I rammed Tony’s truck, I went to the cabin. No one was there. As I came out someone rammed
Dani’s
car into Tony. Even with this crummy flashlight, I could see the scuff marks in the dirt where you kind of dragged that foot with the bad ankle. I tracked you to here.”
“I’m glad you did. Do you know where Tom is?”
“Oh, him, he’s in your aunt’s car. He’s going to ram Tony too, if he can find him in the fog. But Marv is alive and he’s with Tony.”
“Marv didn’t drown?”
“Nope, Tom said he met Tony at the airport. We don’t think they have guns, but I’ve got to get you out of here regardless.”
“No you will not. I’m not leaving Tom, or Dani, for that matter.”
“What can we do? We can hardly walk.”
“We don’t have to walk far. My car is twenty feet up the hill. My right ankle is better, so I can drive if Dani left the keys in it. Let’s see if we can stand up.”
They clung to each other as they hobbled to the station wagon. Beth’s keys were in the ignition. Both of them winced as they got in and buckled up. Beth was reaching for the key to start the wagon when she felt the gun barrel press into the nape of her neck. The voice from the back seat was the same one that had screamed curses at her and Tom as they fled the sinking houseboat—Marv Sartorelli.
“Thank you for leaving the keys in the ignition, sweetheart.”
“Her name is
Beth
and my name is Wyatt.” Beth marveled at the sudden toughness in Wyatt’s voice.
“Your name is whatever I want it to be, Slim. And I really thank her for leaving this gun under her driver’s seat.”
“How about showing your gratitude by taking the car and the gun and leaving us here?” Beth proposed hopefully.
“That was my first thought. Unfortunately, I’m afraid my nutcase brother names me in that tape Dani is playing. Now that I’ve got a gun I’m going to take possession.”
Beth was going to lie that she had heard the tape and Marv was not mentioned when Dani’s voice came over the recorder/player machine louder than before. “Hey Tony, I’ve been listening to the part where you talk about your brother, Marvin. At least you got that part right, he
is
the stupidest screw-up on the whole West Coast.”