Victor Gischler - Gun Monkeys

I went in.

It was.

The little trailer tavern was close and hot and heavy with a layer of tobacco smoke.

They had an itty-bitty pool table jammed up under where there should have been a dining room table. A jukebox played a country song I didn’t know. A bar. The patrons looked like guys you’d imagine drinking beer in a single-wide. I went to the bathroom. It was the first barroom bathroom I’d ever been in that actually had a bath.

I wanted to give Tina and her partners some time to settle down. They’d be all wound up now, waiting for the phone to ring, and that would make it hard for me to spy on them. I grabbed a barstool and ordered coffee.

The bartender was skinny and greasy, a pack of cigarettes rolled up in his T-shirt. “This ain’t Denny’s. It’s a drinking establishment.”

“A beer then.”

“Draft or bottle.”

“Draft. Light.”

He nodded and returned a moment later with a foamy mug.

I popped a pill, chased it with the beer.

On the jukebox, George Jones let everyone know that he stopped loving her today. I ordered another beer and made myself take this one slow. I didn’t know the next two songs, and I’d had enough of the Top of the Mountain Tavern. I paid for the beers and went outside.

The truck had a half-inch layer of snow on it. It was still coming down. I was freezing.

Back inside I asked the bartender if he sold half-pint flasks of Chivas.

“We got Jim Beam.”

“I’ll take it.”

I sat in the cab of the truck and twisted the top off the Jim Beam. It burned its way down my throat, spread to my arms, all through my chest. I cranked up the truck. Turned on the heat.

I drove back to the kidnapper’s house and parked the truck at the bottom of the hill. Even with the headlights out, they couldn’t fail to spot me coming up the driveway. I parked a quarter mile away and started up the slope at a slow march. There was a good blanket of snow underfoot now, and it crunched clean and hard with each step. The moon filtered through the sparse evergreens, cast everything in an otherworldly glow. I buttoned the pea coat, took another hit of the Jim Beam, headed for the smear of light at the top of the hill.

Near the end ofmy hike, my cheeks were frozen. The slight wind made my eyes tear. My hands were relatively warm in the pea coat’s pockets, but my injured ear burned in the freezing temperature. I tilted the flat bottle of Jim Beam up to my lips. The glass was cold, but the warm liquid did its work.

I stopped short of the circle of light cast off by the floods around the house. There were four vehicles parked in front. Two sedans, one with Florida plates. The red Camaro parked next to a white Jeep Cherokee. Lights still blazed in most of the windows. They must’ve thought they lived too far up the hill to bother with curtains.

I sneaked around back, clinging to the darkness. There was a toolshed. I crouched behind it and surveyed the house from the rear. Construction on a wooden deck, which wrapped around the house, had been brought to a halt. Maybe they were waiting for better weather. The snow wasn’t falling any heavier, but it wasn’t letting up either.

I light-footed it closer, peeked inside a window.

Two men sat in plush chairs. Looked like a den. One was the short fat one who’d helped knock down the door to my motel room. The other was new. Tennessee Volunteers T-shirt, jeans, house slippers. He had a thick beard and little dark eyes, a dull expression. Basketball game on the television. Beer bottles on the coffee table. I watched a minute. A woman came in, dirty blond, big hips. She talked. The men nodded. She left.

The three original guys plus the new guy and the woman. That was five. So far.

I moved down the length of the house. I watched the kitchen a moment, but it was empty. The dirty blond came in a moment later, started doing something in the fridge. I circled to the side of the house and found a bedroom. It looked pretty neat; the bed was made. I watched a minute, but nobody entered. The living room window. Nobody there.

I started back around the side but heard the front door slam, then a car door. Ignition. Somebody driving away. I looked around the corner of the house and spotted taillights descending the driveway. I looked to see which car was missing from the lineup. The sedan with Florida plates.

I jogged back to the toolshed. I was taking another tug at the Jim Beam when I heard the squealing hinges, looked up to see the back door of the house swinging open. I jumped into the toolshed and pulled the door almost shut, leaving just enough open to watch.

It was the two guys who’d been watching the basketball game. They walked toward the toolshed, buttoning coats. I held my breath, but they stopped half way, turned to face each other. The bearded guy pulled out a pack of cigarettes, offered one to the other.

“It is- no shit- fucking freezing out here.”

They talked low but not at a whisper.

“Tom don’t let nobody smoke in the house,” said Shorty.

Good for Tom.

“Where did Tina go?” Bearded Guy stomped his feet, hunched his shoulders against the cold. Little flakes of snow dotted their heads and shoulders.

“With Big Dave up to Tina’s lake cabin. They took the girl.”

“What for?”

“She talked it over with Dave. They thought the girl should be away from here what with that fellow around and all.”

“What the hell do they know?”

Shorty shrugged. “She’s trained for this stuff, not me.”

“This is screwed up.” He took quick, nervous puffs on the cigarette. “Nobody said nothing about no kidnapping. We was just supposed to steal some books.”

“It was a good plan.”

“Well, it’s screwed up now.”

“It’s still a good plan. Or would you rather go back to third shift at the factory?”

“I’m just saying it’s all screwed up. Nothing like this ever goes right.”

“How the hell would you know?”

“Anyone can see it’s screwed up.” Puff, puff.

“Stop so much worrying, will you? Let Tina worry about it.”

“Tina.” He said her name like it was a false idol.

“Come on,” said Shorty. “I’m freezing my fucking balls off.”

They flicked their butts into the snow. I watched them trudge back, go in the house.

I sighed, took a swig of the Jim Beam. If I’d acted immediately I might have caught them before they moved Amber. I still needed to get into the house to find out where this lake cabin was.

And for Danny. Yeah. For Danny, the bloody hand of justice had arrived. In spite of the cold, I unbuttoned my pea coat, gave myself a clear path for the.32 in the shoulder holster. I’d try the back door. Maybe they’d left it open after having a smoke, but just in case, I thought I’d better look through the shed for something to pry with.

I turned, and the crack of light from the toolshed door fell across a pair of wide human eyes looking back at me.

I flinched back up against the wall of the toolshed, fell down, scattered rakes and shovels, a startled cry smothered in my throat. My heart beat through my ear and my hand. The body hung there from a hook on the wall.

I pushed the door open, let a little more light spill in.

Lou Morgan hung there as dead as it was possible to be.

“Aw, New Guy,” I whispered to him. “Aw hell.”

I fumbled the cap off the pill bottle. Took one and drank it back with whiskey. My hands shook. I said, “Okay, Lou. You’re on the list right behind Bob Tate.” And Benny and anyone else who hadn’t deserved this.

I went through his pockets, but his wallet was gone along with everything else. In the inside pocket of his leather jacket, I found a cellophane-wrapped cigar about six inches long.