C Box - In Plain Sight

Hank poured two water glasses half full. He didn’t offer ice or water. Keeley sipped and closed his eyes, letting the good bourbon burn his tongue.

“This thing you’ve got with the game warden,” Hank said again, “it’s time you dropped it.”

“I ain’t dropping it,” Keeley said, maybe a little too quickly. Hank froze with his glass halfway to his lips and stared at him.

“What do you mean, you ‘ain’t dropping it’?”

“I told you.” Keeley shrugged. “It’s personal.”

Hank didn’t change his expression, but Keeley could see the blood drain out of Hank’s cheeks. That meant he was getting angry. Which usually meant someone would start hopping around, asking what Hank needed. Fuck that, Keeley thought. Enough with Hank and his moods.

“Since you got here, you’ve been asking me questions about him,” Hank said. “You’ve been kind of subtle and clever about it, you know, not asking too much at once and not tipping yourself off to the other boys. But I observed it right out of the chute. You got me to talking about those Miller’s weasels, and what happened up there with the Sovereigns in that camp. You asked me where the game warden lived, how many kids he’s got, what his wife is like and where she works. Don’t think I haven’t noticed, Bill. You’re obsessed with the guy.”

Keeley said nothing. Hank was smarter than he thought.

“There was that Miller’s weasel stuck to Pickett’s front door,” Hank said. “Then what? The elk heads? I didn’t like that one very much. It reminded me of what those fuckin’ towelheads do over there in the Middle East, cutting off heads. Plus, I like elk. Now I hear somebody put a bullet through their picture window,” he said, his eyes on Keeley like two flat black lumps of charcoal. “I’d say that’s going too far. That’s too damned mean, considering there are children in the house. Made that family move, is what I hear.

“So my question is,” Hank said, leaning forward, “just what in the hell is wrong with you? Why do you hate Joe Pickett so much? I know if I hadn’t found you and stopped you that night outside the Stockman you would’ve beat him to death.”

“There ain’t nothing wrong with me,” Keeley said, resenting the implication. Feeling the rage start to surge in his chest and belly.

Joe Pickett was all he had left, Keeley thought. After five years in prison they raided his hunting camp and tried to find the bodies of that Atlanta couple, after Keeley was forced to run away. The only thing he still had of value was his hatred, and that was still white hot.

Damn, he hated to be judged by any man.

Then he realized what Hank was leading up to. He was going to fire him. That wouldn’t do. Not yet.

“People think I’m a hater,” Hank said, refilling his glass. “But I’m not. I’m just not. Not like you. I don’t even hate Arlen. He hates me, and my defense just looks to some like hate. No one has ever been as mean, as low, as my brother Arlen. There’s a hole where his feelings should be. I’ve always known that, because I saw it up close and personal when we were little boys. He puts up a damned good front, damned good. Hell, I admire him for it, the way he can prance around and shake hands and act like he gives a shit about people. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t care for anyone but Arlen. Arlen is his favorite subject, and his only subject. He hates me because I know him for what he truly is. Did I ever tell you about the time he cut the hamstring tendons on my dog? When I was six years old and he was ten? He denied it, but it was him. Damn, I loved that dog, and I had to shoot it.”

Keeley was speechless. He had never heard Hank talk so much before. Why was the man opening up this way? Didn’t Hank realize who he was talking to? That Keeley was much more like Arlen than Hank? That instead of invoking sympathy or a bond or a mutual understanding, Keeley listened simply so he could look for an opening where he could strike?

Hank wasn’t so smart after all, Keeley thought.

“Mother knew, but she wouldn’t admit it,” Hank said. “She didn’t want to think her oldest boy was a fucking sociopath-although that’s exactly what he is. She didn’t want the town to know, or anybody to know. That’s why she stayed down there at the ranch house, so she could keep an eye on him. And that’s why I think he got rid of her.”

Keeley poured himself more bourbon. This was getting rich.

“That’s why Mother had that will drawn up with Meade Davis giving me the ranch if something happened to her,” Hank said. “She told me about it but kept it a secret from Arlen. But then he broke into the law office and found out what the will really said.”

Hank looked up, and his eyes flashed with betrayal. “I shoulda’ fucking known that a lawyer like Meade Davis would change his story if he was offered enough money. That’s what Arlen did, that son-of-a-bitch. He got to Davis and either threatened him or sweetened the pot. Or both. Now Davis claims the ranch was supposed to go to Arlen after all.

“I can’t keep up with the guy. All I can do is fortify my bunker,” Hank said morosely, gesturing around his own house.

“He even convinced my daughter I was a bad man,” he said, his eyes getting suddenly misty. “That may be the worst thing he’s ever done.”

“At least you have a daughter,” Keeley said flatly.

Hank didn’t follow.

“I had a daughter once,” Keeley said. “Her name was April. My brother thought she was his, but she wasn’t. She was mine. April was the result of a little fling I had with my sister-in-law, Jeannie Keeley. My brother, Ote, never knew a damned thing about it.”

Hank’s face went slack. “Keeley…” he said. “The Picketts had a foster daughter named Keeley.”

“That’s right.”

“Ote Keeley was your brother? Jeannie was your sister-in-law? Jeannie, who died in that fire with April?”

“That’s right,” Keeley said, his teeth clenched.

“Jesus,” Hank said.

“Joe Pickett was responsible for the death of my brother, my sister-in-law, and my daughter,” Keeley hissed. “And he don’t even know why I’m here. I’m an avenging angel, here to take out the man who destroyed my family.”

Hank sat back. “Joe didn’t kill anyone,” he said. “You’re full of shit, Bill.”

Keeley felt his face get hot. “He was in the middle of everything. He was responsible.”

Hank shook his head. “I’ve been here a long time, Bill. I know this country, and I know what happened. Joe Pickett tried to save your daughter, if that’s who she was. He didn’t…”

“My name ain’t Bill.”

That stopped Hank.

“My real name is John Wayne Keeley.”

Hank stopped and swallowed. Keeley liked the look of confusion on Hank’s face.

“You know,” Keeley said, standing up and pacing, “when I first heard about what happened to April I was in prison. I went along for a year or so, not really thinking about it. Things that happen on the outside don’t seem real. Then one day I looked up and I realized I had no family. Nobody. No one was still alive to connect me to anyone else. My folks were dead, my brother, my sister-in-law, now my little daughter. I tried to forget all that when I started a guide service. But this fucking arrogant asshole client from Atlanta was there with his wife. They treated me like dirt, especially him. So I fucked her just to piss him off, and he walked in on us, and…”

Hank’s eyes were wide.

“You remember Wacey Hedeman?” Keeley asked, still pacing, although he now circled the table.

Hank nodded, following Keeley’s movement with his eyes.

“That was me.”

Keeley left out the cowboy. He would never tell anyone about it. That was his secret, like a sexual fantasy, the way that cowboy had tumbled off his horse after the shot.