Neil McMahon - Lone Creek

"I've got a real hard time believing you're going to straighten anything up, Kirk," I said. "But go ahead, give it a try."

"This stays just between us, right? Balcomb's got me by the nuts." Kirk shoved his hands into his pockets and stared down at the ground. "I got this little problem. I've been getting into some meth. He found out about it, and now he's holding it over me."

I almost smiled. Madbird was going to love hearing that the shitweasel had been bitten by his own fangs.

"Your secret's safe with me, Kirk," I said. His meth use was about as secret as Clark Kent's other identity.

"I saw you talking to Laurie this afternoon," he said. "Balcomb likes to keep tabs on her, so I follow her around sometimes without her knowing."

I'd already guessed that he was the one who'd spotted me at the dump. But I couldn't see how Laurie figured into this.

"We just passed on the road for a minute or two," I said. "I never met her before and I'm sure I never will again."

His lips peeled back in a grin that, along with his greasy sweat and twitching eyes, was almost a leer.

"She reminds you of somebody, don't she?" he said. "My ma, first time she saw Laurie, thought she was Celia."

So-I wasn't the only one, although the validation was undercut somewhat by Beatrice Pettyjohn's dementia.

"Well, what about her?" I said.

"This ain't about her. That's how come I saw you going to the dump."

Anticipation prickled my skin.

"Yeah?" I said, trying to sound impatient. "I've been there a hundred times."

"There was something in it nobody was supposed to see."

"You're going to have to tell me what, Kirk. The place looked the same as ever to me. Come on, quit fucking around. It's cold out here."

He glanced around and lowered his voice conspiratorially, like he was acting in that movie that played in his head.

"Balcomb-night before last, he made me bury a couple horses in there," he said.

Bingo.

"Horses?" I said, shocked. "Two of them?"

Kirk nodded emphatically. "He called me up after midnight and told me to get my ass over to the ranch. He never done that before, and when I got there, he was like I never seen him. He can be a scary son of a bitch anyway. Most of the time it's covered over, but when his temper goes off, it's like a hand grenade."

I realized that my gaze was wandering uneasily around the brushy ridges and gullies. Everything was dark and still except for the lake's faintly glimmering surface, rippling in a slow hypnotic rhythm.

"How do two horses die at the same time?" I said.

"He said they were being shipped someplace and he was doing somebody a favor, keeping them overnight-they were supposed to get picked up in the morning. He didn't want them mixing in with the ranch stock, so he put them out in that old shed at the north fence. But a bear or cat must have got in and killed them."

I laid on the skepticism heavily. "Broke into that shed and killed them both?"

"I thought it sounded pretty weird, but I wasn't about to argue, especially the way he was acting. He didn't want anybody knowing-it'd give the place a bad name. I had to hide them, right now, before daylight. And he didn't come right out and say it, but I got the real strong feeling he'd kill me if I breathed a word about it."

Never mind that Kirk was breathing those words right now. And this wasn't part of any apology-he was working his way around to something else.

"I fired up that old D-8 to go get them," he said. "Then when I saw them, I just about shit. It wasn't any critter that got in there. Somebody'd took a shotgun to them."

I stared at him. "That's crazy, Kirk. Are you sure?"

"I know what gunshots look like," he said haughtily.

"You think it was Balcomb?"

"I sure can't believe he went out there at midnight to check on them and just found them that way."

"What in hell would make a man do something like that?"

I imagined that his eyes turned more slippery, if that was possible.

"I don't know and I don't want to," he said.

"Come on, you must have some notion. You know that ranch like your backyard, and you spend all your time snooping around."

He shrugged uneasily. "Sheer meanness, maybe."

It didn't escape me that he hadn't mentioned them being mutilated. There had to be a reason for that, too-maybe that he was more deeply involved than he wanted to admit. I decided to come back around to it.

"So you went ahead and took them to the dump?" I said.

"Yeah. Covered them up and got the hell out of there. I was creeped, I don't mind telling you. I tried not to think about it any more, but then I saw you heading that way and I started getting nervous about how I'd buried them fast and didn't have nothing but a flashlight, and what if I hadn't done too good a job? So I went for a look, and sure as shit, there was a goddamned leg sticking up."

I shook my head. "I never paid any attention, Kirk. I guess I was too busy with my own trash."

"Well, I got worried that maybe you had, and by then you'd took off. So I called Balcomb and told him we better find out."

"And you came up with that bullshit about the lumber."

"I never guessed he'd send you to jail."

"Just brand me a petty crook and fire me?"

"I had to cover my ass, Hugh. If word had got out about them horses because I screwed up, Balcomb would have skinned me alive. He was red-hot pissed as it was."

He flinched as I reached for him, but I only patted him on the shoulder.

"Always glad to do a favor for an old pal," I said. "That's quite a story, Kirk. But I don't get how it's supposed to do me any good."

That earnest look came back to his face.

"I'm thinking you and me could team up, see? Tell Balcomb that now we got something on him, and get him off both our backs."

So that was where he'd been going with this. I'd underestimated him. This wasn't just weaseling-it was gainful weaseling.

"Sorry to be a hard-ass, Kirk, but it sounds like you're more interested in helping yourself than me."

"Hugh, I swear to God, the way I got this idea was trying to figure out how I could get right with you. But I got to admit, I don't want to take him on alone. And he's spooked by you. That's why he came down on you so hard."

I was almost amused. "Balcomb, spooked by me? I don't pack any weight."

"That's just it. You pack a kind he ain't used to. He can't figure out how to get his boot on your neck, and he can't stand that."

I supposed I should have been flattered, but it mainly added to my unease.

I tried to make sense of the way the pieces on the board had shifted again. Now I had someone to back up my story, and the chances of getting the sheriffs in action were a thousand percent better. Of course that wasn't what Kirk had in mind-he'd be looking at a meth pop, but that was his problem. My own dilemma was that if Balcomb stuck to our agreement, I didn't need to get him off my back anymore; and if I angered him again, the risks I'd worried about were still in play.

Although the thought of nailing him officially was tasty.

I decided not to decide just then. I'd been running too much stuff around in my head, and I was wearing out. But finding out where those carcasses had ended up would be damned good insurance, and I saw a way to push Kirk in that direction without being too obvious.

"He got his boot on my neck pretty good today," I said. "Well, I'm interested in your idea. But you're going to have to show me those horses."

His eyes got slippery again. "I can't do that."

"Why not? I know he threw me off the place, but we could sneak on."

"He made me go move them again today, soon as it got dark. I hid them good this time."

I hardened my voice a notch. "Then we're going to have to dig them up again. I'm not getting into it with Balcomb unless I know I'm standing on something solid."