Linwood Barclay - Lone Wolf

“You carry the detonator in here, and take it out when you need it. That way, even if you dropped this case, or smashed it up against a wall, the red button can’t go down.”

“Whew,” said Dougie, grinning. “That’s a relief.”

“You’re sure you can handle all this?”

“Oh yeah, no problem.”

“Because, and I have to be honest with you here, Dougie, I’d normally do this myself, or trust it to Wendell, but your mother thinks it’s time you were given more responsibility. And she wants you to take on something big, like this.”

“I know. It’s for my self-esteem. I think it’s already starting to feel bigger.”

“That’s really terrific,” Timmy said.

Lawrence was watching Dougie and Timmy, and I knew he was doing mental calculations. Distance and time. Time and distance.

“We gonna put it in there now?” Dougie asked, pointing to the detonator and the foam-filled box on the workbench.

“Soon enough,” Timmy said. “Soon enough.”

“I’m back!”

It was Wendell’s voice, but it wasn’t Wendell who made the first entrance. Bob Spooner stepped in, wearing a pair of boxers, a jacket, and a pair of work-boots without socks. Betty and Hank hadn’t been given any time to get dressed either. She was in a long blue flannel nightgown and slippers, and Hank was in blue pajamas and bare feet. Wendell came in last, the shotgun leveled at their backs.

“Oh man,” Lawrence whispered.

“Over this way, folks!” Timmy said, greeting them with a wave of the hand and directing them to the stall. “Welcome!” He unlatched the gate and swung it wide enough to admit the new prisoners. Hank’s face was wild with fear. Betty looked scared, too, but at the same time there was a calmness about her. And Bob looked dazed, as if this were all some sort of dream, that he’d wake up a few hours later and none of this would have happened.

I hardly knew what to say to them as Timmy closed the gate.

“Things are starting to come together,” he said.

“So,” said Wendell. “I got ’em. Good, huh?”

“Yeah. You done good.”

He reached into his pocket, pulled out several sets of car keys. “And I got everybody’s keys, in case anyone thought of trying to get away, they wouldn’t get very far. And I even yanked out the phone line in the first cabin. It was the only cabin with one, I checked.”

Timmy nodded happily. “Wendell, that was good thinking. Really good thinking. I hadn’t thought of that.”

Wendell blushed. “It was no big deal.”

“I’d have thought of that,” Dougie said. “If you’d told me.”

Timmy, his back to Dougie, looked at Wendell and rolled his eyes. He pulled Wendell to one side, close enough to the gate that I could hear their discussion.

“I’m a little worried about Dougie,” Timmy said. “You think he can do this?”

“I guess,” Wendell said.

“I was thinking, what might make sense would be, you drive into town a little later after Dougie goes, stick with him till the sun comes up, in case he gets nervous or anything, and then after he blows up the van, you can give him a lift back out here.”

“Yeah, I can do that. But it might make Mom mad. She wants him to do this alone.”

“Okay, fine. I’ve also got another little problem.”

“What’s that?”

Timmy’s voice got even quieter. “I’m gonna need a place to put all these bodies.”

“How many?”

Timmy took a few steps back, his face appearing around the corner of the stall. He was counting us. Then he disappeared from view. He whispered to Wendell, “At least six.” He paused. “Maybe a couple more. I don’t know. I gotta sort that out later.”

“Gee, where we gonna do that? I don’t have to dig a hole, do I? I mean, if it was just a couple, that would be okay, but that many? That’ll take forever.”

I knew something about the frustrations associated with getting your kids to do chores, but this was a bit beyond my realm of experience.

“Any other ideas?” Timmy asked.

“What if I put them in the lake? Like, we put their bodies in a boat and sink the boat?”

“I don’t know. Won’t they just float back up?”

“What if it’s a boat with a deck, and we stuff them under the deck?”

“Any boats like that down at Walker’s place?”

“I don’t know. I never looked.”

“Why don’t you go check it out. See if any other ideas present themselves to you.”

“Okay.”

“Oh, and wish Dougie good luck. He might be gone before you get back.”

Wendell went over to his brother, patted him on the back, said, “Good luck, man. I’ll see you later, okay?”

Dougie gave him a thumbs-up, and then Wendell slipped away.

“Did you hear any of that?” Bob Spooner whispered to me.

“All of it,” I said.

“They’re talking about how to get rid of our bodies!”

“Shhh!” I said. “I know. I know.”

“Dougie!” Timmy said. “I’m getting a bit tired, watching our guests all the time. And you’re going to be heading off soon, so I wonder if you could do me a favor before you go.”

“Yeah, Timmy?”

“Why don’t you get the dogs and bring them over?”

“Sure thing,” Dougie said. As if things weren’t already bad enough, we were about to get Gristle and Bone as babysitters.

“Do you believe in luck?” Lawrence whispered.

“Why?” I said.

“Because we sure could use some now.”

Timmy picked up a shotgun and kept it trained on all of us, the barrel aimed through the boards of the gate, while Dougie left to get the pups.

There were six of us. And one of him.

Lawrence shot me a look. I had a pretty good idea what he was thinking. This might be our only chance alone with Timmy. Our last chance to do anything before the others came back. Before the dogs arrived.

We knew now, as if there had ever been any doubt, what the dogs were capable of.

Lawrence stood at the back of the pen. From there, if he took a run at the gate, given the kind of shape he was in, he could put his hands on top of it, pitch his legs up to one side, and vault over in one smooth motion. But Timmy would see him coming, no matter how quickly, and be able to get off a shot.

What if two of us tried it, at the same time? Well, the stall was only about six feet across, and if two of us tried to vault over the gate at the same time, we might present a more complicated target for Timmy, but we’d also get our legs tangled together at the same time.

Okay, what if-

“You cocksucking bastard!” Hank Wrigley charged the gate, hooking his bare foot on the bottom board, trying to get his other leg over. But Hank was no Lawrence. He was probably my father’s age, and there was no way he was going to leap over that gate in a hurry.

“Hank!” Betty screamed. “ Hank !”

It was almost leisurely, the way Timmy tipped his shotgun up, pumped it, and pulled the trigger. The blast was deafening.

Hank came flying off the gate toward us, and Lawrence tried to break his fall. Hank fell into his arms, and once he had him, Lawrence laid him down on the floor, gently. His left pajama sleeve was torn and bloody.

“My God, Hank!” Betty said, dropping to her knees to see how badly he was hurt. “You stupid son of a bitch!”

I thought she might have thrown her arms around him, but Betty, even as shocked as she had to be, was all business. It hadn’t been that long since she’d retired from nursing, and I was guessing she hadn’t forgotten a thing. She started tearing away his sleeve.

“Ohhhh,” Hank said. “Ohhhh.”

I looked at Timmy, who shrugged. “What’s he been smokin’?” he said.