Эд Горман - Riders on the Storm

But Niven didn’t last long in my thoughts. I concentrated on Anders. The concrete driveway from his house to the road was narrow enough to play a trick on him. A trick that would rattle and piss him off enough to take me seriously. Laying the photos on him, I would at least become dangerous.

It took a while. Sunday morning is when the respectable ministers hit the radio. Their version of things is reasonable, compassionate. I rate everybody on my fantasy Snore-o-Meter. It goes from one to ten. Ten is when, in terms of radio, you not only turn it off, you spit at it. They were cruising along at about seven. I missed the weekday crew who had everything but rubbers to sell you in the name of Jesus and who wanted you to shoot your neighbors if you just happened to suspect they might be Satan disguised in a golfing outfit.

And then, thanks to my binoculars, he was walking out his door and heading to the double garage separate from the house.

Oh but wait... Who is that woman leaving his house now?

Why it’s none other than...Valerie Donovan.

So much for being careful and endangering her reputation as suffering widow.

He backed the gleaming Porsche out of the garage and then she got in.

My plan could misfire if I was late or early by even five seconds. I was in place, my foot was on the gas and I was ready. It helped that I disliked him as much as I did. I had no doubt that he’d sicced Byrnes on Gordon Niven. Damn right I was ready.

He fired down the drive three times faster than was sensible and when he saw me he started leaning on his horn. The sound perfectly captured the rage he had for some rodent who was parked horizontally across his driveway, blocking him almost entirely. The next part wasn’t pretty at all. The screech of his tires, the horn still blasting and even with the windows closed, Valerie’s screams.

For the first time I realized that he might not be able to stop. He could smash into me at a good clip and all three of us would suffer for it.

But screeching, fishtailing, still using his horn, he came to a stop about five feet from my car.

Then he was out of his car with a pistol in his hand. His face was heart-attack red and his eyes deranged.

And then I was out of my car with my dad’s forty-five in my right hand and the manila envelope in my left.

Valerie was still in the car. She was crying.

Anders and I faced off.

“You shoot me, Anders, copies of these photos get mailed by my secretary to the chief of police. He should be interested in you and Valerie having an affair.”

“For what it’s worth, I could kill you right now, you little pissant, and get away with it. You were trespassing.”

“I’m on county property, you stupid fuck.”

Valerie was out of the car. In a light blue dress, her dark hair catching the sunlight, she was more stunning than the day itself.

“Will you two dumb bastards put your guns away? Aren’t we all having enough trouble already?”

“I want to kill this little piece of shit.”

“Good for you, Lon. There’ve been plenty of times I’ve wanted to kill you but I didn’t because I’m what you might call civilized. Now give me your gun.”

“You don’t know how to handle a gun.”

“I know not to pull one on somebody.” To me, “We could’ve cut you in half with Lon’s car, you dipshit. And that’s what you are, McCain. A pure and simple dipshit. I couldn’t think of the right word yesterday. But seeing you standing there with a gun and that manila envelope the right word just came to me.”

“The guy you had Byrnes put in the hospital. Byrnes figured out he was following you but he didn’t figure out that Niven already had some photos of you. Niven sent these to me because he was scared.”

“Byrnes should’ve killed that bastard.” Anders.

“You may get your wish. Niven’s in bad shape.”

“Wait a minute,” Valerie said. She’d been standing close to Anders but now she backed away as if she’d discovered he was toxic. Which he was, of course. “You had that pig Teddy Byrnes put somebody in the hospital?”

“Oh, for shit’s sake, Valerie, don’t get into one of your sanctimonious moods as usual. I did what I needed to. He was following me around. And now I learn he got photos of us. He would’ve blackmailed us.”

“He wouldn’t have blackmailed either one of you. He’s a decent guy.” Me.

“How many times have I told you that I don’t want you hanging around Teddy Byrnes? He’s a psychopath. When he looks at me I get terrified.”

“It’s all in your head.”

“Will you say that after he rapes and kills me some night when you’re not around? And give me that damned gun.”

He sighed like a diva, then handed it over.

“You too, dipshit. Bring it here.”

She was proving my suspicion that she was a one-woman liberation movement.

I walked over and handed it to her. She went to my car and opened the door and dropped them on the front seat.

“What the hell’re you doing?” Anders snapped.

“I’m riding back with him.”

“What the hell’re you talking about?”

“You may’ve had Byrnes kill a man.”

“He isn’t dead. He’s just hurt.”

“My God, listen to yourself, Lon. ‘He’s not dead. He’s just hurt.’ And that’s supposed to make me feel better? Maybe you had him kill Steve, too.” The idea that she might have been sleeping with the man who would go on to murder her husband — hiring it or doing it himself — broke her. She put both of her hands over her face and began weeping.

I reached out to touch her arm but Anders snarled at me.

“Don’t you ever touch that woman. She’s going to be my wife.”

Her weeping became cackling. “Did you hear him?” she said to me, her mascara running slivers of black down her cheeks. “He thinks I’m going to marry him after all this?”

Then came my marching orders, albeit teary ones. “C’mon. I want you to hide me someplace where this pig can’t ever find me.”

“I don’t believe this!” Anders was walking around in circles, throwing his hands up to the sky. “He parks in front of us and damn near kills us and you’re going off with him? And he has my gun! He has my gun! This is insane! Insane!”

He was still yelling at the innocent sky when she seated herself regally in my very unregal car, the handguns in her lap.

“I can’t believe I had an affair with him. I’m not stupid, am I?”

“No, you’re hardly stupid.”

“And I’m not a whore, am I?”

“No, I don’t think you’re a whore.”

“Then what am I?”

“You’re a woman who made a mistake is all.”

“I slept with the man who may have murdered my husband. That’s one hell of a big mistake.”

“Well,” I said, “I guess I’d have to agree with you there.”

Three minutes later:

“Are you going to turn him in?”

“I can’t prove he hired Byrnes to beat up Niven.”

“I heard him admit it. And so did you.”

“I don’t know if it’s enough.”

“And he also may have killed Steve.”

“That one he didn’t admit to.”

“I think he did it.”

“I think so, too. But there’s something I need to check out before I can be sure.” Then, “No offense, but Steve could be a jerk. Beating up Will and all.”

“I hate to say that with him gone and everything.”

“But he could be a jerk.”

“Yes; I guess I’d have to go along with that. But only sometimes. Sometimes he was the most loving man I ever knew. But then he started cheating on me — and it took its toll. It’s almost as if he’d forgotten how to woo me and love me. He must’ve been thinking of his girlfriend all the time. And it broke my heart.”