Victor Gischler - Gun Monkeys

I flung open the driver’s side door, stumbled into the snow, and threw up on it.

I grabbed a handful of snow and held it to my face.

Any one of a hundred things could have gone wrong while I was passed out. Tina might have returned to the house and found the carnival of death I’d left behind. Or the police, same story. Or she might have tried to call, got no answer, became suspicious.

Or maybe they were all still asleep. It was just dawn after all.

I got back in the truck. Up the mountain.

I crept up slowly, the truck bouncing on the rugged trail, until the forest split around a calm, silver lake. The road curved around to the right, roughly following the shoreline. The closest cabin was barely a frame. Through the trees another hundred yards around the lake another cabin was perhaps two-thirds finished. Directly across the lake sat the only cabin in sight, which was fully built and clearly inhabited. A thin tendril of smoke oozed from the stone chimney.

A blue sedan in front. It was too far to see the Florida plates, but I knew they were there.

My head throbbed. My mouth was dry, still tasted faintly of vomit. I was in no mood for sneaking around. I followed the trail around the lake, pulled the.32, and set it on the seat next to me.

Dawn stretched across the surface of the lake. A slight but steady breeze pulled at the chimney smoke above the cabin. The cabin was built with brownish-red wood. It had a roof that peaked in the middle like a capital A, and a window above the door- a loft maybe- and a larger window to the side of the door.

I parked twenty yards from the cabin’s front door. The lake was close behind, the dock jutting out into deep water, no boats. I stepped out of the truck, stood looking at the front window, but the morning glare kept me from seeing inside. If they were awake, they couldn’t help but notice me. I had the.32 in my hand, down at my side like a gunslinger. I was fed up with waiting. Maybe I’d just walk up there, knock on the door. Or kick it open.

The tall, fat one in flannel took away those options when he stumbled from the cabin, firing wildly at me with his revolver. He ran through the snow toward the sedan, keys in one hand, pistol pointed back at me, pulling the trigger blindly. Three shots went overhead. One punched through the truck’s windshield.

I threw myself down on the snow, aimed under the truck and fired the.32. I caught him in the ankle, and he went down. Another shot on the top of the head. He twitched once, and that was it.

I stood. Brushed off the snow. I went to check on him. Dead. I picked up his piece, stashed it in my pocket. It bulged next to the Minelli cannon.

In his attempt to flee, Tall-n-Fat had left the cabin door open. I walked in, stood just in the doorway. The cabin was one big room with a loft overhead, the ladder going up immediately to my right, probably a bed up there. A fire had burnt low in the large, stone fireplace, only glowing embers and gray ash remaining. A large carpet stretched in front of it.

A cot had been hastily erected within warming distance of the fire. Amber lay stretched out on her stomach, eyes closed, hair across her face. She was pale. Her wrists were tied under the cot by a length of cord. Tina sat in a wooden chair next to the cot, her legs crossed, eyes meeting mine calmly. She held her enormous magnum to Amber’s head.

I said, “Your pal tried to run. Didn’t make it.”

“I never really thought Dave had the stomach to go all the way with this,” said Tina. “That big ape with the long hair gave us a lot of trouble before we killed him, so when we saw you coming around the lake, I guess Dave decided to cut his losses and go.”

“Not you, huh?”

“I’ve worked too hard,” she said. “I requested undercover so I could get close to Jeffers. I don’t like FBI work really, and the pay sucks.”

“So you found a way to make it profitable,” I said.

“Yes. Jeffers was as corrupt as anyone I’d ever seen, but weak, easy to manipulate. My friends and I decided we could just about do anything we wanted. When those ledgers went up for grabs… well, it was just too good of an opportunity to let pass.”

“But it blew up in your face, didn’t it? A fly in the ointment. Me. So I went in and shot all of your friends dead.”

Her eyes grew hard.

I said, “And now I’m here to kill you.”

“I don’t think so,” she said. “You obviously want the girl, or you wouldn’t be here. Think you’re fast, Mr. Gunman? Not fast enough to-”

Poot.

She took the bullet just above her left eye, her mouth jerked in mid-sentence, and she fell forward in front of the chair, her butt sticking in the air. She still clutched the revolver.

I approached cautiously, pried the gun from her hands and stuck it in the other pocket. It clanked against the other Minelli cannon.

My coat was full of guns.

I went through Tina’s pocket and found the locker key, exhaled with relief, and stuck it in my pants pocket.

I slid my bowie knife out and cut Amber’s bonds. Once I’d turned her over, I had a good long look. She wore a loose, powder-blue T-shirt and jeans. Bare feet. I checked her over. I’d been through a lot to find her, and I wanted to make sure she was okay.

She had fresh tracks down the inside of her left arm from a needle. They’d been giving her something. That’s how they’d kept her quiet. She was passed out now from the junk. I prayed there was no permanent damage.

She looked terrible. Behind the pale, drawn face dwelt a remnant of the beauty my brother saw in her. I brushed the hair from her eyes. So sad and young, but I’d make sure she and Danny had a chance to ride into the sunset.

I touched her cheek. Her eyes flew open.

I sat up, jerked my hand away.

Her eyes grew round with terror, lips pulling up exposing teeth in a horrified grimace. A muted scream tore from the depths of her throat.

“It’s okay,” I said quickly. “It’s me. Charlie.”

Her eyes were glassy, unfocused. She didn’t recognize me.

Amber thrashed wildly, and I backed away from the cot. She leapt to her feet, darted past me, making little grunting noises of fear as she ran through the front door.

“Wait!” I followed.

She looked back only once, her face a study in pure animal fear, her only instinct to run. Her little, naked feet punched deep holes into the raw snow. I ran to cut her off from the road, moving awkwardly, my hands holding the pea coat pockets to keep the guns from spilling out.

She sensed my intercept course and turned toward the lake. Her feet pounded down the wooden planks of the long dock. I ran after, thinking I had her trapped when she got to the end of the dock, thinking that I’d explain everything. If that didn’t work I’d simply grab her, drag her kicking back to the cabin.

It didn’t happen that way.

She showed no sign of slowing, hit the end of the dock at full speed, and launched herself, arms spinning, legs still pumping. She hit with a stinging splash, went down, the dark lake closing over her.

“Fuck!”

I hesitated only a moment, then dove after her.

I was swallowed by the watery silence, went down quickly, deep. Every muscle raged against the cold. I forced my eyes open into darkness, the world above a silver blur of daylight. Below me, a white arm beckoning in the murky depths. I was tangled in my pea coat, shrugged out of it. It was gone. I was distantly aware my pain pills were in the inside pocket. No time to worry about it. Already the dreamy wish to succumb to fatigue overwhelmed me.

I pushed the thought aside, stroked toward the arm. Amber came into view, her eyes closed. She floated arms above her, hair a billowing halo. I took her, my hand closing over her thin wrist. I kicked upward, swimming with one arm. The surface seemed a mile away.