Deadfall Page 4

  “I don’t consider that event likely. One of those cans on the shelf has an expiration date of June 1956. But I have a contingency plan just in case.” Benny reached behind his back. “He comes through that hole, I’ll introduce his forehead to this.” He pulled out the .45. Cory shut out the image of what that introduction would look like. He shifted his focus to a question that had bothered him ever since they crawled through the stump.

  “You’ve known about this place for fourteen years?”

  “Yup.”

  “How many times have you been here?”

  “A few. Not nearly enough.”

  Cory thought about all the outings Benny had taken them on over the years, starting when they were eight. Trips to the North Cascades of Washington down to Mount Shasta, in California, plus just about everywhere with a trail between the Oregon coast and the mountains of Idaho. And all the while Benny kept this hideout a secret—until today. It didn’t make sense. “Why are you telling us now?” Cory asked.

  Benny crushed out his cigarette, put the butt in the stove. Cory noticed a small pile on top of a mound of congealed ash. Benny said, “It’s a matter of trust, okay? This is a big secret, the biggest one I’ll ever have. A one-in-a-million thing. I didn’t trust you guys before not to tell Mom. But situations have changed. I’m trusting you now.”

  Ty asked, “Why didn’t you want Mom to know?”

  “Because I have a knack for turning a good hand to shit. Got that unfortunate trait from my dad. Hopefully I didn’t pass it on to you. Anyway, you never know when a man’s just gotta disappear.” He took a sip from his beer. “I think that elk led me here for a reason.”

  Cory said, “But why now? What’s different?”

  “I’ll get there, I’ll get there. But first we have a birthday to celebrate.” Benny spread the blanket on the floor, sat down, and nodded for the boys to join him. He set the pearl-and-bronze-handled .45 on the blanket like a centerpiece between them. When they were seated he passed out the sandwiches, cupcakes, sodas for them, the remaining Budweiser for him. Cory thought about the Benny on the bridge, and the Benny here. He wondered how the two could live together in the same body. Not well, he decided.

  “Happy sixteenth birthday,” Benny said, and raised his beer for a toast.

  While they ate, Benny described his plans for “Stumptown.” He said they’d stock it first, starting with food that wouldn’t spoil, install a door with a lock, bring up some carpentry tools, fishing gear, plastic storage bins, sleeping pads, and blankets. Make this place a proper hideout, a kickass man cave. He vowed they’d come up here for a week, eat trout from the creek, grill venison over a fire, live like fucking robbers and kings. “Now say the solemn vow,” he told them, raising his beer. “Say it with me: ‘We’ll live like fucking robbers and kings!’ ” In that cool space on the floor with a single beam of light drilling down from above, three cans clanked and they repeated the vow.

  There was a moment of silence.

  Then Benny said, “Starting today we’re starting over. This is my last beer.” He drained and crushed the can. Cory wondered silently about the flask. “I’m gonna stop being that asshole I see in the mirror every morning, turn over a new leaf.” He looked at Cory. “I’m sorry about the fat jokes. You are who you are. Someday you’ll figure it out. And I’m sorry about scaring you on the bridge. Believe it or not, that wasn’t my intent.” Cory didn’t believe him. Benny looked at Ty. “And you—you need to stop being like me. Get a handle on all the shit that’s pissing you off. Starting with your mom. What happened between me an’ her is water under a bridge.”

  “You hit her,” Ty said.

  “Yes, I did. And that’s a done thing I wish I could undo.”

  “Then why did you hit her again?”

  Benny’s eyes narrowed. “There’s no excuse for what I did. None. I accept that. But the fact is she’s gone, we’re movin’ on. There’s the end of that sad fucking story. You unnerstand what I’m sayin’?”

  Ty after a long beat, nodded yes.

  “Good.” Benny took a breath, shifted his attention to Cory. “Now’s the time to address that question of yours. I said I’m trusting you guys now and you asked why, what’s different?”

  This is it, Cory thought. This is when the hammer falls.

  “See, trust is like a kitchen door. It’s gotta swing both ways. I need to do something and I’m calling on you guys to trust me.” He paused, watched them carefully. “I quit my job yesterday. I’m giving the house back to the bank.”

  “The house?” Ty said. “But where—”

  Benny held up a hand. “It’s being emptied as we speak.”

  “Emptied?” Ty said, his voice rising.

  “Why?” Cory said. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m starting a business with a friend.”

  “What business? What friend?”

  “What and who don’t matter. What matters is we’re moving to Portland.”

  “When?” both boys asked.

  “Tonight.”

  TANUM CREEK

  NOW

  8

  I turn to the girl, knowing there’s a lot to do and not enough time to do it. I have to prioritize. Focus on her injuries and not on what Ty said, that whoever did this to the girl will come looking for her. Hopefully the driver was badly hurt in the wreck and crawled off somewhere to die of his injuries. But I know how luck runs in the Bic clan. Odds are he’s out there somewhere, making plans of his own.

  I shove those unhelpful thoughts away and kneel beside her. The bleeding on her head has slowed. Good. I can focus on splinting her arm if she needs it…. Her eyes are less jittery, focused even, which is also good. Maybe shock isn’t as much of a problem as I thought, although a head injury is definitely a concern. She’s shivering, and that is a problem. Plus, her pants reek of gasoline. I have an extra pair but she can address that later. I decide her arm is the place to start.

  I drape my sleeping bag over her upper body and legs, but leave her left arm exposed. I offer her the water bottle. She drinks nearly half the bottle. When she’s finished I say, “I’m worried about that arm. Does it hurt?”

  She nods, opens her mouth to speak, but again no words. Her eyebrows gather in concern. She points. I think she’s aiming at my bloody hand.

  “I’ll take care of that in a minute. Can you move your fingers?”

  She makes a loose fist, winces. I take a closer look at the bump. It’s definitely swollen, and the color, a reddish-purple, is not a good sign. There isn’t time to figure it out. “This needs a splint,” I say. “Can you handle that?”

  She nods. Then her eyes dart past me to the woods behind.

  I spin around, scan the fog with my headlamp. Nothing but shadowy trees and shifting gray. Back to her, I say, “Did you see something?”

  She points to her ear.

  “You heard something?”

  Three quick nods.

  It can’t be Ty. He’s only been gone a minute. He’d need at least three to reach the car and that would be flying up steep, slippery terrain in the dark. It could be a critter. Or something else. Or nothing at all. I look for a weapon. All I see is an apple-size rock a couple feet away. I lean out, grab it, set it down beside me. We just wasted thirty seconds. I say, “Tell me if you hear or see something.”

  She nods. And it hits me again—a flash of recognition, like I’ve seen her before. But there isn’t time to work through the improbability of that thought. I shake my head and return to the task at hand—the splint. I look around hoping for a sturdy stick, but there isn’t one nearby and I sure don’t want to go out in the woods searching for one. Then I spot my foam sleeping pad. It should be stiff enough to work. I stand. Her eyes go instantly wide and she flinches back toward the boulder. What the hell has happened to her? I say, “It’s all right. I’m just getting something from my pack to make your splint. No one’s going to hurt you.” She relaxes a little, but there’s something new in her eyes. A spe
ck of doubt, maybe fear, that wasn’t there ten seconds ago. She watches me the whole time, still without saying a word. I wish she’d say something. Anything. Her silence mixed with the silence around us is unnerving.

  I use tape scissors from the first aid kit to cut a strip of stiff foam wide enough to support the break on both sides, then tear off two long pieces of athletic tape and stick them to my leg. I say, “Can you lift your arm so I can wrap it?” She closes her eyes and slowly raises her arm. Her body tenses under the sleeping bag. I fold up the pad, hold it in place with the tape. Then I wrap it with a compression bandage, slip the sling around her neck under her arm, and knot it. It’s far from perfect but all I need to do is get her up the hill. I figure we have two minutes left. I can clean the gas out of the wounds on her ankles. Or I can do a quick sweep for internal injuries. I don’t have time for both. Shit. I’m sure I missed something important, but there isn’t time to get it right. She points to my hand again, which continues to bleed. I say, “That can wait till we get to the car.” She shakes her head, opens her mouth, but again no sound. I look at my palm; the cut is deep and full of dirt. It needs to be cleaned before I can put a bandage on it. I’ll do that in the car. She needs to get ready to move.

  I say, “We need to leave as soon as Ty gets back. Can you walk?”

  She hesitates, nods slowly. I help her stand, then reach down for the sleeping bag just as Ty’s voice rings out of the fog. “Cory! Where are you?”

  I shine my light toward the slope. “Here!”

  Silence for a moment, then the thump of footsteps approaching fast. First I see his light, then Ty appears, running down through the trees. His pants and coat are streaked with fresh dirt and mud. His cap is gone. And he has blood streaming down from a cut on his left cheek.

  “What happened?” I ask.

  “The inside of the Volvo was trashed. There was blood on the seat and ignition switch. I was trying to start it…and BAM! The window next to my head explodes.”

  “The driver?”

  “He took a swing at me with the ice ax. I barely made it out the passenger door.”

  I stare at him, struggling for words.

  “Dude, I bought us a couple minutes by hauling ass down here. Pick up your shit. We gotta go!”

  While I cram the sleeping bag into my pack, he says to the girl, “I hope you can run ’cause we’re gone in thirty seconds.”

  She nods. I shoulder the pack and clip in. “Gone where?”

  “Down to the creek, lose him when we cross at Anvil Rock, then head up to Stumptown.”

  “In the dark? In this fog? We’ll never find it.”

  “We’ll wait for sunup. The fog will be gone by then. Let’s do this!”

  We follow Ty down into the dark.

  PORTLAND, OR.

  SIXTEEN MONTHS AGO

  9

  Cory’s uneasy feeling about Stanislaus “Tirk” Tirkutala started on the drive from Stumptown to there—there being a dive motel named the Vista View in a room with two single beds and a clear shot across the street of the Adult Emporium marquee flashing LIVE! LIVE! LIVE! Cory’s unease was confirmed when he saw the big man for the first time, slouched in the only chair in the room smoking a joint next to the dresser that had two six-packs of beer and a brown paper bag with a bottle in it. Tirk had a full black beard peppered gray and round Santa glasses over faded denim eyes. The round glasses should have had a softening effect and were maybe intended to do just that. Cory hoped for a hint of softness in those eyes but didn’t see it when Benny introduced his friend and future business partner to the boys.

  Tirk looked Cory up and down and said, “You got more of your mother in you than your brother does. Her lips, her nose.”

  “Her boobs,” Benny said, feet up on the bed, leaning back against the headboard smoking. He studied Cory through the haze, as if waiting to be challenged on this broken promise that lasted less than half a day. Cory clenched his stomach and swallowed the pain.

  Tirk smiled. “So how’d that happen, you being twins ’n’ all?”

  Cory said, “We’re dizygotic, not monozygotic.”

  “The hell’s that?”

  “Different eggs, different sperm.”

  “He got her smarts too, and I suppose that’s a good thing,” Benny said. “But he got her metabolism. That’s a bad draw for him.”

  “Bella got fat?” Tirk asked.

  “Among other things.”

  Both men laughed.

  Tirk offered Benny a hit from his joint. Benny waved it off. “I promised the boys this very morning that I’m turning over a new leaf. So no more weed or demon alcohol for me.”

  Tirk exhaled and said slowly through the cloud, “I suppose that narrows the field.” He pointed his joint at Ty, who stood arms folded next to Cory, his eyes glaring out from under a hood. “Tell me about that one.”

  Benny said, “Ty’s a different story altogether. He’s been making fists ever since Bella popped him out thirty seconds after his brother. Probably explains why he’s into mixed martial arts, you know, that punch-’n’-kick shit.”

  Tirk said, “I know what MMA is.” And to Ty: “You any good?”

  Ty answered with silence.

  Benny said, “My friend and business partner asked you a question.”

  “I’m all right,” Ty said.

  “What do you weigh?”

  “One-forty-eight.”

  “I woulda guessed one-fifty-five. You want to fight in cages?”

  “No.”

  “ ’Cause if you do I can hook that up.”

  “I don’t.”

  “You sure? Money’s gonna be a little tight in your household till this business gets on its feet.”

  Cory felt Ty shift his weight beside him. “I’m sure.”

  “So what, then? You just wanna be a total badass like your dad?”

  “I don’t want to be like him at all.”

  Benny and Tirk exchanged knowing smiles.

  Tirk said, “Kid, looks to me like that train’s already left the depot.”

  Benny slid off the bed, walked to the window, pulled back the curtain, and peered across the street. His face flashed purple with reflected light from the Adult Emporium marquee. He said, “You boys get some food at the Gas Mart a few blocks down. Me an’ Tirk’s gotta talk about our new enterprise.”

  Tirk stubbed out his joint. He stood and walked to the boys. For the first time Cory was able to appreciate the hulking size and dark menace of the man. Tirk pulled a thick wad of bills out of his pocket, peeled back hundreds down to fifties, then twenties, and handed Cory a bill. “Food’s on me.” Cory saw as he pulled his right hand away that he was missing half of his pinkie finger.

  Benny, still looking out the window, said, “Nah. We do this straight up now or not at all. Start a tab. I can pay you back for the food soon as I get a check from the estate sale.”

  “You’re gonna need that check for other things.” Tirk left the “other things” out there to hang for a while. Then, “How about we start the tab tomorrow?”

  Benny turned from the window, looked Tirk hard in the eyes. “How about we don’t.”

  “Man, you haven’t changed a bit.” Tirk stroked his beard for a moment, frowned like this was a sad, sad thing. “Straight up it is.”

  Ty said to Benny, “It’s eleven forty-eight. Would this be dinner or breakfast?”

  “Depends on how fast you walk,” he said and tossed him the spare key. “An’ take your time coming back. We may be a while.”

  Tirk said, “We gonna cross the street an’ see if those poles are up to code?”

  “I believe an inspection is overdue.”

  Ty said to Cory, “Let’s go,” and opened the door.

  Tirk pulled the bottle out of the bag. Cory recognized the black label. Jack Daniel’s whiskey. He hesitated.

  Benny said, “What? Twenty isn’t enough? How many corn dogs you plannin’ to eat?”

  Cory said, “Does your new
business even have a name?”

  Benny looked at Tirk, got the go-ahead nod. “Yeah. It’s a real classic. T&B Towing.”

  Tirk poured an inch of whiskey into two plastic glasses. He raised one to the boys in a toast, drained it, then poured again.

  Benny said to the boys, “Why the fuck are you still here?”

  They walked out into the rain.

  The Gas Mart was six blocks down, with its blue-and-white logo barely visible in the misting rain. They crossed a puddled two-lane street to the sidewalk under the Adult Emporium’s marquee. Cory heard pulsing blues music through the blacked-out windows. He looked back to check his bearings, saw Tirk’s shiny black Toyota Tundra parked next to Benny’s ancient quarter-ton Chevy. The two men were silhouetted in the window of room 115, facing each other, drinking. It was the only visible movement in an otherwise empty lot.

  Ty said as they walked, “How does that asshole know Mom?”

  “I’m trying to figure that out.”

  “Is he the guy from Fresno?”

  “Which guy is that?”

  “The one released from prison. He was going to stay with us for a week but Mom raised such a stink that Benny told him not to come.”

  “Maybe. But I think he’s a different friend.” Cory thought about the drive from Stumptown to Motel Hell, the drive where they went west toward Portland instead of east toward the home they no longer had. Ty hadn’t talked for the first two hundred miles, and when he finally did have words to say they came out like fuel on fire. He had accused Benny of hiding them from Mom, to get back at her for what she did when really it was his fault. Ty and Benny had gone at it for another hour until that storm settled into a quiet rumble.

  When they stopped for gas in The Dalles, Cory asked Benny to tell them about this new business idea and how he came up with it. Benny said an old acquaintance acquired a tow truck as payment on a debt. He had called Benny and asked to help him fix it up and then wondered if he’d like to make some quick money hauling DUIs out of ditches. One thing led to another and it turned into a tow truck business. That was the short-term plan. The long-term plan was to open a body shop, then one business would feed the other. Benny would run the tow truck operation, maybe buy another one or two trucks at auction, while his partner ran the body shop. Ty asked him how long he’d been working on that plan. Benny said he’d gotten the call last week. At which point the storm erupted again when Ty said, “So we’re leaving our home and our friends for a plan that’s barely a week old?” Benny said he’d spin it different, but yeah, basically that’s the nutshell of it.