David Robbins - Cincinnati Run

“There’s a full moon.”

“Oh.”

Blade heard a car door slam, then the sound of someone whistling. The tune was unfamiliar and erratic, rising in volume and tapering off repeatedly, as if the whistler wasn’t concentrating on the song. Footsteps shuffled on the cement walk, and then the caller was on the front porch.

Boots thudded up to the front door, and a fist pounded on the upper panel. Blade put his hands on the hilts of his Bowies.

“Open up!” a gruff voice barked. “This is Gus!” He knocked louder.

Holly went to move toward the doorknob, but Blade gestured with his left arm, stopping her.

“Open up, Holly!” Gus demanded. “I want to see you.” A series of blows to the door accented his request. “Don’t keep me waiting!”

“Now?” Holly whispered.

“Now.”

Holly stepped to the door, released the lock, and pulled on the knob.

“Gus,” she said. “This is a surprise.”

A gust of cool night air brushed Blade’s face. He peered through the crack between the inner edge of the door and the jamb. Gus Seuell was a scarecrow of a man with a scraggly beard and a wispy mustache, dressed in a red flannel shirt and bib overalls.

“About time,” Gus stated testily.

Blade’s nostrils detected the odor of alcohol.

“Why are you here?” Holly asked, her arms folded across her chest.

“Can’t you guess?” Gus responded.

“No. And I don’t appreciate your behavior. You have no call to show up on my doorstep drunk, waking up my family at this ungodly hour.”

Gus craned his neck to gaze into the darkened hall. “I don’t see your family. All I see is you.”

“Why don’t you come back after you’ve sobered up,” Holly suggested.

“Like hell I will,” Gus said, and seized her right forearm. Before she could break loose, he hauled her onto the porch and closed the door.

“We’re going to talk.”

Shocked and indignant, Holly tried to wrest her arm free. “Let go of me!”

“Not on your life, sweetheart,” Gus said. “I’ve got some words for you, and you’re going to listen.”

“You’re hurting me!”

Gus snickered. “Ain’t that a crying shame.” He let go and leered at her.

“Why do you think I’m here?”

“I have no idea,” Holly said, rubbing her forearm.

“Don’t play the innocent with me,” Gus stated, his breath reeking of whiskey.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Holly insisted.

“Sure you don’t,” Gus said.

“I don’t,” Holly repeated, reaching for the door.

Gus Seuell slapped her, a hard blow across the mouth, knocking her backwards. “Don’t touch that door!” he hissed.

Holly pressed her right hand to her stinging mouth, tasting the salty tang of blood on her tongue.

“You’re going to hear me out!” Gus declared, stalking toward her.

Frightened by such cruel behavior in a man who previously had treated her with the utmost respect, Holly moved to the right, to the top step.

“Don’t touch me!” she warned.

Gus halted, his mouth twitching. “All right. We’ll play this your way.”

He took a pace nearer and she retreated to the cement walk.

“You’ll never set foot on my property again,” Holly said.

“That’s what you think,” Gus replied, and laughed. “This isn’t your property, you dumb broad. All the land belongs to the Ruskies, to the State. Diehards like your jerk of a husband and you can’t seem to accept the facts of life.”

“I thought you liked Tim.”

“Tim was a jackass. He believed he could resist the Commies. And he trusted me.”

Holly forgot about her bleeding lips and lowered her hand as the implications of Seuell’s comment dawned. “What do you mean?”

“Haven’t you figured it out yet, missy?” Gus asked angrily, then tapped his chest. “I was the one who tipped the Ruskies to Tim’s bin. I was the one who turned him in.”

Holly was stupefied.

“That’s right!” Gus gloated, savoring her shock. “I called the KGB and reported your husband’s underground activities. I knew what would happen. Your idiot husband never suspected a thing.”

“But why?” Holly blurted.

“Can’t a smart woman like you figure it out? For years I’ve wanted you. For years I’ve dreamed about having you for myself. I came over here all the time not to see Tim, but to be close to you. I watched you cooking, and hanging the laundry, and feeding the cows and chickens.” He paused, his expression softening. “You drove me crazy. I’ve never wanted anyone like I want you.”

“You turned Tim in to the Russians,” Holly said in a daze. “You were responsible for his execution.”

“Damn straight I was. I knew I could never make a play for you while he was around, so I arranged to have him disposed of. I figured you’d open up to me after his death, but it’s been six months and you treat me like I’m dirt.”

Holly stared up at him, her eyes beginning to focus. “You killed Tim!”

“And I was paid in gold for doing it,” Tim bragged. “The Russian commander himself thanked me for my patriotism.” He tittered. “Can you imagine that? They paid me to get Tim out of the way.”

“You bastard!” Holly exploded, springing at him, her nails raking at his eyes.

Gus shoved her from him, sending her sprawling onto the grass. He moved down the steps and stood at her feet. “You have this coming, bitch.

I’ve waited long enough, and now I’m going to take what’s mine. Everyone has dues to pay, woman. Everyone.”

“How true,” said a deep voice behind him.

Gus Seuell turned to find the biggest man he’d ever seen standing on the steps, looming above him like a colossus, blotting out the stars.

“Who—?”

The colossus clamped his left hand on the back of Seuell’s head, gripped Gus by the chin with his right, and wrenched his massive arms in a sharp, twisting motion. There was a pronounced snap and the betrayer went limp.

“Dear Lord!” Holly breathed.

Blade flung Gus Seuell’s body contemptuously aside and looked at her.

“Like the man said, everyone has dues to pay. He paid his.”

A shiver ran along Holly’s spine.

“Why the blazes do I have to do this?”

“You volunteered.”

“That’s funny. I don’t recollect volunteering.”

“I was going to have Geronimo do it, but he says you owe him one.”

“That mangy Injun,” Hickok muttered. He glared at Geronimo, who was standing 20 yards to the east.

Geronimo grinned and waved.

“There’s no way he’ll become a Tiller or a Hunter,” Hickok declared.

“Why not?” Blade asked.

“He’s too cussed ornery.”

Blade wagged the Commando barrel at the asphalt. “Well, get to it.”

Hickok’s AR-15 was slung over his left shoulder.

The gunman looked at the dusty roadway and frowned. “I’ll get my duds dirty.”

“Since when did you mind a little dirt?”

“It’s not me I’m thinking of. It’s my missus. Do you have any idea how hard it is to wash buckskins?”

“I’ll be sure and tell her how devoted you are after we return to the Home,” Blade said. “Now lay down.”

Hickok eased onto his knees. “Why can’t we just bushwhack the varmints?”

“We need their uniforms intact, not riddled with bullet holes,” Blade noted, gazing at the woods lining the road.

“I feel like a blamed sittin’ duck,” Hickok groused, and lowered himself onto his stomach.

“All you have to do is lie there and pretend you’re unconscious,” Blade said. “We’ll take care of the rest.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing.”