Don Bruns - Stuff Dreams Are Made Of

He slowly raised his head and looked at the damage. Not more than three feet from me, he grimaced and whispered. “Not to worry. Thomas LeRoy will buy him a brand new tire.”

The next shot sounded louder than the others and I wondered whether the shooter had moved closer to us.

Then everything was quiet. I could smell the acrid odor of gun smoke and realized we were probably way too close to the action.

No one came out of the trailer. No one set foot out of the car.

“Should we see if anyone is inside? Someone may be hurt.” Em’s voice barely rose above a whisper.

We didn’t go. We waited for somebody else to make the next move.

James raised his head, staring at the Caddy. He whispered. “Damn. It’s a waste of a fine car.”

We waited what seemed like minutes. I could feel my heart racing, thankful that we’d stopped in time. Another ten or fifteen steps and we would have been in the path of the bullets.

Light no longer streamed from the Cadillac. It appeared that one of the shots had taken out whatever light source there had been. Finally we saw movement in the office doorway and a large silhouette appeared, highlighted from the back by a faint yellow light. I couldn’t tell for sure, but it appeared to be Cashdollar. I wanted to crawl under the tent and hide, but it was impossible. Whoever it was turned his head and scanned the surroundings. How he didn’t see us is still a mystery. Apparently he had only one focus. The limousine.

“Are you sure we have to do this?” The big voice. It was Preston Cashdollar.

“We’ve talked about this. I think it will help the situation.” The voice from inside the trailer sounded like Thomas LeRoy. I wondered where the bodyguards were. Especially when someone was shooting up Cashdollar’s car.

The big man walked down the wooden steps, apparently not afraid of another barrage of gunshots. A burly man in what seemed to be a gray suit stepped from the shadows beside the trailer. In the dim, early morning light, it appeared to be one of the bodyguards we’d seen yesterday.

“Are you ready, Reverend?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” Cashdollar stood by the door of the Cadillac. “Don’t mess this up.”

“No, sir.”

“Laying flat on the ground, my head slightly raised, I watched in horror as the man raised a pistol, aimed it at Cashdollar and pulled the trigger. From only fifteen feet away he couldn’t miss. Cashdollar grunted, staggered, and fell to the ground. I heard Em gasp. I lay there in shock, trying to figure out how we were ever going to explain this to the authorities.

With my head just slightly raised, I couldn’t tear my eyes from the scene. Thomas LeRoy stepped from the trailer as the light from the office trailer highlighted his frame.

“Give me the gun, Walter.”

The shooter handed the gun to LeRoy. I could see the deacon more clearly as he walked down the steps. He had on a jacket, maybe a tie. Formal attire for early in the morning. As he took the gun, I noticed he wore gloves.

“Two more steps, Walter, and we should be done. Go see how he’s doing.”

The bodyguard, Walter, walked over to Cashdollar, on his back on the ground. He leaned down, touched Cashdollar’s face. “You all right, rev?”

Thomas LeRoy, division head of financial affairs, walked up to Walter, raised his arm and pulled the trigger on the pistol. I watched the gun jerk in his hand as the bullet hit the bodyguard in the side of his head and he went down like a ton of bricks. In the dim light I could see blood and brains spattered against the limo door. I thought I was going to be sick on the spot.

W e were almost burrowed into the ground. I don’t believe I will ever grab onto anything as tightly as I grabbed the earth beneath me. Terra firma. It was the only thing giving me any protection, and there wasn’t much of that. All LeRoy had to do was turn around and I don’t know how he could have missed us. Thank God, he didn’t. I don’t think I heard a breath from the two people next to me. Not one.

I didn’t even look up. I heard LeRoy’s voice, soft and low. “Cash, where did he hit you?”

Then the deep resonance of Cashdollar’s voice. “Upper thigh. Didn’t hurt that much.”

“I’ll get you up into the trailer, then I’ll take care of the rest. Can you walk?”

There was grunting, and the rustling of clothes. Twice I heard someone cry out, then the sound of footsteps on the wooden entranceway, and finally the door to the trailer closing.

We waited, none of us saying a word. I could feel the wet grass pressing against my face, soaking through my T-shirt and jeans. The cut on my head throbbed, and with every breath the still morning air and the heavy humidity were thick in my throat. Then I heard the sound of the door opening and LeRoy walking back down the wooden steps. It had to be LeRoy. I doubted if Cashdollar was walking on his own. If the deacon walked toward us, if he took two steps in our direction — he didn’t. The footsteps went in the other direction. Toward the far end of the tent, the slap of his shoe leather growing fainter and fainter. Then there was no sound at all. And suddenly, as if they hadn’t been there before, I heard morning birds, calls and answers, the crickets that had been strangely silent, and the sound of running water inside the trailer.

I slowly raised my head. The trailer door was closed, but I couldn’t see a padlock. I assumed that Cashdollar was still inside.

“Let’s get the hell out of here.” James was up on one knee.

Em lifted her head and the two of us gently stood up. The red sky cast a rust-colored light on the grisly scene in front of us. Sprawled on the ground, next to the Cadillac, was the body of the burly bodyguard. The side of his head was covered in blood, the thick red substance spattered on the side of the limo. One of his legs was bent at a strange angle and his eyes were wide open in total surprise as he stared at the sky.

Beside me, Em grabbed my hand with her free one and shuddered. The pistol clutched in her hand, we turned and walked as fast as we could toward the end of the tent and back to our truck, all three of us strangely silent. My headache and the sharp pain in my forehead were totally forgotten.

As we rounded the tent, we made a dash for the truck.

“What just happened? Somebody please tell me.” She was shaking.

I shook my head, trying to put the events back in sequence and see if any of it made sense.

“The big guy tried to kill Cashdollar.” James spoke for the first time. “The bodyguard must have put five or six rounds into that car. If the reverend had been in the Caddy, he’d be dead.

I nodded. “But he wasn’t.”

“And apparently he’s going to be all right.”

“I can’t believe we saw it. And LeRoy, shooting the bodyguard. My God.” Em looked back at the tent, now an orange color as the early presunrise light highlighted the yellow canvas. Behind that temporary temple, that massive church made of stiff, heavy cloth, was a dead man and a wounded religious icon.

“We’ve got to be careful who we tell this to.” James opened the back of the truck and the sliding metal door rattled and shook as the small steel wheels rolled the door up. The sound seemed to bounce down the row of trailers and trucks.

“It was almost staged. I mean, the way it all played out. Like somebody scripted it. Am I the only one who saw it that way?” Em watched the two of us, waiting for a response.

“Whoa. What about Crayer?” I glanced at the donut trailer.

“Oh Jesus.” Em looked into my eyes and I could see this was all catching up to her. “Skip, we should go. Now. Let’s leave the truck, and the three of us get out of here.”